and this is why I stay close to home

After a long and busy day today, I took a nap. Upon awakening at 9 PM I decided to make some supper. Lisa said that she wanted some too.

I baked a frozen pizza and, when I took her a slice, she was sound asleep. Snoring. I woke her up and asked if she was still hungry. She said yes and seemed to wake up.

After a time I checked on her; she was sound asleep with a mouthful of food. I repeatedly wakened her - practically begged her - to finish chewing and swallow since, should she snore deeply (as she tends to do), she could easily aspirate a significant amount of food and choke. I emphasized the choking hazard and she volunteered to come out to the living room to finish her dinner.

She often has trouble sleeping; last night was no exception. After a few hours of fitful semi-sleep, she arose at 3 AM and stayed awake until 10 PM tonight. The extreme fatigue had magnified her chronic pain and, as I napped this afternoon, she took an extra pain pill or two.

She did come out to the living room but never finished that slice of pizza. After an hour I confiscated it and sent her back to bed, where she sat on the edge for a while as I entreated her several times to lie down, lest she fall over and knock her head on something.

Usually she is fine, normal, nothing like this. There was a time, only a year or so ago, when such occurrences were much more common; that is why her physician designated me as a 24/7 caretaker - a designation I still hold and am often called upon to exercise.

She used to get up in the middle of the night in a narcotic stupor and make a terrible mess of the kitchen, or fall down and hurt herself, or even teeter off of the commode and bruise herself. She even broke her own nose once.

A year ago she significantly reduced her consumption of prescription pain meds. By "reduced" I mean she cut the dosage by 90%. After that she stopped nodding off, even at bedtime. She is also on an antidiabetic drug so she doesn't get dizzy spells and fall anymore.

She rarely burns herself with dropped cigarettes, and likewise no longer needs to have towels arranged around her side of the bed to collect spilled beverages.

Of late my duties have been less pressing and it looked like I could at least get away with part-time work. That is, more consistent part-time work than the occasional temp contracts I have been getting.

Unfortunately "bad days" still occur sometimes - and unpredictably. I don't usually fret too much anymore when I have to leave the house for an hour or so, but when I have worked full days or nights I worried a lot. Usually everything is OK; I come home to find that she has been busy cleaning and arranging things. We begin to take the optimistic view that things are getting better. And they are! But better is not perfect, and it is the unpredictability that is so frustrating.

The unpredictability of her condition(s) make it impossible for me to even consider full-time employment. The last time I worked for three days straight, the day-to-day stress, even after such a short time, was intolerable. I didn't notice until after it was over, but it was winding me up like a spring, ready to break. Of course that is what working people have to deal with.

For most of my life I worked a lot - 15 years at my first company - and I honestly don't know how I endured; oh, wait, yes I do. I drank like a fish.

Sure, there were three years of full-time work (with plenty of overtime) after I sobered up in 2000, but I was absolutely alone then. Nobody depended on me for anything except child support payments that came straight out of my check. A very low-stress situation. It didn't matter if the dishes weren't done, no food was in the house, everything was dirty. All my bills were paid and I had all the big-boy toys I wanted. I paid a guy to take care of the yard. My commute was five minutes by bicycle. Life was great. It was easy to be sober, for a long time.

It is easy today too. Most of the time. But I have so much more in my life now - Lisa, a house, a car, managing a household on a limited budget - starting over from the beginning. I'm not alone in this, but I do have the dubious distinction of having been diagnosed by far too many doctors as being psychologically unwell. Essentially, it is a lot of work for me to be anything like normal. Mom used to chide me for being a "hermit", and she was really on to something. I lived like a hermit when I was sober the first time. I am still that way as much as possible, even though I am hardly alone. Lisa finds that very frustrating and I feel bad about that, but I get touchy if I don't get enough alone time.

I've been told by professionals that I would have had a pretty good chance at getting psych disability payments. I certainly don't feel able to handle the world. Hell, I couldn't even get myself in gear to try for disability. I still haven't been able to get closer to the new neighbors, either. Lisa likes them, and the guy came over here to talk to me this morning, offering to lend me yard work tools. It just about freaked me out. As soon as Lisa showed up, I bolted. (In my defense, I was actually in the middle of something. But it wasn't exactly urgent.)

Looks like I ought to be contacting the psych docs again. I may be useless, but I'd rather be happy and useless than freaked out and useless.