Mrs. Peel
06-02-2009, 11:07 AM
:: Warning. May be a little too graphic for some ::
Dear ICN friends. I have a major vent and need more support than I've ever asked for before. I appreciate anyone who makes it through the whole post.
Before I was diagnosed with IC and IBS progressed up to my stomach, my cognitive therapy/behavioral coach was so proud of me for the way I was handling outside stressors. My husband and I have been living with his 90-year-old dad and looking after him for years. 10 for me and 15 for him. When I met and married my husband, I committed myself to making dad's final years as happy as possible.
Dad got sick in the beginning of this March and went to the hospital for a few days, then to a nursing home for physical therapy. That was really hard for us, since the night he left was extremely, graphically messy, we were really worried, and his daughter happened to be down for a visit. The daughter lost it and became much more of a burden than a help. No way was she going to help us when dad had diarrhea in his bed. When she left, a stepbrother came down and also lost it as he decided that we weren't taking good enough care of Dad. He spied on us, treated us with real disrespect, and finally instigated a fight with my husband. (They used to be such great inlaws). He has the same name and middle initial as my husband, so he was able to replace our number with his as the primary contact for the nursing home. Brilliant. We're all down in the Keys and he lives in central florida.
Anyway, I handled the situation with grace and aplomb. I had learned so much about not letting their problems get to me. Be kind, let them go through whatever they're going through, don't take it personally when they are cruel. They are in worse shape than you. Their daddy is sick.
This last month has been one of so many emails where my husband's five siblings decided what would be done with Dad... and with us! We ignored the slights and my husband responded objectively to suggestions. He has the medical power of attorney, but we had agreed to go with any sibling majority decision.
At one point, I emailed them and asked them for a little consideration for my health, and four of them said that I was less important than Dad, so, too bad. After taking good care of him for 10 years, they were treating me like a squatter.
One sibling and his wife were aghast at our treatment by the others. They came down to help. The first thing they did was take us out to dinner and thank us for all we were doing. They brought me a pound of handmade truffles (before my diagnosis) that were scrumptious. But the husband (a stepbrother) drew the line at defending us to the others.
Now dad is coming home, probably this week, and we've had to make some hard decisions. He will have a live-in caregiver and they will be living downstairs (not his favorite part of the house) unless someone wants to pay for an outdoor elevator.
Now for the part about me. I see a psychological coach because I inherited major depression from my bipolar ancestors. Thank goodness that part of my life is over! I went through a lot of treatments (short of ECT) and hospitalizations, was very treatment-compliant, worked very hard with therapists, and finally leveled out in the late 90's with meds and therapy. I'm doing just fine on Lexapro now.
But the stress of possibly being forced out of our home, the callousness of the inlaws, getting ready to have dad back in the house, and struggling to accept that I have two (possibly more) autoimmune disorders, one of which calls for major life changes, and both of which have me unable to pull my weight in the business my husband and I own, plus worrying about future attacks from the stepbrother who instigates the others to mistreat us... All this stuff has finally beat its way through my armor.
When I woke up today, I felt disoriented. I was wandring around the house with no idea what I was going to do in any room. I have handled a few tasks, but I called my husband and told him I am too disoriented to make any sense when dealing with customers, so he may be doing eight hours without a break or twelve hours (without a break) if the spell doesn't pass by evening.
Deer in the headlights. It's call depersonalization. I'm officially not in my body any more. Automaton. I tremble and lose some of my sense of balance, so very clumsy. When I depersonalize, my speech centers shut down. It's some kind of neurochemical thing and hardly ever happens any more. Can hardly talk, and when I try, can't make much sense.
I've done what I'm supposed to do in this case. Take some clonazepam and don't expect too much from myself as I wait for the spell to pass.
I am in the hands of God and the Universe.
Dear ICN friends. I have a major vent and need more support than I've ever asked for before. I appreciate anyone who makes it through the whole post.
Before I was diagnosed with IC and IBS progressed up to my stomach, my cognitive therapy/behavioral coach was so proud of me for the way I was handling outside stressors. My husband and I have been living with his 90-year-old dad and looking after him for years. 10 for me and 15 for him. When I met and married my husband, I committed myself to making dad's final years as happy as possible.
Dad got sick in the beginning of this March and went to the hospital for a few days, then to a nursing home for physical therapy. That was really hard for us, since the night he left was extremely, graphically messy, we were really worried, and his daughter happened to be down for a visit. The daughter lost it and became much more of a burden than a help. No way was she going to help us when dad had diarrhea in his bed. When she left, a stepbrother came down and also lost it as he decided that we weren't taking good enough care of Dad. He spied on us, treated us with real disrespect, and finally instigated a fight with my husband. (They used to be such great inlaws). He has the same name and middle initial as my husband, so he was able to replace our number with his as the primary contact for the nursing home. Brilliant. We're all down in the Keys and he lives in central florida.
Anyway, I handled the situation with grace and aplomb. I had learned so much about not letting their problems get to me. Be kind, let them go through whatever they're going through, don't take it personally when they are cruel. They are in worse shape than you. Their daddy is sick.
This last month has been one of so many emails where my husband's five siblings decided what would be done with Dad... and with us! We ignored the slights and my husband responded objectively to suggestions. He has the medical power of attorney, but we had agreed to go with any sibling majority decision.
At one point, I emailed them and asked them for a little consideration for my health, and four of them said that I was less important than Dad, so, too bad. After taking good care of him for 10 years, they were treating me like a squatter.
One sibling and his wife were aghast at our treatment by the others. They came down to help. The first thing they did was take us out to dinner and thank us for all we were doing. They brought me a pound of handmade truffles (before my diagnosis) that were scrumptious. But the husband (a stepbrother) drew the line at defending us to the others.
Now dad is coming home, probably this week, and we've had to make some hard decisions. He will have a live-in caregiver and they will be living downstairs (not his favorite part of the house) unless someone wants to pay for an outdoor elevator.
Now for the part about me. I see a psychological coach because I inherited major depression from my bipolar ancestors. Thank goodness that part of my life is over! I went through a lot of treatments (short of ECT) and hospitalizations, was very treatment-compliant, worked very hard with therapists, and finally leveled out in the late 90's with meds and therapy. I'm doing just fine on Lexapro now.
But the stress of possibly being forced out of our home, the callousness of the inlaws, getting ready to have dad back in the house, and struggling to accept that I have two (possibly more) autoimmune disorders, one of which calls for major life changes, and both of which have me unable to pull my weight in the business my husband and I own, plus worrying about future attacks from the stepbrother who instigates the others to mistreat us... All this stuff has finally beat its way through my armor.
When I woke up today, I felt disoriented. I was wandring around the house with no idea what I was going to do in any room. I have handled a few tasks, but I called my husband and told him I am too disoriented to make any sense when dealing with customers, so he may be doing eight hours without a break or twelve hours (without a break) if the spell doesn't pass by evening.
Deer in the headlights. It's call depersonalization. I'm officially not in my body any more. Automaton. I tremble and lose some of my sense of balance, so very clumsy. When I depersonalize, my speech centers shut down. It's some kind of neurochemical thing and hardly ever happens any more. Can hardly talk, and when I try, can't make much sense.
I've done what I'm supposed to do in this case. Take some clonazepam and don't expect too much from myself as I wait for the spell to pass.
I am in the hands of God and the Universe.