The past week has been a complete wash in terms of doing anything productive. In addition to my own painkiller fog and continued pain, Matt has been sick. I mean, really sick. I spent most of the day on Thursday at the hospital with him. He was severely dehydrated and he was experiencing a lot of pain and dizziness in addition to congestion and coughing. I was really worried about him, so we called his dad to take him to the ER.
He seems to be feeling much better today, but ... I'm not. What semblance of a schedule I've had has been obliterated over the past week, and not in the fun "I decided to take a spontaneous trip" kind of way. I am having a lot of trouble focusing on anything, which muscle relaxants do not help. (The pain does not help that either, but y'know, six in one at this point.) I am struggling to maintain the focus to write this entry. Matt was good enough to get me out of the house and take me to the coffee house so that I could focus better, but I suddenly wish I was doing this back home.
The ER visit on Thursday brought with it varying emotions, some constructive, some not so much. Since Matt was in pain, my inner caretaker came out and I did everything I could to make sure he was comfortable. (I might have been a little pushy a couple of times, but come on, there's no reason why he should have been waiting 45 minutes for some water.) Thankfully, his fever was already going down by the time we got checked in. Other than dehydration, there were no major issues. I even managed to talk to Aunt Marilyn on the phone for a while. (She triggers me because she reminds me a lot of my mother in certain ways.) I even managed to deflate the feelings of guilt that began to take hold when Matt's father had to take us to the hospital. I'm talking about the voice that said,"Well, if you weren't so lazy and stupid and terrified of driving you could have..." Yeah, I told that bitch to shut the fuck up, and she did.
I felt pretty good about how I handled the situation, but I wondered if being on painkillers had something to do with it. I have a pathological fear of side-effects from drugs and of becoming addicted. I had been taking one to two 350-5 Percocet per day for about 4 days. Logically, I know that this is a comparatively low dose and that I am taking even less than what was prescribed for me, but, you know, that's how I am.
I still feel some guilt about the fact that, because of my sciatica, I wasn't able to help around the house as much as I feel I should have while Matt was unable to. Why? Because I think I should feel guilty, I guess. In this case, the feeling is not so intense that it is disruptive, but it's a good example of the mental gymnastics I need to do sometimes to remain functional. I think I should feel guilt. I either feel guilt because of the situation at hand, or I feel guilt because I'm not feeling guilt. But really, I know that with a few exceptions, guilt is a stupid, useless emotion. So I say, "Hey, I'm doing the best I can in this situation, with the physical, emotional, spiritual and mental resources that are available to me at this moment. I don't have the additional resources to spend on guilt, so guilt can go take a flying leap." On good days, it works. On bad days, I stagnate.
Anyway, situations like this seem to strengthen Matt and I as a couple. It sounds cliche, but it's true. It isn't vacations or parties or weddings that cement a relationship; it's how you face adversity together. I don't think of these things as tests or trials, but rather as opportunities for levelling up. We started this quest together and we're going to finish it that way.
So that concludes the second hospital adventure for the week. My next entry must be separate, because it has to do with stuff in my head that isn't happening right now.
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