PTSD Land

It's the decisions that haunt me.  After 4 months (or 30 years) of holding Sam's life in the palm of my hand, I'm worn out.  Today is the third day in a row that he didn't need oxygen during the day.  Progress or blip?  Ask me tomorrow.

Today I can't make up my mind about anything.  Brush my teeth, get dressed, take pills, make tea?  What should I do first?  Every decision seems like a life and death decision and I'm tired of making life and death decisions.  Sam woke up and then I knew what to do, feed him, give him meds, dress him, change him, give him treatments, entertain him.

But I when I went to the kitchen to get another Ensure, I found myself doubled over and crying.  Whenever I wasn't needed to take care of Sam today, I'd put on Sesame Street and go to the bedroom and cry.  I still couldn't decide anything.  So by the time Charley came home I was wearing underwear, a tee-shirt and pajama bottoms.  I had made tea, but had only eaten stuff around the house that didn't need cooking.  (string cheese, cuties, tea and cookies)

I turned Sam over to him and went back to bed for more sobbing.

I often fall apart once the crisis is over.  Maybe that's what this is.  How do I tell?  Charley suggested I go for a walk, but that means deciding where I want to go.  I can't deal with that either.  I went to the basement and found a pair of pants.

"Clinical depression or recovery?" Charley asks when I come upstairs.  I don't know the answer.  "Go outside," he commands.

It feels better outside in the sunshine.  It really does.  I see neighbors, I see green.  The sun is setting in my eyes.  I form a plan.  I will go someplace, drink tea and knit.  I pass several restaurants because it doesn't feel like I've walked far enough.

A new nail salon has opened up since the last time I left the house.  15% off Grand Opening Special.  Ok.  Manicure and pedicure.  Still a lot of decisions, but I make them without too much difficulty.
Color?
Round or square?
Toe nails bare or colored?

I make the decisions.  I sit in the chair and it massages my back.  The man cleans my feet, and massages my legs.  I go for bare toenails.  I knit while he works on my feet.  It gets easier.

Then I went into Mr. Gee's for a salad.  More tough decisions.  With chicken or plain?  For here or to go?  The place is filled with police officers.  This is reassuring.  Probably no one will die if I make the wrong choice - that's what police are for, right?  Large Greek Salad WITH chicken to go.  AND an iced tea.  Large.  Heh.  I can do this.

A day of sobbing, and an hour outside with a manicure and some progress on my knitting.  I make a decision: This is Recovery.  I need to collapse for a bit before I can go on.  But I will go on.