This is going to be a very sensitive post and while I hope I don't hurt too many feelings, I need to get things out.
What I need from recovery is:
Someone to take care of my child, entertain her, bathe her and put her to bed every night. When she is screaming wild I need someone to take her outside and run off her steam, or simply take her to the grocery store to give me some peace.
A clean sink so I can fill up my Brita container and have fresh water to take my meds. When I pull an empty Brita out of the fridge at 2:00 in the morning and cannot fill it due to three nights worth of dirty dishes, I get sad and frustrated. I scrubbed the dishes myself and put them in the dishwasher and hurt myself.
Someone to feed my cats every single morning. If everyone sleeps in and the cats don't get fed they come scratching for me. I am unable to bend down and feed the cats. I tried and hurt myself. One morning while I opened the fridge to grab some yogurt one of the kitties climbed up my bare legs and scratched my chest. He hadn't been fed and was looking for food. I screamed and bled like hell.
Someone to rub my back. The doctor said I had some fluids in my lungs and while I was doing a good job of coughing things up, he wanted someone to rub my back to keep things loose.
Instead of the above stated help I got a whole lot of fights last weekend. My mom was sick and in bed 24/7 so she was unable to provide any assistance. I knew she had pneumonia and despite Matt and I begging her to go to the doctor she refused and just stayed sick. My fears of catching her illness quickly turned to major anxiety.
My niece was completely over her head taking care of two children. She didn't have the experience to juggle the two and sad to say Cha and the housekeeping took a distant third.
My husband continued to work 50 hours a week and came home pissed every night that the house was a mess, Cha was too wild and everyone in the house got to nap all day but him. He took his anger out on me. If I asked him to do something he would say no, that I had to ask Regina. I asked him to rub my back and he said he was too busy playing his video game. He thought it was a valid excuse since he worked all day and needed to wind down somehow. One morning Cha woke up at 5:00 am. Matt carried her downstairs and put her on the couch next to me then went back upstairs to go back to sleep. I was in no condition to take care of a 2 year old and felt so betrayed that he expected me to, so I just cried.
It was an angry and stress filled house. The visiting nurse made mention of it Sunday morning when she came to check up on me. It took all I had not to cry because I was at the end of my rope. Everyone was mad and no one was taking care of me. I was preparing my own meals, showering on my own, changing my own dressing, emptying my drains and cleaning up the house.
Sunday afternoon MIL left a voicemail saying that she wanted to stop by that night if it was okay. I told Matt that I wasn't feeling well and wasn't up for visitors. He got angry and said I had no right to tell him that he couldn't have his parents over.
While they were there my temp jumped to 101 and then finally 102. After they left I called my doctor and he told me to get to the ER immediately.
They settled me in for the night and the next morning I started all the testing. It was during one of the tests that I started breaking down. I just couldn't hold it together anymore and asked someone to call my shrink. He was on the phone in less than a half hour and we talked for a bit. It was during this discussion that I admitted that it was too much for me and I was beginning to feel like I just didn't want to keep trying anymore. I was in the most pain I've ever experienced and every day felt like a huge fight, but I couldn't see the pay off. Why was I trying so hard for such a shitty homelife?
When Dr. M2 got off the phone with me he did the only thing he could do, he called my nurses and instructed them to put me on a suicide watch. I was placed on one-on-one which meant that I was not allowed to be alone. Several doctors came in to talk to me and the nurses were extra sensitive. I was told that when I was released I might either have to find another place to stay or that Matt would, until we get things figured out. All I knew was that I needed someone to help me recover and that I couldn't do it on my own.
I was taken off suicide watch after two days. I never seriously wanted to hurt myself. I stopped taking my anti-depressants the day of my surgery and hadn't gone back on them, so I think that might help to explain things.
This is a long personal journey and it's true that unless you've walked in these shoes you have no clue what it's like. And I'm sure it's different from woman to woman too.
Thanks for reading.