Trying to Make Sense of It All

I’ve decided to blog my past year, in an effort to come to terms with what happened. I’ve been told that it will help, and that it is necessary, this Coming To Terms. My ramblings are primarily for my own benefit, because I still seem to doubt what has happened. I sometimes feel like I’m stuck in this parallel universe, where everything is wrong, and I’m madly tapping on the glass, to try to get someone to break me out of this awful place.

I’m told it will help, this concrete acknowledgement, so here goes…

It’s a year today that Thomas rang the doorbell, having had a spontaneous vomit in the car on his way to the shops. As I helped him clean himself up, I said “I’m taking you to the hospital.” And he said “I’ll let you take me to the GP tomorrow – that’s my compromise.”

We’d been living life, in all its ups and downs, but together – as a team – for nearly 2 decades. When we found termites had been dining on part of the house in March, he started having trouble sleeping. We thought it was due to worrying about the repairs that were needed, as well as his very busy work demands, and the sundry other good but time consuming things that make up a full family life. But he seemed to get into that vicious cycle of not sleeping, and then the next night worrying that he wouldn’t sleep, and so it became a self-fulfilling prophecy.

The termites were really just a bit of a blip – the house was immediately treated thoroughly, & we just had to wait for clearance to get the repairs done. Meanwhile, we started a major renovation of our front yard, and driveway – very expensive plans that had been in place for months. Which is why he rang the doorbell that day – the yard & garage were inaccessible. More stress, which we thought was perpetuating his sleep issues.

His ‘compromise’ had come on his own terms, after a couple of months of me, and our daughters (& later, his mother, & father) urging him to go get himself checked out. But, he’s a man – a gender known for their unwillingness to seek medical help; and he’s also a doctor – a Specialist Anaesthetist. Or Board Certified Anesthesiologist, if we lived in America. You can never tell a Specialist Doctor that they need to see a Family Practitioner. They’re above that.

But, a year ago today, he’d got up, just feeling the usual crappy tiredness after a poor night’s sleep, did the Barista Duties for us that he so enjoyed, & read the newspaper at the kitchen table as he drank his coffee. Then he went to the bathroom, & had a spontaneous vomit. He didn’t feel sick, but put it down to just feeling off due to chronic exhaustion and the reflux he’d developed recently, so he said he was going to lie down. A few hours later, feeling much better after a nap, he went to get the supplies for dinner, because he always cooked on Sunday nights.

He was gone less than 10 minutes, when the doorbell rang.

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