The Machinery

 

Kevin Noble on Unsplash

Yesterday began horribly but ended well.  The wellness was in part a result of having a good, long reality conversation with one wonderful, pragmatic friend and some supportive texts from another.  More help came from my terrific grief therapist, with whom I fortuitously had an appointment yesterday.  She reminded me of the reality that my body is material.  It is a system that works like a machine, but is not a machine.  And my brain is part of that system.  In other words, my body/brain is like a machine and it can reach a point where there's no more oil on the cogs, no more charge in the battery.  That I PHYSICALLY need to step back and not push on.  To soldier on when the gears are grinding and the tires are flat is to risk damaging the machine.

She told me that when I get that run down, I can ask myself what I must do and then not worry about the rest.

So my machine went into damage mode yesterday.  It didn't help that I'd watched my way through two seasons of a brilliant but ultimately deeply despairing series called The Unforgotten. A narrative with strong editing and visuals can usually get in my brain and this was far too powerful for me to reject.  Centered around a deeply wounded performance by the great Nicola Walker, this police procedural offered me much to feel depressed about.  Brilliant work but not so much for me right now!

Really, what I need is having a cute young fellow like Andrew Rannells come knocking at my door., saying "Hello" 

Part of what happens when I got into damage mode is the negative self-assessments start pouring in.  They are part of a dialectic with my experience of being alone and not alone, with my best friend-who-is-dying and yet so much of him is gone so I'm not with him.  He's here, not here.  I'm here, not here.  Although I no longer truly want to injure myself, the images pound through my head, reminding me of how quickly the physical pain of knuckles hitting the wall or the knife slicing the skin can erase the mental pain.  Thus, it's  helpful for me to say out loud that I don't want to hurt myself in argument with the images in my head. 

My good friend Stacey (Hi Stacey) helps me when my fantasies of self-hate spiral out of control by settling me back into reality.  "What's the real time data?" as therapist Sarah says.  Ultimately, we are all alone so part of what's happening to me is that I'm learning to deal with that existential reality as I wait for my best friend to die.

Hello!

 Hello! 

 

Screen Grab, 2012 Tony Awards

 

Shit

 Four years ago before I knew who I would be now, I thought that I would never be willing to wipe shit off the floor and wipe his ass.  

And I was lousy at predicting my strength.

New Stage

 We're getting closer to the end.

He's now 124 lbs.  His eating is down to hard candy and juice.  He will take a bite of a cookie or popcorn, two former favorites, and then leave the rest.

Hospice Nurse Karen came on Thursday and said that we're in a new stage.  She told me about her plan - that as he gets closer to moving out of this world into the next, she will up her visits to twice a week and then the last week will be with me every day.

I would prefer that he just drop dead in his tracks rather than face the long, slow, death by starvation, but I'm ready for whatever happens.

I am strong, I am invincible, I am a non-bionary person (of a certain age hold that note.....!)

So.  Keeping ahold of my sense of humor and doing some yardwork today as it will only be up to 88 degrees today.

Leaving you with a cooling sea shanty.

 

FUCK GRIEF IN THE ASS

https://www.fireengineering.com/commentary/drawn-by-fire-gallows-humor/#gref

Our beloved dog and my co-carer Birdy couldn't stand up the last Saturday of June and I wound up having to put her down.  A week of knee shaking, nausea-producing grief ensued until I got her ashes and streamed a live service for her on Facebook.

Last week Will was down to 125 pounds.  This morning he was wandery and as always in the morning, partially there and partially not.  He has been incontinent in bed a couple of times and that's new for him, having a really big piss in the bed and not being able to get to the bathroom.  Also some fecal incontinence.  He's very thin and wobbly and still saying that he is okay and refusing to use his walker.

Last week, as I told my friends Bill and Dave, I just decided to "fuck grief in the ass" and see friends and  not hurt so much.  I'm trying to hold onto that -- trying to hold onto my dark humor.

Thank God, literally, that our church opened back up for in person 8:00 am services on July 4th.