The Fear of Loneliness

Where to begin, where do these words go as I fling them out into the great unknown. Where am I coming from; my anxiety has now veered close to the territory of a fully fledged reactive depression. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not fully swamped by the dreary bland emptiness of depression, nor have I fully entered into despair,  more an air of despondency, accompanied by the return of random tear flow (my posts ‘A FruitfulMisery’  and the penultimate paragraph of ‘An Overshadowing of Events’ will put this into context).

I am so fortunate in having such a large number of DVDs and CDs to watch and listen to, as well as a modest vinyl album collection, to enjoy or be distracted by. I am also blessed with a large selection of books to browse (my stamina levels only allow for a quite limited period of serious reading) to inform and/or entertain myself but, unfortunately these compensate very little for the amount of time I spend overwhelmed by a sense of ‘aloneness’ -  loneliness not solitude.

My beloved OH, has had her operation (last Wednesday) and seems to be making good progress, according to reports from my step-daughters who have been visiting her at the LGI. It seems she will shortly be discharged from the hospital, but then the long recuperation means she will be spending the first part of this process with her elder daughter in a more appropriate environment than home with me. That’s where my sense of uselessness and failure kicks in.

An Overshadowing of Events

I’ve never really been one for planning; taking things as they come, with opportunities galore for spontaneity and improvisation, is more my favoured route. Sadly, things in the real world seem to be in conflict with my ideal and, planning becomes necessary when it comes to grocery provisions, especially so for festive celebrations. It is my good fortune that ma belle OH is the grocery shopper, especially so since I’ve found it difficult to cope with the sensory overload from any store other than the, now almost extinct species, corner shop.

As Christmas Day approached I got into the, unfavoured but necessary, routine of pre-preparing certain food items before the big day itself. I enjoy cooking the main meals but, tend to get a little stressed by these special occasions. At least there were no great numbers to prepare for, our elder daughter staying with us through Christmas Eve evening until Boxing Day late afternoon whilst the younger sibling was coming over at about 2.00pm, on the day itself, together with our grandson, following his mid-day nap.

The evening before Christmas Eve day I started experiencing very dramatic floaters in my right eye and, found myself stretching out to remove a soot covered cobweb from a corner of the loo. Of course neither the soot covering, nor the web itself, existed out there in the room but were rather hyper 3D-ised visions stemming from false retina readings. Shortly afterwards I started to have rather strident flashes of light appearing beside my right eye which I found quite disturbing. Christmas Eve morning, ma belle contacted my GPs surgery which arranged a call back from one of the doctors on duty that day.

A short while later, the ‘phone rang and ma belle OH passed the handset to me, at which point I was told about arrangements for the operation, with the sudden realization that this call was for my beloved. After months of waiting, they were now informing us that, all things going well, her aortic valve replacement would be taking place on 15 January. This news cast rather a shadow over subsequent proceedings as I am, to quite an extent, dependent upon Helen as my primary carer. At the same time, I gratefully acknowledge that the operation can give her a whole new quality of life, after several months recuperation from the cardiac surgery.

The next time the phone rang; a doctor from my local practice spoke to me and arranged for an appointment that afternoon. The doctor I saw gave my eyes a thorough examination and she put through a referral to the eye clinic at the District Hospital. A short while after arriving home, the phone rang once again; this time, the message was to inform me that an appointment with a doctor at the eye-clinic had been arranged for 10.00AM on Christmas Day. This was turning out to be an unusual Christmas Eve and Day, but having undergone a thorough examination at the hospital, I was back home in time to continue preparations for Christmas Dinner.

Ever since my wife’s cardiac surgery seemed quite imminent, last summer, I have once again succumbed to anxiety and depressive episodes, randomly tearful and unduly angry with people and events. When I saw a doctor about this experience in August, all she would suggest was CBT as she wanted me off all my medications, not adding something else. My anxiety intensified after that visit as the medications I am taking are for the heart, following a minor stroke, for long-term abdominal problems and for pain and restless leg control. As the operation date, for my beloved, is once again imminent, the anxieties have intensified so, yesterday afternoon, I saw a different doctor who is consulting with a pharmacist and the mental health team to see if there may be a suitable course of medication etc.

This afternoon I attended the opticians, for an overdue eye test, and have been referred to the cataract clinic with regard to my right eye. So, things are moving and I’m struggling on…

A Fruitful Misery

Seems like I have a permanent ticket for a roller-coaster ride, not that I particularly requested or enjoy the experience! The journey involves states of physical and emotional health, by which I mean health shortcomings.Just as I’m getting used to feeling a dose of well-being, random pains and discomfort have a habit of leaping out to chastise me; whatever task I’m managing at that particular time, a throbbing burning pain in wrists, a sharper pain in elbows or, the nagging hollow bruised, nausea inducing, discomfort in the armpits strikes, calling an immediate halt to whatever activity is in process. (By activity I mean something akin to reading a newspaper or magazine, or maybe surfing the web on tablet or laptop: it is indeed only on very rare occasions that any of these activities are permitted as prolonged a period as thirty-minutes!). An added joy is the Damoclean sword of permanently imminent, frequently occurring, gullet, stomach and colon flare-ups.

More recently, the familiar neurological ailments have been partnered with an unrelated depressive anxiety. Some days I find myself in sudden floods of tears, concerning love, beauty and transience, fearing being alone and upset at the brevity of human life, especially as I’m now in my mid-seventies and, have become increasingly in awe at the amazing interdependence of everything in the whole cycle of life and, that nothing is wasted in nature’s economy. The primary cause of my current bout of anxiety is related to concern about my beloved OH’s impending aortic heart valve replacement operation. The operation will be of four hours duration, followed by a couple of days in cardiac intensive care then, four or five more days in the hospital.

This will be the longest period that we have been apart since our wedding over nineteen years ago. Apart from being my wife, lover, companion, confidant and chauffeur, she has increasingly become my carer. Whilst she’s in the hospital I won’t be able to visit her, owing to travelling involved. Since the onset of my chronic illness (moderate Myalgic Encephalomyelitis) even the, less than two mile, trip into town can prove emotionally and physically overwhelming, but ma belle will be in a neighbouring city some eighteen miles away. My (step-)daughters have offered to take me but, the prospect of such a journey makes me realize that I’d be in no fit state to be a bedside visitor (as I’d have to anticipate the ordeal of the return run).

A sizeable bleeding rodent ulcer (presumed basal cell carcinoma) has in recent weeks become an additional irritant and, I will shortly be attending an appointment in the dermatology dept of the District Hospital. Oh, what joys we are all heir too!

A Breach of Composure

And suddenly the floodgates open, tears stream down my face and, I have to admit that I’ve slipped back into a state of (re-active) depression. A few references on a DVD to Christmas, and other (potentially harmless) mentions of future plans, supplied both trigger and detonator.

 

I cannot cope with planning on any scale; the stress of risking letting others down by not materializing (at the proposed event) almost outweighs the risk of social isolation by avoiding pre-planning. I’ve always preferred spontaneity to planning and, these days, I can only venture out to any function at such time that physical and emotional stamina levels permit.

 

For weeks now I’ve gone to bed wondering if I’ll still be around for my beloved; at other times, during the day I sometimes feel so washed out and painfully exhausted that I’m hoping and praying that I’ll still be alive when ma belle returns from work. I’m sure that the endless hours of restlessness and unrefreshing sleep does little to help the situation.

 

Randomly recurring chest pains, most probably related to my digestive problems, sometimes take on a terrifying aspect, especially when accompanied by a whirling light headed giddiness, racing pulse and sudden pallor. I’d never have believed that one could change from shivering to sweating and back in the course of a few minutes, without any changes having occurred in one’s immediate environs, were it not for my frequent experience of such a phenomenon.

 

A spastic colon and mild diverticular disease tend to optimize the de-energizing  effect of the other muscular discomforts; frequently having to rush to the loo at very short notice (uncertain as to whether it’s flatulence needing release or a more explosive expulsion of organic matter) leaves one with little opportunity to regain their composure.

and suddenly ... SLEEP

Had an appointment with a GP yesterday afternoon. The doctor was quite firmly of the opinion that I was experiencing a reactive depression, an understandable response / reaction to the debilitating neurologically rooted myalgia, and the accompanying lack of refreshing sleep, which has been my companion for such a prolonged period; she prescribed 15mg Mirtazapine to be taken at bed time.

If the first night's anything to go by they have a wonderful sedative effect and should, hopefully, help bring about a resolution of my sleep deprivation problems. Last night was one of those very rare experiences where I remember very little between putting my head down on the pillow (lateish Friday evening) and slowly, but somewhat groggily, emerging into mid to late morning (Saturday). 

I must admit that, at first, I felt somewhat as if I'd been sledgehammered; it took until mid-afternoon before I started to feel properly awake.

sometimes the sunny side goes face down

When one's horizon becomes restricted (by reasons of health) it can be quite remarkable how much more interest / detail can be found within the narrower constraints.

When the world is one's oyster it's far too easy to overlook / ignore the pearl (one so easily overlooks that which in other circumstances would be considered of greatest import); when one's scope / potential is more restricted even the most common routine or occurrence can become a pearl of great price!

Since 2003, my year of collapses, and succumbing to myalgic encephalomyelitis, I have gradually learned to appreciate much more of the minutiae of daily experience. A walk into the garden can be as refreshing as a holiday away, the garden itself provides such a wealth of (primarily pleasurable) sensory experience which, fortunately, is not of the overloading variety such as that proffered by a visit to a supermarket, cinema, or town centre store.

The pleasure, that it’s possible to receive in abundance from the commonplace, isn’t always sufficient to stave off an emotionally draining intensity of frustration with the inescapable limits to one’s socializing horizon. It not infrequently feels as if a degree of re-active depression is lurking in the shallows, rather than the depths, of one’s psyche!

and today the tears

And today is the day the tears start flowing. Suddenly, for no apparent reason, a tingling around the eyes and a sense of melancholy. I brush the tears aside, take my courage in both hands (and legs) decide to try a little walk up the road. For the last couple of days such efforts have proved abortive but, it's worth a try; anything's worth a try just in an attempt to overcome this randomly imposed suffocating sense of isolation.

I suspect that the antibiotics, prescribed on Saturday, are having an adverse effect on my already bothersome intestines; even attempting to consume a hot beverage seems like a (time) trial (of the how long before I start feeling nauseous variety). Yesterday seemed somewhat better than the previous day, less of the floatingly giddy light-headedness and, managing infrequent snacks as and when the desire arose. So, things are improving but, after a better night's rest, I've sunk into this pit of moroseness. As I write this, I'm laughing at my pitiful self; in attempting to express how despairingly low I'd started to feel my spirits are somehow lifted.

I'm sure some of the cause is the waiting game, waiting for the gastroscopy and then for the results, awaiting notification of when I'll be in to have the rodent ulcer excised but, most importantly, like a BP CEO I'm wondering when I'll get my life back! The fact that I've scarcely enjoyed a really restful nights sleep, since my overnight hospitalization five weeks ago, certainly doesn't help.

Anyway, I set off for my brief walk and met an old friend. Immediately the "how are you" question was asked the tear ducts shifted into overflow mode and, I had no option but to amble back home. Called my beloved on the telephone, as she was putting in a few extra hours at work - Wednesday being her usual day off - and thankfully she just finished off her current task in hand and headed homewards. Ma belle has arranged, and will be chauffering me to, an appointment at my GP's this afternoon. I feel as if a bit of reactive depression is setting in, a response to the sundry ailments, and probable reactions to medication, that have beset me over the past several weeks.

At least with ma belle by my side, and the old faithful walking stick in my other hand, I gathered the confidence to stroll up to the local shops, the furthest I've ventured for the past few days, without feeling too overawed by the entailed exertion.

Tomorrow my physio is due to visit me to administer the therapeutic needles and, I'm hoping that will aid the relaxation process both physically and mentally.

Salt Flow

Just when things can’t get any worse, somehow they manage it; Wednesday’s crash (KERRR ..AAAA…SSSH!) was followed by an even greater slump on Thursday. Serially interrupted sleep seems to do little for one’s morale or physical well-being; the emotions make an overt display, this time in the form of tears, not just the odd sob but torrents of salty liquid.

At times weeping can feel quite therapeutic, a sense of having freed ones-self of a deep rooted, repressed, aching frustration but, just as I began to feel more secure, the least little incident opened the floodgates once more (e.g. an inability to accept a phone call). This time I feel that there’s more than a hint of depression to the frustration, and yet in my daily routine I feel that (subject to omnipresent limitations) I have a most positive relationship with the universe. That recent sense of dis-ease with which I occupy my own skin is the only alienating factor – objectively I (subjectively) love life, and everything it throws at me, challenges and pleasures each finding a fit place; all that’s really required is a healthier bearer (body) of my bundle of sensations.

That’s the really odd thing about depression, it bears little resemblance to self-pitying sadness; no matter how much one tries to rationalize this cloud (as to its cause) one is never able to get to the core of the matter. Much of the time I’m completely unaware of its lurking presence.

One is depressed in spite of ones-self, not because of!