Over time, I'm come into a form of acceptance with my condition.
I know the things to eat or not eat; drink or not drink; do or not do, that will allow me to maintain the status quo.
It's now become a second nature.
I'm used to being sick.
What I'm not used to is watching a loved one go through a similar experience.
A couple of weeks ago, I came home from the time waster that is my job to find my spouse with double vision and an extreme case of vertigo. We were both concerned that we decided a trip to the emergency room was in order.
I'm glad we did.
Results showed a stroke.
A stroke.
My constant in this never ending battle with my disease, the person I love most of all, who would face the hordes of hell by my side during my neediness, my rock... had a stroke.
"Overwhelming" is an under-exaggeration.
It felt like someone dumped a bucket of ice right on my head. Within minutes I knew my worldview had changed again. I knew the time for my self indulgent introspection was over for now. Now, I had to be the strong one, the rock, the constant...
So, I stood up, squared my shoulders, and took it.
Things have settled since that first shot across my bow. We're both lucky that there are no lingering after effects. There is no weakness, no loss of motor function, no proof that a stroke ever happened. If not for the telltale "spot" on the CT and MRI, I could almost imagine that it was all just a very bad, and unfunny dream.
I've come out this experience felling stronger, yet more vulnerable than ever before.
My spouse came out of this experience a little scared, a little in shock, a little angry, and a little confused... much like how I did, when I first heard my diagnosis.
In the end, I think he came out of it with much more understanding. He now knows how I feel. He says he gets it now, and every time he has to tell someone new.
I really wish he didn't.
It's not that I don't welcome the understanding... I just wish he didn't have to learn first hand.
I wish it had been me.
