You've often heard my side of the continuing saga of my son and his disease... I thought I would share a recent post from my daughter-in-law, another side of the story. And in case you're wondering, this is just one of the many reasons that I adore her and hold her in awe..."I have shared before that my husband is sick. John has Bi Polar disorder, which makes our life together really challenging. Actually, challenging is an understatement. It is sometimes im-****ing-poss-i-ble to even look him in the eye when he is cycling, or off his meds, or one of the other frighteningly cliche things he does because his brain chemicals are out of whack and he cannot process information like I do. Simple things become herculean for him, things like remembering to turn his phone on, brush his teeth, put gas in the car, lock the dogs up before leaving for work, or, god forbid, the one one I fear the most... not taking his meds.
This last one, the big one, the deal breaker, is exactly what he was doing for about 3 months. John is so damn smart, and he's become a master at cloaking when he's off kilter, or when he's feeling really out of whack. I see signs, they are sometimes subtle and sometimes glaring, but when I am busy with school or preoccupied with my own woes, I fall prey to the safety I feel in believing him when he tells me he is fine, even when I know that he is not.
I don't want to type out the details and I'm sure you don't really want them. It is a messy messy story, and it is so full of pain and worry and heartbreak and anger that I can't really recount it all, anyway. The end result is that when the crash came, it was colossal. There were a series of small wrecks, like fender benders, that I thought we'd be able to patch up, but then came the train wreck. That was more like parking a car on the tracks. Everything derailed and it was bloody. John ended up in the hospital, completely blacked out about the incident, and I ended up putting my anger aside to seek him out in the ER while we waited for a social worker, all night. I gave him juice, I slept next to him on a hospital bed, I called his mom, our best friend and pseudo brother, signed forms, talked to his boss, got my own work covered, and did what needed doing. It was all auto pilot.
Eventually, he was home. I decided that the best thing I could do for him, and the best thing I could do to see if our marriage had a future after this episode, was to let him recover at home instead of shipping him off to his mom's in Anacortes like we have done after each episode he's had. She came here and stayed, helped look after him, helped by being there and watching over him.
It was touch and go. Even on the burnt pie day, I was still not feeling centered or balanced or like I knew him, really, at all. I kept plugging away, week after week, because if I really want to be married to this man I need to work hard at it, until I don't want to work at it anymore. I thought I'd reached that point, several times. I thought that maybe, this time, there would be no coming back from this, no point where trust could be established or I could feel anything but anger when I looked at him. No matter how many times I'd tell him this, though, he'd smile and hold my hand, touch my face, and tell me that I'm still here, and that means enough to him to keep hoping that we'll be able to get back there, that being able to hold my hand and touch my face mean that I'm still willing to try and that's more than he feels like deserves, so he's gonna keep doing his damndest.
Well, he really is doing his best. In fact, right now, today, this minute, John is trying harder and being more self reliant than I have EVER seen him in the 2 years (almost) we have been married and the 3 we've been together. He is getting regular counseling and really doing his homework outside of his sessions. He's telling me what he's working on and working towards, goals he and his counselor have set up together. He's taking responsibility for his medication, involving me only to reassure me that he's taking them, but the onus of ordering and dosing and remembering goes to him. I'm just the check and balance system. He is cleaning the house without being told, trying to learn to budget money (another one of his goals) and helping with the cooking and the planning of meals.
The last few days, I've noticed, all of the sudden, that he's making me laugh again, that I am looking forward to him getting off work and coming home at night, that I'm imagining where he is on his drive and what he's doing in the car (one of my favorite things to do when he lived in Anacortes and I knew he was on his way to visit me. I'd tingle with anticipation, bustling around my apartment, picking things up and putting them down, checking the clock every couple minutes to see how much longer until I'd hear his car in my driveway.) I held his hand in the car the other day. He played me "Calling You" by Blue October and instead of being irritated, I bawled. I set my alarm for earlier so I could wake up and snuggle him instead of getting right out of bed and into the shower. I don't have a problem telling him I'm proud of his progress and that he's doing so well, and telling him I appreciate his efforts instead of feeling entitled to a break from dealing with his disease.
Last night, he met me at Usice, our fave pub, for my Friday after work drink. He called me to tell me to have as many as I wanted, that he'd gladly drive me home and take me to work in the morning. He was attentive and kind, affectionate and sweet, and I almost fell off my barstool giving him silly kisses on his eyelids, cheeks, nose and forehead. He got up early and took me to work with no complaining, and made it back down for my lunch. He took me to brunch for my favorite food (crawfish and crab eggs benedict) and then put up with me indulging another craft outlet. (I'm learning to make soap!) He teased me about my crafting ADD and walked around the supply store with me, carrying items and finding essential oils for my endeavor. He held my hand in the sun, made me laugh outrageously, and all of the sudden I realized that he is my husband again. He is himself, he is loving and kind, and I am feeling like I'm seeing him again after a long absence.
I know that eventually this will cycle round again, and we may very well end up back at the hospital again at some point. I am taking hope and comfort in hearing him say things like "I never want to be unmedicated again, as long as I live" and "I love going to counseling" because they show me he is committed to making this change for himself in how he manages his disease and his life. I am hoping that the love we build and the hope we store and the coping strategies we learn while he is well will last us through the long cold spells when his illness takes over and my John just isn't there.
Today was just so good, so sweet and close and quiet. He let me knit while he looked around and cleaned the house. I asked him what he was doing, and he said he's getting some stuff done because his mom is coming tomorrow and he knows the house needs to be cleaned before she gets here. Holy shit, it's the first time I've heard something like that from him since, well... March or so? He told me not to worry about it, that I should just veg out and knit and relax, and that he'd take care of it. I didn't need to make him a list, remind him what needed doing, or chide him to finish a task. He brought me a ginger ale, cleaned the dog bowls, even dusted everything, all without word one from me.
We went out to say goodbye to Ryan's girlfriend, Nikki. I drove this time, he had himself a drink and then wanted Taco Bell. Even though we're trying not to eat fast food, I really didn't want to cook, so I caved. He was hilarious in the car, a riot at the house, and then sweetly sleeping on my leg while I finished the glove I was knitting. He's asleep in the other room, and I should be there, too, but I wasn't ready to let go of this day quite yet. I wanted to write about it, to remind myself later when things get dark that today at the end of summer I was full of hope again, and I told my husband that I love him and really meant it without anger or a "but" lingering at the back of my statement.
I turn 30 in 5 days. If this week continues like my last few days have been, it's going to be the best birthday ever."
