Anyway, last year she'd informed me about her mother having a stroke and being in a nursing home. Sad. Just today I get the note that she's passed on. Well.
Again, unbidden and inappropriate, I marvel how wonderful it is that her mother's problems are over. Of course I don't mention this in my reply; "You're mom died? Wow. Good for her."
But that's it. That's where I go with death. Can you blame me? The fucker lives in my house and never sleeps. He's always there, filling every room; every corner with madness, sickness and despair. And he won't leave without taking one of us along.
And he's so powerful. Absolutely in control. All I can do is wait helplessly for him to act. So when I hear about death taking somebody else...? Lucky. They're lucky.
***
Returning to the documentation I downloaded regarding the cognitive effects of Huntington's disease, there was a pamphlet on driving cessation in HD. Again, I was struck by the eerie exactitude of symptoms. Specifically, spacial perception. I'm forever cautioning MW that she is too close to the curb/other car/median, etc., and she rarely makes a clean turn these days. Whenever she parks a car in the garage, there will not be enough room to open the door on one side or the other.
What manner of disease is this? How can it be so precise in the ways it fucks you over?
More: one document cautioned caregivers that the HD patient may employ racial slurs. Oh, come on, now, that can't be part of the disease! Surely such discrimination must be learned behavior; not a symptom.
I don't know.... I don't recall MW being as intolerant as she is now; not when we first met. These days, however, she sees the world almost exclusively in terms of racial profiles; generally unfavorable, mostly downright hateful, profiles. I've long since stopped trying to steer her away from racism - it's a lost cause and almost always comes back to bite me when attempted ("The reason America is going down the drain is because wimpy white people like you don't fight anymore!"). Plus, because she herself is an immigrant - born in Bombay - her tirades against foreigners comes off somewhat comical. Or they did at first. Now, it's just depressing and exhausting.
But, apparently, this too is a symptom of HD. I guess. Seems impossible, but according to the documentation, racism is common enough that it ranks being mentioned as one of the disease's many cognitive disorders.
Truly uncanny.
***
While I'm at it; I might as well take a moment to explore the documented caregiver "symptoms of overworking and chronic stress". First two: irritability and depression. Fucking duh. I put on a brave face, but these days my silent thoughts are almost exclusively "fuck off" and "I wish I was...".
Vague physical pain: I do have a self-diagnosed hernia. That provides plenty of vague physical pain. Conveniently, I use it to explain everything from twisted guts to spiking headaches.
Insomnia and occasional dizziness: Yes, but I can put these on the feet of alcoholism and, recently, abstinence from alcohol. Fucking lent. 31 more days.
Fears: Interesting that they mention fears, for indeed I have passing waves of unaccountable dread. Initially, I chalked this up to worry over MW having a bad accident; but after so many years, I can't say that's forefront anymore. I'm resigned to it. Whenever I don't hear from MW, she doesn't answer the phone, or is late picking me up, I feel no anxiety; only sad resignation. When she does eventually show up, there's no relief, just the thought, "Oh well. Next time."
So why the fear?
I can't say I care much about my own health or vitality. I still end every night with a silent prayer that morning won't come. When those "vague physical pains" ratchet up, I gulp two Advils and ignore them. As a counter to MW's incessant worry over cancer, I could care less about the odd stabs of pain or skin discolorations blooming over my sagging body.
No, I don't fear my own mortality.
What, then? The best I can do is the impression that I'm out of time. A few days ago, when experiencing a moment of inexplicable fear, I had a fleeting thought that I'd better do something fast. It was a feeling of directionless, anxious, nervous energy.
It panicked me.
Tiredness: Again, duh. The tragedy here is that I'm too exhausted these days to even read. I used to read a lot. It was an escape. I really miss that.
No comments:
Post a Comment