Mad as Heck...

Over the past two weeks, I spent an exorbitant amount of time in bed. This is not to say that I was not ill enough to warrant this, but to someone who dislikes grass growing under their feet, it seemed like too much. Granted, I was ill with the flu and a sinus infection, and I had two fractured toes. I really hate resting.

One thing that I realized, during this entire process, is that it seems like just when you are starting to get better, people begin expecting a whole lot more from you. Immediately. It’s as though they were chomping at the bit for an improvement, and the moment one states that they are feeling a slight bit better, okay, all bets are off, get out of bed, start picking up the slack and do what has to get done. In other words, most items were left until that moment when I couldn’t stand being in bed another second, and I opted to throw a load of laundry into the washer. Yes, the piles of laundry seemed to reproduce like rabbits on the basement floor. That’s what happens when Mom isn’t able to get to it.

I saw my internist and orthopedist this week. Both said that I was clearly on the mend, but was not out of the woods yet, and to continue to rest. It’s as though I had said I was 100% and not 50%. All of a sudden, nobody is doing anything, I am relied upon for everything, and ridiculously inane requests are made, all because, miracle of miracles, Mom’s all better. I’m really not myself yet, and I’m very fatigued, more so than my usual MS fatigue. I’m still dragging, and there are lots of things that I need to get done, like this column, for instance. Yet, laundry calls. Vacuuming cries to be done. The bathroom needs a quick once over. The crumbs in the sink could be gathered to make tomorrow night’s meal. And don’t even get me started on the dust on the furniture. There is no “white glove test” in my home, because your white glove would quickly turn to grey. Yeah, it’s that bad. I’m still coughing, my head still feels like it’s underwater, and I don’t have nearly the energy level that I had, prior to the flu/infection.

I guess “relapse” isn’t a part of their vocabulary. Because of the MS, as well as the medication I take, and the severity of the illness I just experienced, I stand a very strong chance of possibly relapsing. I don’t intend to allow this to happen, but for some reason, I feel powerless over those who I reside with to prevent it. Reason being, things need to get done. Requests are made. Saying “no” is not an option, because it is met with huge resistance, pouting, and general grumbling. Not to mention that making a request for assistance is usually met with a bartering system of sorts: “If I do this for you, what are you going to do for me?” That is not to say that they do not assist when asked - they do. On occasion, they will run to the store, or do the food shopping, or even run the vacuum. Note the phrase, however: "On occasion". And usually, not unless something is done first for them. This holds true especially for one particular family member, who will remain unnamed.

One of the members of the family has an incessant desire to live on the bed. Not in the bed, on it. Eating there, falling asleep at all hours of the morning, afternoon, and early evening. Getting up only to sit at the table for a few moments to inhale dinner, then returning to said bed and television until evening falls, and the sleeping continues. Said member is also one of the worst offenders; if needs are not met on a regular basis, there is much complaining, as well as huge cold shoulders, which makes living in such close quarters literally unbearable.

“Let them complain!” is the mantra of friends and family members who understand my plight. However, they are not the ones who have to live with the cold shoulders, the major attitudes, and the temper tantrums. I feel like I am constantly living at a day care center for toddlers.

Case and point – there was a television show on, a few days ago, where one of the main characters asks for Bugles. One of the members of my family, thinking that they were rather hilarious, shoved a finger into the air and ordered, “Bugles!!”, not unlike the character on television had done. This was accompanied by the guilt-laden whine, “I never get ANYTHING!”

I bit my tongue so hard, I could taste blood.

I felt like telling said person, “You’ve been out, driving around for a week now. You are feeling much better. Go out and get the Bugles yourself.” I recalled the incident, earlier in the week, where I had neglected to take out a piece of meat for said person to eat for dinner. Said person is the only human in the home who consumes meat. When I suggested the person take out what they want for dinner the following evening, the response was, “Then I should touch it, and cook it myself too, right?” It came out as a snide remark, and I wasn’t having another episode of that. I shook my head and merely ignored the request for Bugles, which grew louder and louder until I finally got up and left the room.

Understand this: I am not an unfeeling person. There have been many occasions where I have gone out to obtain said snack item for said person. This has happened, more times than I can count. It is actually bordering on overkill now; I’m tired of hearing the same request, with the same guilt tag. Basically, take me out of the oven – I’m done.

I’m wondering if anyone else out there has the same issues, or something similar. I’m starting to feel like I’m pretty much alone in the world on this one.

There is one person in my home who is a bit more supportive, although this person also expects that, because I’m up and moving about, I’m down for a mall shopping marathon, or several hours of working out at the gym. No, I’m not able to do that yet. However, expectations are huge, and this is something that I’m dealing with, as well. Because I always did it, because I always took care of it, because I was the one who came through in the clutch, I guess I have to continue to do it, now that I’m out of bed. Really? How about no?

I’ve had my entire family sit in on physicians’ discussions about my condition, as well as my chronic illness, in order to get them to understand. However, it is kind of like that phrase, “it goes in one ear and out the other.” Yeah, I didn’t think they really got it. One family member in particular acts as though I’m making it all up, rolls their eyes whenever I make a statement about how I need to rest, and just sits and barks orders about things that they want or need to have done from the bed. It’s exhausting, expending this much emotional energy on people who literally suck the life right out of you.

You know how you are sometimes scrolling through Facebook or Instagram or Twitter and you find a photo of something interesting? I have a habit of showing said photos to family members, in order to get them to smile or to improve their mood. I showed one family member a green bagel, because it looked pretty cool. The response was not what I expected. I had the pleasure of listening to, “All I got was a rock.” This is something that this person does regularly; it’s the guilt trip, “I got nothing, and nobody loves me.” It’s actually rather sickening. My intention was not to make this person feel badly because they didn’t have a green bagel in their hot little hands. My intention was to show them something that was kinda cool, something that was festive for the upcoming St. Patrick’s Day holiday. When I asked this person how old they were, basically because I’m tired of this sort of response, the person said, “Who is the two year old? You’re getting upset because I don’t have a bagel.” Uh, really?

Did you ever just feel like you can’t anymore, like you want to run, screaming, from your house? Sometimes, I drive past my block on my way home, just so that I don’t have to face what’s waiting for me. That’s pretty damned sad.

I began to think about my life, and I wondered if I had made a difference, and I began to feel badly that all of my dreams basically were up in smoke, because I’m ill and am unable to do the things that I used to do. I’d wanted to make my career on the stage, and then retire to write the novel that would bring the world to tears. I began to wonder if I was ever going to be anything more than what I was, and it made me feel physically ill to think to myself, “Is this all that there is?”

I’m probably really tired right now, and I’m making excuses for my behavior. I’m usually the one who is trying really hard to inspire the masses. It’s hard to inspire when you feel like the air has been knocked out of your lungs. It’s hard to feel like you want to make others feel better when you feel like you are literally living in the toilet of Life. That’s where I feel like I am right now, and I’m not too thrilled with the surroundings. It makes it so much worse that I feel like Cinderella, every waking moment, and the only time that I get to myself is when I collapse in bed. Sometimes, I don’t even feel like getting up in the morning, because all I want to do is hide under the covers and hope they don’t find me.

Don’t get me wrong, my family helps on occasion. Note the phrase “on occasion”. Mama Bear does the lion’s share of work, and she’s pretty done with that scenario. Things, they gotta change.

Please don’t suggest any form of counseling for all of the family members. It was attempted, it failed, and it lasted an entire two sessions before all of the members decided that they “just didn’t need it”. This is the reason why I go to counseling alone; if I don’t go, once a week, to vent, I’m going to run my truck into a tree. When my therapist asked me today why I felt the need to continue counseling, this was the answer I should have given him. Instead, I offered a paltry, “I want to learn how to tolerate.” Really? I want more than to just tolerate people and situations. I want so much more from Life, and it’s frustrating as hell when you can’t get it because of people and situations and limitations and all of that nonsense that holds us down.

I promise that the next column will be a lot happier, but for now, this is all I’ve got. This flowed quite easily from my fingertips. It’s not complaints – it’s a cry for help. Because I have a caretaker’s personality, I do not know how not to care for those that are in my life. I don’t understand how to put myself first, because it is foreign to me. I don’t get how other people can do it, and can tell their family members to wait, to give them time, or better, tell them to do it themselves. I’ve tried this. It does not work. I have asked for help. I have asked members of my family to do things themselves. I have dealt with the temper tantrums, and the patterns never cease. It continues and never ends for me. It’s like this is all there is, and I’m pretty much sick of it.