Mourning Clothes

I know it sounds trivial but I am mourning my clothes.  The weather has  snapped and I need heavier clothes.  The way my house is structured there is only one real closet.  We do have armoires upstairs, keyword – upstairs.  I have enormous problems going up and downstairs without having anything in my hands.  I used to work in the garment industry and from time to time in retail sales.  I know how to carry tons of clothing over my arm.  I used to do it without even thinking about it. Now, I have problems hanging one suit in the closet.  Plus, I am dependent on T to get up and down the stairs and carry things.

So, this morning we go up and I want to bring my winter things down.  I’ve already brought down most of the casual stuff – the sweaters, the cords.  Today is for the business and dress stuff.  Each season change, it’s like running into old friends.  This year,  there are new and different options.   I weigh less so fit into different things.  And since I constantly have to use a cane instead of making the spectral leg visible, I have more options.

I bought some beautiful suits and pieces when I returned to work last year.

I start making a pile for Tom to take downstairs.  “Where are you going to wear all this stuff, really.”  Rub it in.  I worked from mid-February last year.  And the winter before that, I interviewed heavily.

We brought the clothes downstairs.  I don’t want to give them up.  I have always had a definitive sense of style.  I express myself through my clothes.  I do not want to live in sweatpants and jeans.  It’s not who I am.  I miss my dresses! Forget the party stuff.  I left all that black velvet upstairs.  I haven’t been to a party in years.  I was down to one holiday luncheon or dinner a year.  It’s hard for me to navigate.  NYC is out of the question.

People barely dress any more.  It is depressing to see all the faded jeans worn by faded people.  Where’s the sense of excitement?  Where’s uniqueness.  Let me date myself further by saying I sound like Hermione Gingold in both Gigi and A Little Night Music.

 

I have more pants than ever.  I was brought up in a household where ladies don’t wear trousers.  However, I need them for interviews  so I don’t terrify potential employers completely.

Today, I am realizing who am I kidding?  I have had 1 in-person interview since July.

I want to get up most mornings and wear my clothes. I want to preen like a peacock.

This condition is trying to destroy my soul.  It’s tried to take so much from me.  I have to draw a line in the sand, somehow.

Jeans are not just Jeans (and the Memory Motel)

Just about 20 years ago, I was living with a man, may he rest in peace, and it was not good.  We reached a point where he took everything out of me.

I have never real been a jeans person.  I was brought up in a household where ladies didn’t wear trousers, let alone jeans.  I always had the odd pair for mucking about.

I left him, started a new job and moved.  Not too much stress. Still, as is my way, we stayed in contact.  Prior to getting the new job, I had been pretty much subsisting for several years.  Jeans were not a necessary.  I was unhappy with him.  I gain weight when I am unhappy.  He gave me jeans that no longer fit him.  At my new job, there was dress down jeans Friday. The 20 year old used  to laugh and say “Boyfriend jeans.”  I was happier and walked tons every day.  The weight melted off even though I had a big cookie every day!

I had been in straitened circumstances for a year.  However, the following year, I bought a pair of jeans for me for nine dollars.  I also had tons of vacation time and little money.  One of my friends had a holiday voucher he hadn’t  used for Montauk.  I loved Montauk.  This was in the very early aughts before it became a hipster destination.  I paid my friend  a nominal sum and headed  East.

Now, in the early 80’s I had a share in a house in Amagansett with the 70’s high school cheerleading squad.  They were preppy before  it was a thing.  They used to line up their Weejuns at the edge of the beach.  I was so not preppy.  Definitely, not a Weejun person.  They slept in T shirts.  I slept in lingerie.  We would go dancing at Shagwong’s in Montauk.   It was OK.  I wanted to go to the Memory Motel.  Yes, the Memory Motel  Rolling Stones one.  Memory MotelThe cheerleaders opted out.

Fast forward to 2001ish and me in Montauk.  I made a beeline to the Memory.  Well, in the intervening years, things changed.  It was now a dive bar.  Fine by me.  Me and my 9 dollar jeans and flip flops walked in.  Happy hour.  Pool tables.  Beer.  My poison has always been Scotch on the rocks.  I breathed it all in.  The man I left did not like going out at all. And when we did, he accused me of coming on to everyone.  It felt so good to be out and about.  I walked, so no worries with drinking.  And as always, men bought me drinks.  It was a different world to when I had last been up and about.  Men were trying to sell me on their prospects.  Inevitably, I picked up someone, Billy.  We went out for steak.  And he asked me out for the next night.  Dilemma – what  to wear?  I had already packed myself into the jeans.  I had to do it again but with a changed top, one that could cover my packed in tummy.  And please know, I HATE  wearing the same thing twice.

So, we go out for drinks. And he said, ” I know that Susan likes to drink.” (Ya think) “but what else does she like to do?”  Great question.  I had fought so hard to retain what identity I had that there wasn’t a lot leftover.  I forgot that I read, garden, cook, write.  Lesson learned.

I bought other jeans and no, I never saw him again.  I always packed my tummy into those jeans when I could.  Sometimes, I couldn’t even zip them up.  They became my gardening jeans.

Fast forward again to this past weekend.  Life has changed and I own more jeans.  But, and there’s always a but, I have lost weight and they don’t fit.  And the rest were somewhere else.  I don’t wear jeans in the summer.  It’s the change in season so no clue as to where they are.  The weather snapped and it was cool Sunday morning.  I had to drive Tom to the blood bank.  Gardening jeans! Hadn’t worn them in ages as gardening is something that’s been taken from me. And they were baggy.  First time, ever.  But… the spectral leg can’t be hidden.  When this nonsense and that’s how I like to think of it, first started; I preferred to wear the spectral leg on the outside.  It was a clear indication of what was not right with me.  I wasn’t using the cane at that time.  I nearly sacrificed a favorite pair of black leather pants because the spectral leg could not be seen.  Now, because of the cane, I try to keep it hidden when I wear pants.  But  Sunday, I wasn’t even going to get out of the car. Tom was upset that it was visible.  I am upset that I finally fit into the jeans, I don’t want to wear them in public.

Instead of representing the freedom they once did , they now represent the limits I face.  It’s time to give them up and move on.

Yet Another’s Doctor Visit – Digress and Progress

Every time I decide I am going to break up with my doctor, I fall in love with her all over again.

I went into NYC  Friday morning for a belated visit.  Originally, she wanted  to see me in June before my infusion therapy.  It didn’t happen.  Then came summer with the anticipated railroad problems leading us to September.  I cancelled last Monday because it was mid day, bad weather and the UN Assembly was in session.  Glorious cool weather Friday.  I wore my macrame type sandals.  It was a bit cool but they are comfortable plus I knew they wouldn’t fall off if I had to go up or downstairs.  I was walking for crap.  We got into Penn shortly after  7:30 a.m. so it wasn’t horrifically busy.  I was frightened.  If I hadn’t been holding onto Tom, I would have been  knocked over or fallen.  He had my back for the escalators which have become another ring of Hell for me.  It’s one thing getting on.  It’s a whole other thing getting off.  Then we had to cross 7th Avenue.  Yes, I was already shot before I reached the bus.  I started to become agitated and weepy as it was clear to me that NYC is gone for me.  This is where I worked.  This is where I can make real money and do something that I like.  And it’s more than that.  It’s the stimulation of the city – the clothes, the food, the lights, the culture.  It’s closed to me.  I can no longer do this.  I struggle onto the bus. Tom has to lift my left leg to get me on  The bus driver is awesome.  She asks where I am getting off so she can make sure she pulls all the way in.  I take a disabled seat.  Somewhere in the 40’s, 50’s a sandwich delivery guy sits next to me with huge delivery bags. Uh, how am I going to manage getting out?  Just breathe! Then in the 60’s a man with a scooter prepares to get on.  My bus driver ejects the delivery fellow and the older lady across from me.  “You stay”  I am amazed when someone tries to push past him as he is leaving.

I am the first appointment at the doctor’s which is good.  She calls out to me as she is coming in with her coffee.  She spends nearly an hour with me.  Sometimes, I am techy and sometimes I am so not.  I recently figured out how to make Notes on the phone.  So, I’ve been collecting all my concerns in a format that is accessible and legible.

First off, we admire my sandals as I tell her that I need a new spectral leg.  She is referring me to a rehabilitation specialist.  He will look at cane, spectral leg aka brace, physical therapy and the way I actually walk.  This is good.

Bad, she thinks I should use the walker.  The  one that has been sitting behind the door, bought with an Amazon freebie.

She tells me how I am always so well put together and how important it is for my health.  I have on the beaded and embroidered 3/4 length pants that the orthopedist thought when the beads showed up on the scan, that he had discovered a whole new syndrome.  My therapist also says I am always put together  and it’s good for my health.  I miss getting dressed for work.  I open my closet and mourn.

I have low blood pressure.  My  late former in laws used to marvel how low it was without medication.  Due to Tom’s recent cardiac adventures  and his obsessive nature, blood pressure is taken all the time.  We even checked his machine against his surgeon’s and it’s fairly accurate.  Mine is way, way low.  Doctor says, “Are you dizzy or faint”  No, that is my old stress reaction.  I turn grey and my eyeballs roll up in my head.  Doctor says, “What we say about people like you around here is that you are going to live forever.  You are good.”

We talked about my drugs.  Yes, she wants me to stay with the alpha-lipoic and the Biotin.  Okay, as I have said before I have issues around my nails.  They were bitten and ripped to the quick for years.  A few years ago I decided  enough and grew them.  They have been  long and hard since then.  Last October I had to go to the salon to have them cut.  This year, they are snapping like crazy and my hair is visibly thinning. Salon’s verdict on the nails – maybe they are too hard.  Doctor’s question – what are you eating? Ah, here we go – not enough protein.  This has always been challenging for me.  I am so not a meat eater.

Now, I find this talk of food extremely interesting.  When this journey started, I asked her boss about food and he pooh-poohed me.  I took myself and my money to a nutritionist and she gave me what I thought    was an insane diet and other doctors subsequently agreed.  If she had only said, “This is the Swank Diet and it’s been used since the 1950’s.” I would have signed up.  As things progressed, I discovered a  bunch of different ways to eat that can address this.  Two years ago, I stopped gluten for months and noticed the difference.  Alas, I’ve fallen off the wagon.  Recently, I saw that the institution that treats me has done food studies.  In case you haven’t guessed it does make a difference.

My husband used to work at nights.  He’d wake around 11 and I’d go to bed around 9.  The last night he worked, I got up to go to the bathroom shortly before 11.  I remember feeling very hot and not so well.  The next thing was Tom shaking awake from a really great sleep.  He awoke to find my body in the hall.  We have a very tiny house.  There was blood on my head.  We never knew if I passed out and hit my head on the way down or hit my head and passed out.  Lately, I have had episodes when I experience the same kind of heat and my glasses fog briefly.  And the answer is still MENOPAUSE!   She suggests also that I drink more water.

Now all this caused me to start thinking about my period, menopause and my affliction.  People always laugh because I know the exact date it started.  Easy, because it was Halloween.  So, 40 years later in October I decided enough is enough.  I willed myself for it to stop.  Wait a minute.  That’s when I became symptomatic.  Something to ponder and research.  Not sure where it will all lead.

We are now at the 25 feet walk.  First time, when it started, I did this in heels.  I tell her I walk like a toddler.  She tells me I walk like me.  So, not a good thought.  This is the  first time I have ever done it with a cane.  I am terrible and slow.  I miss walking  I miss the speed, the breeze, the joy.  Walking was how I figured things out.  It seems like everything is being  taken away.

Now, to the inspirational part, and I hate the  inspiration part, attitude counts.  I told the doctor about the woman I had met who was diagnosed this year and appears to have given up.  She is anticipating the worse – making arrangements for ramps, etc.  Here’s a difference, I told the doctor in the last few weeks, I seem to be experiencing MS fatigue.  I used to be relatively tired all the time, waking for work in the 4  a.m. hour.  This is different.  It feels like dying, I guess.  It is the most peculiar sensation.  “Have you ever considered a nap?”   I am my mother’s daughter.  Maybe, just maybe if you have a high fever.  Though I have memories before this marriage of drifting off during a Saturday afternoon radio program.  She agrees that our mothers were the same and insists I need to nap.  Here’s the thing – if I feel like I am dying, the last thing I am doing is closing my eyes and lying down.  And my life is short and limited enough as it is.  I will not waste what’s left of it napping.  The other woman doesn’t nap.  She stays in bed all day! My doctor admits that attitude is important.  She starts to tell me about a patient group.  I cut her off.  I am so not interested in people who LOVE their scooters!  Nope, this is cool.  These ladies attend all the drug dinners for free, whether they can or cannot or want to take the drug.  They get a paid night out to hang with their friends.  This is a good idea.

I leave with recommendations  for disability, physical therapy and Ocrewhatever (there is a small risk for breast cancer and I have the dense ones.  I always picture them as saying d’uh?)  I also leave more determined than ever to beat the odds.  Why not?

 

Validating Tiny and Related Perception Issues

I have struggled with my weight since I was a teenager.  Okay, looking back, I wasn’t remotely fat.susan reima captree  However, I had morbidly obese aunts on my paternal aide and a maternal great-grandmother I never knew with obesity issues.  This caused my parents to be scared at the least hint of weight on my part.  I always assured them that I would not be obese due to my love of clothes.  That being said at one low point in my life, I weighed about 50 pounds more than I do now! I am about 30 down from when I joined SP.  I weigh the least I have in my adult life.  I find it funny that I obsess now if I go up 2 pounds and I literally feel and see it.

This year, for the first time, I have been referred to as tiny.  I find this difficult to wrap my mind around.

This week I did a tea party with people I’ve never met.  I wore my little Boho thrift shop find dress.  It says it is a size 4 but that’s a manufacturer vanity lie. IMG_0828 (1) Anyway, I walked (relative term) into the house and the host and her sister exclaimed that I was “adorable” and “so tiny”.  I guess it must be true.  I do not, do not perceive myself as tiny but am thinking I may need to rework that assumption.

Adorable was problematic for me as well.  Egads, I have entered little old ladydom!

What else did I learn/ reflect?

Well, the  reason that I finally achieved tinydom was because of my condition.  It’s not a diet.  I have changed the way I eat for health reasons.  Wait!  Isn’t that why people diet?  For me, it was the realization that what I eat impacts how I walk and possibly the progression of my condition.  If I am doing it correctly and completely, I do not have, gluten, eggs, yeast, dairy, red meat and sugar and very low fat.  The reality?  Even if I limp for the rest of my life, I am gonna have that chocolate.  I do need to get back on a stricter track as I feel and see my deterioration.  I am a fighter.

The host’s sister was diagnosed in the last year with another version of my diagnosis.  Mine is supposed to be a continual path of deterioration; hers can come and go.  It was great to physically speak with someone who gets it.  But also what I realized is that I may be made of sterner stuff.  My parents NEVER  accepted anything a doctor said as gospel.  I went to Johns Hopkins and was exposed to pre-meds so know that clay feet are a step up for some of these people.  I persevere.  I saw this woman as giving in.  Yes, I get fatigued.  Yes, I get discouraged and upset.  We pulled up to this woman’s house and I freaked.  There was a small flight of steps going in.  Once in the house, which was beautiful and charming and originally built in the 1920’s, there was a step but no railing into the main part of the house.  It was about 2 inches but I needed help.  In the main area, there was a minute saddle dividing the area.  Luckily, I saw someone else trip so I didn’t need to fall on my face.  I definitely felt I was getting the little old lady treatment by the guests.  I know, I know I should be grateful  but there’s that issue of perception again.  I still think of me as that young, vibrant woman instead of a vibrant, older lady with mobility issues.

I also realized that attitude means a lot.  I have down days and yesterday, I pretty much couldn’t move due to the expending of physical and psychic energy the day before.  But I continually fight. I believe in the possibility of miracles.  It makes a difference.

Saved by the Web(Spider) and Other Stories from the ‘Hood

Last week, when Tom was in the  hospital, J and L drove me home.  I have two steps up into my home, covered by a metal canopy awning.  When we bought the house, Tom said the awnings would be the first things to go.  We actually love them and want to replace the ones the previous owner removed. However, last week the awning provided the base for the movie spider from Hell and its web.  I looked up and said simply, “F*ck!”  L said, ” I have never heard you use that word.”  Quite an accomplishment, considering I have known her for almost five years.  J, who loves all creatures had to dispatch it.  “Ya know, it’s trapped about 30 insects in the web so it’s doing well.”  Okay, I really don’t mind spiders.  I don’t like being bitten by them.  I dated someone during the Son-of-Sam summer who was terrified of them.  That fear, coupled with Son-of-Sam, led to minimal groping.  And yes, when I was at camp, I used to bring daddy longlegs into the tent for their mosquito killing abilities.  Natural insect repellant.

When I was married to my first husband, I was growing my hair out because I couldn’t afford to cut it.  I was reading the latest Patricia Cornwall in the tub.  A brown thing dangled by my eye.  Oh, my hair has fallen down. NO!!  Big, hairy movie spider.  Cornwall in tub.  Me screaming.  First husband, deaf and detached.  Reasons to leave, Part 1.

So, J wouldn’t kill it.  I agree.  It’s hard to kill things with bodies.  He captured it and moved it to the end of the yard in the petunias.

Yesterday morning around 1:40  a.m.  I got up to go to the bathroom, not my usual hour.  Tom gets up too as he is nervous about my walking to and from the loo. With this condition, I have been known to stagger, stumble and fall.  He looked  out the front door panels.  “There are cop cars all over.”  Indeed, there were.  There are only three occupied houses on this little block.  Police seemed to be swarming  all over a car parked on the street across from us.  The fellow across the street came out onto his porch.  This is odd.  He and Tom are always being arrested. Their normal reaction to police are flee and/or hide.   His house was surrounded by SWAT teams  a few years back.  We never really got to the bottom of that story.  Then a K9 arrived.  I was in the bedroom trying to stay in a good place to sleep but falling into the urge and peeking at the security cameras through the phone.  The next thing was I saw and heard the police by my bedroom window on the side of the house.  There was a pounding on the door. The huge spider had returned  with a huge web!  We clearly had not been in or out of the house.  Saved by the web.  And kind of amusing to know that Timmy wasn’t the only tough guy scared of spiders.   The police wanted to know if we knew anything about the car parked across the street as 4 men had been reported going into the car lot.  And what about our car in the driveway.  Uh, it’s ours?  One of the reasons we are camera’d up is the amount of flats I was getting in the driveway any time we complained about the car lot (with massage parlor). I was livid at this latest police involvement.  I have called before in the early morning hours when Tom has been out of control, trying to get into the house when I have had a refrain from order.  There were no dogs or multiple cars. I have called and he has jumped the fence into the woods.  No dogs.  Finally, we heard barking.  Four young men were lined up by our mail box.  They  were let go with what appeared to be a ticket.

Now, this played havoc with chief inspector Kitty Bardot.  She  has bad associations with police cars at the  house at night.  Last time they were  here, she ran out and was lost for months.  She survived Hurricane Sandy and the blizzard following it.   The vet said she   would only have survived another night or so, if we hadn’t caught her.  Kitty Bardot was scared.  Upshot? She threw up on my black silk Chinese robe.  Yuck.

It’s getting cooler now in the morning and I needed that robe.  I remembered I had a short, white silk embroidered Chinese robe from Hong Kong in the closet.  My boss at my first fashion job had brought it back for me years ago. She said she thought of me when she saw it, that I was a sexy, little thing.  Ha!  Back to that “little” thing again.  Never thought of myself as little, sexy perhaps, but never little.  And true to family tradition, I have almost never worn it.  Of course, it still fit.  The silk was so much softer and more luxe than I remembered.  Where did that girl ever get to?

And now I can barely walk.  Being sexy is the last thing that matters to me.  And how would I have coped with police around the house? Or spiders? And I worry.  There are always people coming and going from the car lot, at all hours and all days.  I know the owner discounts me because I am a woman and can’t walk living with a drunk.  And I am being  exposed to people who see my weaknesses.  I HATE  being thought of as weak.

I’m gonna depend on those spiders, for now.

Lucky 13

 

Yesterday was my 13th wedding anniversary.  I was in the hospital with Tom from 7:30 a.m. till 8:30 at night.  Our original plan had been to drive out East and either have a nice lunch out there or cash in on a restaurant card the kids gave us for Christmas.  Instead, Tom’s been in the hospital since Monday afternoon.

We had no idea thirteen years ago that this is where we’d be. We said our vows in front of a justice of the peace who knew me from volunteer work.  She gave me a lecture on how she disagreed with the public policy  position of the organization.  Then we did our vows.  It included something along the lines of in sickness and in health, richer or poorer, better or worse.  Of course, we said Yes.  Who really understands what that means? Well, we were older so we were not dewy eyed innocents.  We knew that life would hold challenges.

13 years is a not a long time in the scheme of things but we have really beaten up those vows; each and every one of them.

Life with both of us has been challenging.  He has supported me through the death of both of my parents; the dissolution of my childhood home; the loss of three jobs and of course, my continuing physical deterioration.

On his side, his rampant and destructive alcoholism; cancer; hernia and now this cardiac situation.

Monday, we went to the ER for what we thought would be a meds adjustment and maybe Valium.  Instead, a four day hospital stay with two procedures.  Yesterday morning he had a tee.  A scope was put down his throat to see if there were any clots in his lungs that could dislodge.  He came out of that one convinced he was vacuuming the car. Indeed, when he was released today, one of the first things he has done is vacuum!  Lucky me, I have a house husband. In the afternoon, he had a cardiac ablation. Fun for anniversary.

Truth be told, I don’t hold much with anniversaries.  He is the sentimental one.

I never wanted to have my parents’ lives.  Joke’s on me.  I do.  I was so frightened this week.  Normally, I am your best person in an emergency and I still was calm and collected for everyone.  Here’s the thing – when my father died suddenly and unexpectedly, my mother kept on saying “Daddy had a really good omelet for breakfast.”  Well, you know how they say things about your parents’ deaths stick with you?  Sunday night, we had had the best dinner with Justin and Lisa – good food, laughter, conversations.  My mind kept on howling – just like Daddy.

Another way in which I am the same is hiding things.  I am a firm believer in transparency as my parents withheld information on my grandmother’s health.  I never trusted them again.  I share medical details about me and T to his kids.  We found out after my father died how the two of them conspired to shield us about my mother’s condition.  She had dementia.  I found we have done the same with my walking.  It’s not as if they don’t know I have difficulties but in the house I usually don’t wear the spectral leg or use a cane.  On the few occasions we have been out, they know I walk arm in arm with their Dad.  They had no idea how much difficulties I have getting in and  out of the house.  Of course, when I am stressed I am worse.  I have started to have problems with my hands.  I needed help buckling my seatbelt.  Everyone was great to me but I realized how much we have been dissembling.

As you know I was seriously contemplating divorce earlier this year.  Financial considerations stopped me. He thought I couldn’t do it because I literally couldn’t live without  him.  He ties my shoes, fixes my hair, helps with zippers and buttons.  As they say, “needs must”.  I put on my own shoes, dressed and undressed myself and did my hair.  Fed the cats, cleaned their litter. I can do it.  I did not fall.  Stumbled a few times but no falls.  So what if it took me ten minutes to put on my macrame sandals and spectral leg and it involved bent paper clips and pliers!  Don’t ask.

I know I am a control freak.  I acknowledge that one of  the reasons I married him was when he was in trouble I wanted legal standing.  I was never one of those girls with wedding plans. I used to dream of a house and children but no man.  I used to be told it couldn’t be done.  I am a boomer which explains the attitude.

This week made me realize that even though I can be on my own, I don’t want to be right now.  Pondering how we really did do our vows.  There’s work ahead.  There is a lot of pain and anger on each side.

 

Third Wheelchair Ride

This is beginning to be so unfunny.

My husband gives platelets regularly.  He has a high platelet count and is a universal donor.  He does it just because and has only used his accrued point one time to get a fleece that advertises the Blood Center.  H e went  mid July but they couldn’t do it as his blood pressure and pulse were too  high. H e’d had a steak dinner the night before and had taken his blood pressure meds too late.  Two weeks ago, his pressure was alright but his pulse was still high.  We started to monitor it but it didn’t go down.  In the middle of the night he told me his heart was racing.  I made him call the doctor yesterday and she said ER.  We called urgent care, same answer ER.

We went.  By the time, we arrived, parked and he helped me struggle over, his BP and pulse were catastrophic.  Of course, I walked for crap because I was so nervous.  Now going to the ER here is not a new experience for me.  My first time was 11 years ago, when Justin’s SUV was totaled.  He called to say that the driver’s side was destroyed.  OMG! You weren’t driving?  No, when I saw the truck coming at me, I jumped into the passenger side.  I had to take that call as Tom went completely white.  So, the evil stepmother, aka me, insisted on ER.  He walked out but ended up there 2 days later anyway.

My next visit was 7 or 8 years ago.  I had a restraining order against him for drinking and he was seriously out of control.  I locked him out and he went to his sister’s.  He wanted help but was drinking even more there.  I walked out of work in NYC, dragged him into the car, held onto him as he tried to jump out while it was moving and dragged him into ER.  I can’t remember his blood level alcohol at the time except that it was astronomical.  There was a warrant out for his arrest but he was able to get into rehab.  It was not successful.  Other visits ensued.  One time, they had to guard him and put him in restraints.  Another time, I just checked him in and left.  Twice, after his cancer operation, I had to take him to Stony Brook ER.

All of these times, I wasn’t scared.  Ok, 2nd Stony Brook ER, I was.  However, throughout all of these and his cancer operation and his hernia operation, I worked.  I had that laptop and kept on going.      I can be a monster in that regard.  We needed the money and I needed the distraction.

The difference last night was that he was conscious and aware.  I wasn’t working either.  The other times, we pretty much knew what was wrong.  Last night they did not.  And before, I could always walk.

Alright, for his hernia operation in 2015, my brother-in-law helped.  At the hospital, they thought I was the patient.  A friend of mine was in the ER a few weeks ago and again, everyone thought I was the patient.  Last night, they gave him the visitor pass.

They announced at 7 pm that all family members/visitors had to leave the ER.  This was going to be extremely difficult for me.  I knew I couldn’t make it to the car at all by myself.  They told me they could not release him.  We thought someone could just give me their arm and I would go and wait for Justin.  No Security was  hell bent on getting me out of there.  They provided a wheelchair even though I explained I had only been in one twice before.  The guard even asked me if I could move my feet.  Uh, that is the problem.  I protested as I didn’t want Justin to see me like that.  The guard literally left me in the waiting room.  Luckily, I was able to navigate out of the chair just before the kids came.

They took me home.  I am appalled at my deterioration.

Apparently, Tom may be operated on today. It’s a simple procedure.  At least, that’s what they tell me.  Hopefully, I will be able to get help there and back.

I am so scared this time.

Tomorrow is our 13th wedding  anniversary,  Recently, I was contemplating life without him.  I realize that no longer is an option.