Please don't leave me: that time I almost died. #Medicationreaction #Relationships
One night, about two years ago, I went to bed. Nothing unusual about it, just my normal routine.
But about an hour after falling asleep, I went into respiratory distress.
If my mom hadn't still been awake, I wouldn't be here. If my Bud hadn't given me such agressive CPR, I wouldn't be here.
I didn't feel a thing. I woke up, hours later, in the emergency room to someone trying to do a catheter. Understandably, I thought I'd been human trafficked, as all that registered was really bright lights, the fact that my underwear were missing, and someone I didn't know was poking around down there.
I was angry that someone had the nerve to wake me up. Both my mom and my Bud said they heard me down the hall screeching at some poor nurse and that's how they knew I was going to be fine.
My Bud practically beat "please don't leave me" into my skin. I couldn't talk above a whisper for over a week and had to wear a neck brace. Because of how hard he tried to save me.
On days like today, I try to keep that in my mind. As I've mentioned before, we've just moved into a new house. A home that my Bud purchased and I have no legal ties to. That's something that bothers me a lot, even though it makes financial sense, as I don't have an income.
However, I can't help but feel like a prisoner in my own home sometimes. Like when the unpacking process isn't fast enough for him. He's a neat freak, a control freak, and a huge minimalist. I'm not a hoarder or a dirty person, but I can only do so much because of my illness. It takes me longer to do things.
I'm gradually improving. I brush my teeth on a mostly regular schedule again. I shower several times a week and soak in epsom salt. I still struggle with unrelenting fatigue, constant unmanaged pain, and basically all "normal" functions. I still have days where I'm completely useless because getting well is a process and Rome wasn't built in a day.
On days like today, I have to be alone, because all I'm thinking is, "But it burned down in one."
I have to remember how he kept me alive. That he was so scared of losing me, he put all his strength into pumping "please don't leave me" into my very bones.
I have to remember when he complains about my boxes not being unpacked. I want to walk out the door with all my stuff that bothers him so much, and never come back. I want him to know that even though he saved my life, he can live in this house all by himself if he's going to be insensitive and unreasonable.
"Please don't leave me." I wonder if that's what he was pressing into my lungs, or was it some ulterior motive?
I want to go back to sleep. I don't want to say or do something I'll regret.
He's by no means perfect, but he tries, and that's what matters most to me.
We're all flawed. I wish he was as patient with me as I always have been with him.
Our roles used to be completely reversed, but I don't get credit for my past actions.
"Please don't leave me."
Then act like you want me to stay.