An excerpt from my book, One Arm One Leg 100 Words, Overcoming Unbelievable Hardships.
Anger, Part 2:
In fact, it might have actually even been therapeutic for her to vent like that. I didn’t really know if it was or not. I just knew that I had to try harder not to let our next conversation get out of hand again. In my own defense, however, the conversations that we were having were necessary ones. They usually involved changes that needed to be implemented. I would give her my reasons, but she typically didn’t agree and couldn’t articulate why. When I would sense that she was heading towards another emotional outburst, I would stop the conversation, and change the topic. However, that did not work most of the time.
Imagine trying to discuss something very important with someone and not being able to say a word. Then knowing by your silence that you were going to lose something very valuable. You felt you were losing it because you were not able to state your case or speak your mind. Then to be told that we were not going to discuss this anymore because, “you are getting upset and you can’t be understood.” If that isn’t hell, then I don’t know what is. They say (whoever they are), that the only thing that separates us from the animals is our ability to speak and communicate with each other. In a way, a part of her humanity was taken away, and she was very upset about it.
One way that I attempted to survive those difficult days was to travel on some weekends to my cousin’s and uncle’s homes that were located in different states. I hadn’t seen any of them in years, and it was a special treat for me to get away from my reality and share my feelings with safe people who were not a part of my situation back home. Charlene needed the break away from me also. She was naturally self-absorbed into her own problems. For her, no one else’s problems were more important than her own. This is normal behavior for a stroke survivor.
Back home when Charlene would attend her stroke support group, I would also attend my caregiver’s support group. It was there I learned that I needed to take care of myself in order to take care of my wife. The caregivers would meet in one room and the survivors would meet in another room. Both groups would complain about each other’s group and would share their horror stories with anyone who would listen.
I remember back in those days that Charlene and I would often get into angry shouting matches with each other as our patience would wear thin. I am so thankful that those days are long gone and we now finally like each other once again.