Wednesday, December 26, 2012

He Would Not Let Me Go

This post was difficult to write and describes one of the darkest moments of my life.  If it wasn't for my husband I doubt I would be sitting here today sharing these words with you.
 

Hot metal spikes stab deep into my cheek bone with the force of a pneumatic drill.  Meat hooks tear at my flesh and the weight of the large rotting carcass they carry suddenly overpowers me.  My whole world is turned upside down as though Quentin Tarantino and Roald Dahl have cast me in a sinister version of 'The Twits'.
 
In this altered state of reality everything appears normal but is anything but.  Badly furnished doctors’ offices become the norm where the ticking of the clock is always too loud and time takes on the appearance of a bad car wreck.  The waiting is almost as unbearable as the pain.
 
While my house begins to resemble a small pharmacy, and the list of side effects I experience reads like a bad novel, I acknowledge that now is not the time to be an anomaly.
 
Blood work and tests, CT scans and MRI's, surgery and acupuncture . . . . . nothing alleviates the pain and I feel the blackness closing in, trapping me in some kind of living hell.
 
Days turn into weeks, weeks roll into months and the sofa becomes my life raft.  I cling to it desperately . . . . . sleep my only respite.
 
For over a year his grip remained strong.  Even as my fingers weakened and I began to lose all hope his determination never faltered . . . holding on . . . holding the two of us, knowing that if he could keep going we'd find a way through.
 
Misdiagnosis after misdiagnosis eventually led them to a label . . . . 'Atypical Facial Neuralgia' also commonly referred to as the 'Suicide Disease'.  Not that giving it a name helped.
 
Every direction I took I faced yet another road block and the blackness continued to close in. Not the comforting black of a night sky but a thick dark all consuming black that wrapped its gnarly fingers around me, choking the air from my lungs and plunging me into depths I'd only ever heard about in hushed whispers.
 
The person I was no longer existed.  No thoughts.  No feelings.  Just excruciating pain and whether I had the strength to make it through one more minute.
 
With no obvious way through I wanted out and so I began to let go . . .  to release my grip.  First one finger, then another but I could hear something in the distance.  It was a voice.  It was his voice telling me "you are strong”, "you are the brave".
 
I was slipping, slipping, slipping.  My fingernails bloody and broken from trying to claw my way back . . . my muscles tired and weak from the long fight.  Every fiber of my being wanted to let go but that voice was like a niggle that I just couldn't shake.
 
Then up ahead I saw a flash of light. Not in the aaaaaah, singing angels kind of way but more a twinkle of light that you know deep down holds the promise of hope.  Moving towards it I held my hand to my eyes, shielding them from the sudden brightness and there he was saying "you are strong", "you are bravest person I know".  What he didn't realize was that it was his own strength and his own bravery that saved me.
 
Cross-posted over at Jason's blog 'Love Letters & Suicide Notes'.

19 comments:

  1. Is there any relief at this point? Has there been any diagnosis that you can believe?

    Big, huge hugs from Nebraska.

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    1. It took a year and a half but I finally found a drug combo that helped. It doesn't take the pain away completely but at least now its manageable and feels like a constant ache rather than searing pain. It does get worse when a storm rolls through and the pressure changes but nothing like it was at its worst. No-one really knows what causes it or how long it will last so it's about taking each day as it comes.

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  2. Oh Kathryn, this made me cry. I'm so sorry for the pain, and so grateful that he held onto you, and that you held on too, even when you didn't want to. You are strong and brave, brave and strong.

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    1. Lisa, I'm sorry I made you cry. It's only now that I have some distance from the worst of it that I felt able to write the words. I thought about leaving them inside but for some reason I needed to get them out. To acknowledge the journey, the pain, the love . . . all of it. I was also inspired by others who have shared some of their most painful experiences on Jason's blog (including Jason himself). They were brave in sharing their stories and they gave me the courage to write my own.

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    2. I'm so glad you wrote this. Very brave. And I'm glad you are coming through the other side. xo

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  3. Hi K,

    I truly understand both the pain and the challenge of writing this piece, which you did beautifully.

    If my Hubby wasn't as strong as he is I do not know how I would get thru my life either :)

    So, glad you were able to find a drug combo and a diagnoses, sometimes having a name just helps explaining stuff to others.

    Stay strong, cheers, T. :)

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  4. I'm so sorry for what you are enduring. Sending healing vibes ~~~ your way and ((((hugs)))). So glad that you have a good man there. Love makes all the difference.
    Stay inspired!
    Michelle

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  5. Hi,

    A very moving piece. I was completely caught up in it the entire time. I am sorry for your struggle. I can only imagine how difficult it has been for you. I am glad Bryan was there for you holding on.

    Kristi

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    1. Thanks Kristi, he's the best. Don't know what I'd do without him. x

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  6. I left you a comment over at Jason's place, sending hugs to you, so glad the worst seems to be behind you.

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  7. Love you Kathryn, this made my cry, just knowing that my brother helped you so much, and that you are doing better. We all love you and miss you!!

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  8. An amazing and heart-rending tale. You are a very lucky woman, to have such support and love to carry you through this extremely difficult journey. I am glad you have found some relief from the very worst of it.

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    1. Thanks Brenda, I wouldn't wish that kind of pain on anyone. I have an amazing husband, definitely picked a good one.

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  9. Kathryn. I want to commend you on showing up here and sharing your truth onto the page. Beautiful and heartbreaking. I am so happy that he was there for you, cheering you on, supporting you, and showering you with love, not letting you go. xoxo

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  10. Griping. Tears. Thinking of you, your courage and the love that supports you.

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  11. Oh Kathryn....this is so gut wrenching and honest and painful and the words are piercing...even to me...even though I didn't experience this pain. I'm so thankful that you have such a wonderful husband that was able to help you through this and I am so thankful you were able to claw your way back from this horrible "thing"....love you to pieces my friend!! xo

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  12. Reading this a second time - here - it is equally compelling..and beautiful - in the way you describe the pain and in your courage to get thru and over to the other side of it. Beautiful writing!!
    Wishing you and yours all the best for the up and coming new year. A happy..and a healthy!!!

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    1. Thank you Marcie, wishing you and your family a happy and healthy new year too. Hugs x

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  13. I can't imagine the suffering you endure Kathryn, but your husband and your creativity seem to be your saving graces... I wish you and your family a much happier and healthier New Year.

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