The Queen of Optimism

Snowy driveway.  Engine is off.

The only sound I can hear is the low buzzing of my left hearing aid.  What is it like to be hearing?   Wondering what sounds I’m missing.

Where my arm feels best. It naturally picks the position at rest. Lightly clenched hand and all.

Breathing.

Must pull it together.  Can’t hear my own breath.  Convinced I look like I’ve been crying, no need to confirm with the mirror.  My son can’t see that I’ve been crying.  It breaks his heart.  I never want to break his heart.  You’ve had a bad day.  I have this feeling inside, I wouldn’t like me if I met me. The lyrics cycle through me every day.

On Medrol, I was different.   I needed less sleep.  I was energetic.  Productive.  It all wore off.  Right sternocleidomastoid and trapezius are spasming, my right arm is limited in its movements, and my right hand wants to remain against my chest in a light clench.

Unmanageable.

In Alcoholic Anonymous, Step 1 is “We admitted we were powerless over alcohol – that our lives had become unmanageable.”  I’m not an alcoholic.  I think I’m in need of a first step.

I am powerless.

I’m not functioning at my best.  My work is suffering.  I am physically suffering.  My family life is suffering.  My body simply can’t snap back from the 10 hour work days.  The volume of work. I don’t recognize this woman.  I knew a woman who had it together.  She never said, “I can’t do it.”  She made things happen.  This woman fails.

The faking is getting more difficult.  A conscious fake smile looks pained.  Wrong things said at the wrong time.  Exposed: my pain, my limitations, and the fact that things are unmanageable.

My Husband.  He doesn’t want it to be true.  He’s there to help me wash my hair. Kiss my forehead.  He understands that I have to work later and later because my work is harder and harder.  He’s not understanding it’s also because my body and mind are working slower and slower.   I don’t think he suspects that there is an unmanageable point.  He’s talking about moving again.  Finding a house that would be more accessible based on my limitations.  I don’t think he understands how close I am to no longer bringing in the income needed to pay for that house.   I don’t want to break his heart.

Unthinkable.

Comments are always welcomed.

Filed under: Uncategorized Tagged: | deafness, patient point of view, undiagnosed chronic illness