Dear Alex, Shedding some light.
13th June 2013
Dear Alex,
Shaking, I pull the car up at the Care Home. I don't know why I am so worried, I suppose it's a physical reaction manifesting itself from the past several weeks.
Accounts of how you have been over the last 5 weeks are given, dates, timings, events and I wonder how our life ever descended into this. Life of doctors, specialists, treatments, hoping, disappointment, perseverance, endurance and intrusion.
How can it be that we sit here discussing your behaviour, your medication, the best plan of action?
It's so overwhelming I have to place my hand on my heart in an attempt to prevent it searing through my throat.
I try and take the positives from today. The neurologist spends a long while listening, writing and offers his observations, he was patient, clear and thorough. Explaining clearly the build up to your coming home was unstable, finally being at home and being more aware, normal things you used to do, the way you used to be sunk in. You couldn't cope with your situation and the circumstances, being at home and hearing your kids, but not being able to do anything or even see them meant you spiralled into a deep depression, anxiety levels through the roof and this you fought day and night with your cries and aggression. Nothing could calm you as you had not the memory to retain things, like I would be back were I not there, nor what was happening. You became confused and with the brain injury and the damage still so present and foreboding, you just could not cope.
He has said you should stay in the Care Home, not unsettling you at all, no home visits, so that you stabilise. That everything you understand, your environment stays the same.
So no more home for you for a long while.
At least I know this will not last forever and at least I know why this change in you came about.
Although I try and stifle the questions:
Does this mean you will never be able to live with us?
Will we never be a complete family again, all living under one roof?
What if... What if... What if...?
And what if? Alex, how will I continue to deal with all this heartache?
I'm tired, so tired of my heart aching, of it aching for you, for me, for those souls of love of ours, all four of them.
I'm tired of not knowing where we may or may not get to.
Tired of having to deal with a life so different, full of joy at simplicities, and anguish at simplicities we are unable to achieve.
Tonight I try to focus on the slightly more positive side of what the neurologist said.
I can't deal with anything else.
There's no point in thinking of the 'what ifs' I know, but they wait like hounds at the door waiting to strike...
Me xxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Dear Alex,
Shaking, I pull the car up at the Care Home. I don't know why I am so worried, I suppose it's a physical reaction manifesting itself from the past several weeks.
Accounts of how you have been over the last 5 weeks are given, dates, timings, events and I wonder how our life ever descended into this. Life of doctors, specialists, treatments, hoping, disappointment, perseverance, endurance and intrusion.
How can it be that we sit here discussing your behaviour, your medication, the best plan of action?
It's so overwhelming I have to place my hand on my heart in an attempt to prevent it searing through my throat.
I try and take the positives from today. The neurologist spends a long while listening, writing and offers his observations, he was patient, clear and thorough. Explaining clearly the build up to your coming home was unstable, finally being at home and being more aware, normal things you used to do, the way you used to be sunk in. You couldn't cope with your situation and the circumstances, being at home and hearing your kids, but not being able to do anything or even see them meant you spiralled into a deep depression, anxiety levels through the roof and this you fought day and night with your cries and aggression. Nothing could calm you as you had not the memory to retain things, like I would be back were I not there, nor what was happening. You became confused and with the brain injury and the damage still so present and foreboding, you just could not cope.
He has said you should stay in the Care Home, not unsettling you at all, no home visits, so that you stabilise. That everything you understand, your environment stays the same.
So no more home for you for a long while.
At least I know this will not last forever and at least I know why this change in you came about.
Although I try and stifle the questions:
Does this mean you will never be able to live with us?
Will we never be a complete family again, all living under one roof?
What if... What if... What if...?
And what if? Alex, how will I continue to deal with all this heartache?
I'm tired, so tired of my heart aching, of it aching for you, for me, for those souls of love of ours, all four of them.
I'm tired of not knowing where we may or may not get to.
Tired of having to deal with a life so different, full of joy at simplicities, and anguish at simplicities we are unable to achieve.
Tonight I try to focus on the slightly more positive side of what the neurologist said.
I can't deal with anything else.
There's no point in thinking of the 'what ifs' I know, but they wait like hounds at the door waiting to strike...
Me xxxxxxxxxxxxxx
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