I've been trying to write this entry for days. Part of taking so long was finding a way to get my tech gadgets to make this process easier (and therefore more likely to happen more often), but part of it was wrestling with making this "public" - which means the 3 people I have deeply trusted with access and anyone else who may one day stumble upon it.
What am I wrestling with? Well, I guess control. Control over what is revealed and shared. Writing what I want partially requires telling someone else's story - something I am slow to do. Really, though, it's now "our story"- which brings new boundaries to define. The other thing I want to write about is what I have not been able to tell anyone yet (except work because I had to).
Ok, so here it goes.
Saturday started as such a good day. I had stayed over at Doug' s and was actually enjoying sharing a meal, conversation and TV with his roommates (after living alone for 11 years, it's been an adjustment). I went home in the early afternoon to grab a nap and get ready to work Box Office for ETC. Doug wasn't performing but he was going to run lights. I went to his place to ride together. He had been drinking all day and was pretty damn wasted.
I said I would drive. Knowing him, I knew he'd still make it through the show. He did - even though he was a bit louder than needed, played with lights/sound more than needed and got more easily perturbed than needed. As always happens, the group went for drinks after the show together. At least Doug got some food and only had a couple of beers. When we got back to his house, he started making pina coladas and drank several.
I knew why he was drinking - he's overwhelmingly stressed with not knowing what is going to happen at work as his team keeps leaving AND feeling like his friends in ETC have stabbed him in the back by creating UglyBaby. Now that UB haS announced that they are going to New York this summer to perform in a comedy festival, Doug (and - added stress, his parents) have been especially upset. So, yeah, I get that he is numbing, but I just haven't seen him like this and realize this is going to be a part of our relationship.
I stayed calm and just listened as he got more and more "down." When I told him that he just needed to lie down and sleep and stop drinking for a bit, he said he didn't want someone telling him what to do in his house (not violently, more in a pitifully whiney way). I knew he was too far gone for me to reason with him so I told him to go do what he wanted - as long he didn't leave the house - and just join me in bed when he was ready because I was tired.
I knew he had his cell phone with him, so I texted him that I loved him and not to take my going to bed as ignoring him - I was just really tired. After a little while, he came in the room and apologized. He said he was upset and stressed but that had been no reason to disrespect me. He kept apologizing - I knew he was still really drunk, but I could tell he was coming around a bit. I told that I appreciated it and that we would talk about it when we were both more together. He went back to the living room and finally came to bed about an hour later.
He got up way before I did and started doing different things he needed to do before ETC rehearsal, like making coffee, taking care of the dogs and cutting paychecks for the weekend's shows. I didn't feel well so I just stayed in bed sleeping until he got back from rehearsal. The next time I saw him, he was much clearer eyed and in better spirits.
He had brought me some lunch so I ate while we watched TV. I was debating whether to bring it up since we were happier, but I grew up in a house that breezed over anything "bad" and I wasn't setting that precedent for Doug and me. I turned to him and asked if he wanted to talk about yesterday and last night. He immediately started hanging his head and apologizing again.
I told him that I didn't want to berate or nag him because he knew that he had kind of acted like as ass, but I wanted to make sure we were on the same page. I asked him if he had been drinking all day because he was bored or to numb what had been going on with all his stress. He confirmed what I thought - he was numbing out. I brought up some of the highlights of questionable things he'd done, and we talked about it a bit.
I told him that I love him and that I'm not going to lie to comfort him by saying everything will be ok, but that I think he knows what's going on and is aware of trying to fix it. This was just another part of an ongoing conversation we've been having that he has been overwhelmed by his responsibilies. I know he has already made an appointment with a counselor that he has been to before so I legitimately believe that he is addressing the situation. I guess time will tell, but I do trust him.
So, I guess we've been thoguh our first hurdle. I can't do it justice trying to type details in a short area, but I do feel like the way we both handled the situation has made our commitment to each other clearer and stronger.
The other part of the story is that I was a little distracted and otherwise upset through all of this because my incision opened Saturday night. I felt something a little wierd when I sat down at Intermission at the show. When I got a chance, I went to the bathroom and saw some blood (not a lot but enough to know something had happened). I felt around my incision area and found a bit of a hole that had opened up.
I kinda started panicking - not because I was worried that I was at any risk, but because I started to think about how much it would set me back, how many people are counting on me. Recovering is an odd thing. I have taken care to do everything I was supposed to since my surgery, but people will still blame me for setting myself back and make me feel guilty. I know it's stupid, but I do always feel pressure when I start getting better - like everyone is taking on the concern with me and when something unexpected happens, there's this massive groan of frustration.
I at least did decide to own up enough to tell my bosses what had happened and that I was going to continue working from home for a while. I couldn't bring myself to tell Mom on my weekly check in call - I couldn't deal with her finding a way to blame herself for it because she didn't stay with me longer. I didn't tell Doug becasue I didn't want to add to the upset of the weekend. I didn't tell anyone else because 1) I am, frankly, embarassed that I can't even make my body heal right and 2) I get controling over health info when I've had to be so open about it so much lately.
Sarah and I were talking a few weeks ago, and she said she had heard that it takes at least 2 years - on average - to get over a trauma. That really clicked with me. I've never even completely recovered from the blow of my diagnosis since I've dealt with it non-stop for 15 years, much less recovering from the worst period of my life with the blood clots, surgery, etc 2 years ago since here I am dealing with it again.
If I could get enough distance and reprieve from my illness, from procedures and from feeling betrayed by my body, maybe I could finally get over some of this.
So, almost 3 days later, I've calmed down a good bit and am accepting things.
The other shoe, though, has dropped.
