For real.
😵💫
Let's just face it. I get really quite cranky and ugly when my sleep is interrupted multiple times a night. Especially when the sleep wasn't good for the past few days.
I know why some people choose a Nursing Home over caring at their own home. The demands are sometimes super human.
His med change hasn't changed his sleep habits. For two days we thought we had it going pretty good.
Then bam.
A half hour after he went to bed, I got the "Val. I need that pill." I had just turned off my reading light and started to fall into dreamy land.
Lights on. Pill handed out.
That med worked for 2 1/2 hours. "Val. I'm hungry." I looked at the clock. Midnight. "I want oatmeal."
Lights on. Bleary eyed I made instant oatmeal. I went back in the living room to wait. Tap, tap, tap, tap...the endless tapping of stirring his oatmeal into tiny chunks felt like a hammer in my brain. It was a hammer in my brain. My teeth hurt and my eyes squinted.
So this is what a major- burnout -melt -down felt like. I wanted to walk into the other room and grab his cereal away and then tell him to cut it out and JUST GO to BED!
Then the waves of guilt hit me like a brick up side my head.
He couldn't help what was happening to him. He can't. It is not his fault. His brain says feed me. His brain says *I'm awake.*
I clear the empty bowl away and say something snide under my breath. Where did that come from? Geeze, I'm so bad. I hate myself for a moment as my head starts to feel squeezed.
I ask if he is ready to go back to bed. He says no, he can't sleep. Do I call the nurse line and ask if he should have another pill? Rich says no, it won't help. He is wide awake.
He wants to sit at the table and just sit.
I go back to my little cot which feels like a torture chamber. My everything aches and my head throbs. And I am surprised by how angry I feel.
Damn.
At 3am--ish he wheels back towards the bedroom. I help him switch over to his CPAP. He decides to leave his clothes on and lays down. I try to lay down again.
He gets back up and sits on the edge of the bed.
"What now?" I ask.
"Nothing," he replies.
I get up and find some Tylenol and try to find slumber. Charlie groans when I return to the cot. Even he is tired out.
I keep an eye on him. By the light of his clock and can see him attempting to peer at his hands as if he'd never seen them before. What is he doing?
I fall into a fitful sleep and am awakened an hour later as I hear him get up and sit in his wheelchair. The lights go on and as he scoots through the living room he says, "Coffee made?"
My head blows up and I put on my clothes for the day. I grumble under my breath with words I shouldn't use around children or the dog.
Night and day blend together in a nightmare. Rich asks me why I am so mean when I put his coffee cup down harder than I intended to.
I apologize and explain that my head is pounding from lack of sleep. He just looks at me. He hasn't had sleep, his night must have been even more miserable than mine. I take a deep breath and rearrange my attitude.
My mantra.
And then my biggest fear hits me. What happens when he is gone from my life? Maybe that this is why I am here. This is us. I will not look back on these days with anger but with more understanding of what it is like.
Maybe my experiences could help someone else.
