But Monday Was So Perfect

I would like to thank Erin from Luck and Bliss for mentioning me on her blog. I am touched that she felt like sharing our story with her readers. When I saw her post about us yesterday I was motivated to do a really positive update. I had just dropped Jay off at the hospital for his second day in outpatient care. I had straightened up my house and felt pretty on top of things. Jay had seemed so good. He had presented one of his breathing tics the night before but other than that it seemed like we were at the beginning of recovery.

So I began my post by blathering on about the night before. I was going to talk about how he had wanted to go to a public place again, to walk around and get himself back into circulation. Then how we had gone to a small flea market and he had appeared nervous at every turn. I was going to say how he had wanted to pump gas but had forgotten how to use the debit machine at the pump. Then I thought I'd throw in how when we had gotten home he had taken his shoes off and sat them on the dining room table. I was also going to bring up that he was bathing a ridiculous amount. He had been taking three to five baths a day since he came home from deployment. But then I was going to wrap it up that these were just little quirks that we could move past. After all lots of people get skittish in public places. And he could forget how to do simple every day things, he hadn't pumped gas in a very long time. Shoes on the table? A silly little mistake. Five baths a day just means he likes to be clean. But before I could finish my post it was time to go pick Jay back up from the hospital. I would have to come back to the computer later.

Later would prove to be pretty awful and that positive update I wanted to share will have to wait. Because those quirks from the night before weren't quirks at all but warning signals that I refused to see. I had wanted him to be well so badly that I was going to ignore every oddity. It was just a replay of what had happened when he first came home from Afghanistan. Things had seemed fine at first but in a moment everything shattered. Yesterday afternoon we were joking with each other and flirting and making naughty plans for after Rush's bedtime. Then before I knew it, he was angry and throwing things around in his garage.

Since I am shielded by anonymity I will speak freely. Jay and I had a little conversation earlier about what he wanted me to wear to bed that night. He suggested little bitty short shorts. Short-shorts barely flatter teenage girls. I'm 34 and have three kids. There is little hope for me looking anything other than pitiful in short-shorts. He kept asking, like husbands do. I kept saying no, like wives do. He then said, "Just tell me what you want ME to wear and I'll wear it!" Sounds like a man, doesn't it? I had to explain to him that I didn't need for him to dress up and that even if I did, he would look good from every angle because he isn't cursed with cellulite and all the other nastiness that comes with bringing three people into the world. I said, "In order for this to be comparable I would have to ask you to do something that took you so far out of your comfort zone that you would rather poke your eye out with a pencil than do what I have asked." He went quiet, then walked away.

I thought that we had just had some friendly, flirty banter. No voices were raised. There was no hateful sarcasm. He was simply asking for something and I was coyly saying no because I'm uncomfortable with my body. This isn't an unusual conversation in a marriage. We have a wonderful life in the bedroom. I am open to lots of things. But leave my thighs out of it please. That's all.

When I had gone out to his garage and saw that he was throwing things around a bit and cussing for what seemed like no reason I knew that things had shifted. I stepped inside the house to help Rush get setup with an activity so that I could talk with Jay about what was going on. I returned to the garage and saw my husband sitting in his chair with his head between his knees just sobbing. This was the first time I had seen him cry since he got home a month ago. I thought that maybe the emotional stress from dealing with this disorder every day had gotten to him. I thought maybe he was upset that he didn't understand why this was happening to him. I'm a chick. I understand just needing to cry. I knelt down on the floor and put my arms around him and let him weep. I rubbed his back. I kissed his cheek. I thought to myself, "this is good, let him get it all out."

He probably WAS crying for all those reasons. But they were background reasons. What started the tears was my rejection of him. When I had said that I didn't want to wear short-shorts he didn't hear the friendly, flirty banter. He heard "I would rather poke out my eye than do that for you." I know that he's been misunderstanding a lot of what people have been saying this past month. I've noticed a lot of times where he has been quick to jump to the conclusion that someone is being hateful or is out to get him when this has never been the case. Now it was happening to me. He had taken what I had said and processed it completely differently from what I had actually meant. I did my best to clean up my mess. I didn't get defensive or upset. I gave him nothing but gentle patience. Despite his acceptance of my explanations, it ended up not being enough.

When he first came home from deployment I wrote that I felt that it was a horrible storm that shook Jay and started his breakdown. This time it appears that short-shorts were the catalyst for what appears to be another round. Last night the tics came out full force; the erratic breathing, the facial twitches, the wobbly, marionette-legs. It was all back and I couldn't stop it. I just wanted to scream out. He had only been home for three days. Three days.

I'm hopeful that lack of sleep is playing a big part of this. Just like before his hospitalization he had stopped sleeping for more than an hour at a time. And just like before, last night I had to follow him around so that he didn't set himself on fire because he would drift off while smoking. I had to watch him in the tub because he would nod off and slide down into the water. Finally, he gave in around 11:30pm and I felt that I could close my eyes. When I woke up this morning I realized that in the night he had gotten up and fixed himself four pop-tarts, a bowl of cereal, had eaten a package of cheese, and had taken another bath!! I noticed that stuff was out of place. He had crumpled up a clean uniform and thrown half of it in front of the washing machine. He doesn't even wear a uniform right now and my husband never even kind of puts dirty clothes away. Getting clothes (all be it clean ones) that close to the washing machine is completely out of character. When I asked him what had happened in the night he couldn't remember any of it.

I'm scared. I'm afraid that I can never turn my back on Jay again. I'm terrified that this is how we will have to live from now on. I'm also terrified that when he is in therapy today they will not let him come back home. I'm expecting to get a phone call telling me to bring him his things. He has a four day weekend. No therapy, no expectations, no place to be for four whole days. It starts tomorrow. If I can just get him home this afternoon, I can hope that he will get some rest and that everything will be fine again.

What kind of woman wishes that her husband doesn't get the care he needs? A woman in denial, I guess.