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- Member
Wed Mar 10, 2010 11:57 pm
I lost the love of my life last October. We had no children, so 'tis just me and the dog now. We had been together for 23 years and he is totally, completely and utterly irreplaceable. I miss him so much and feel so tired all the time. I find myself sobbing my heart out at some stage on most days. It seems anything can set me off. I know I have to move on but just can't see how. I have no enthusiasm for it at all. I'll be 52 on Friday and I feel about 72.
At 48 he was diagnosed with Type 2 diabetes, but was on insulin immediately, got kidney failure at 66 and after a false start with peritoneal dialysis, where he got peritonitis and very nearly died, ended up on haemodialysis, then the lazer treatment he had been having for three years for diabetic retinopathy was stopped and we were told no more could be done so he went blind, he had sleep apnoea and eventually had a stroke in 2002, had a fall in hospital two days later and broke his hip, so got very little in the way of physio and ended up in a wheelchair. He survived several bouts of pneumonia involving late night early morning 999 calls and hospitalisation and had to have emergency angioplasty after my pleas to the doctors to investigate after his toes went black in hospital were ignored and he was discharged.
I had an ongoing battle with social services to keep him at home from day 1, and to get enough care for me not to lose my full time final salary pensionable job. I failed, had a sort of mini breakdown and 18 months off work, but did manage to hang on to 15 hours worth a week work which I still have. Got care drip fed after three years. (It is my house and I was/am responsible for all the bills, so I had to work even though it meant no Carers Allownce of course). Never got enough care to cover any night shifts of course, so I have been cat napping for the last 8 years and on the go all day as I was working when the carers were here.
In September he decided that he had had enough of long days travelling to hospital for dialysis there times a week, he wanted a life he said. He didn't want to die in hospital or alone, so he stayed at home with someone holding his hand day and night. He went straight to bed, stopped speaking after four days, moving after five and died on day 6, which was a blessing as it could have taken a lot longer. At least I was there and holding his hand as I had promised.
I still have so much anger inside me though and I want to find a way of getting rid of it as I know it is doing me no good now. Before, it actually kept me going every day, ready to fight the next battle for him. Not just anger at how cruel life had been to him, but anger at the health service, hospital transport, idiot social workers with little knowledge or understanding of our situation or their own policies, some (though not all) of the carers and agencies that trampled through our house and rode roughshod over our lives and feelings, that sort of thing. I was never angry at him, but I was anngry for him, at his illness and what it had done to him and to me. Caring had/has turned me into a person I didn't/don't particularly like, cynical and bitter. Well actuially the caring hadn't made me cynical and bitter, but all the grief and hassle you have to go through with social services did. Diabetes is a wicked wicked disease.
At 48 he was diagnosed with Type 2 diabetes, but was on insulin immediately, got kidney failure at 66 and after a false start with peritoneal dialysis, where he got peritonitis and very nearly died, ended up on haemodialysis, then the lazer treatment he had been having for three years for diabetic retinopathy was stopped and we were told no more could be done so he went blind, he had sleep apnoea and eventually had a stroke in 2002, had a fall in hospital two days later and broke his hip, so got very little in the way of physio and ended up in a wheelchair. He survived several bouts of pneumonia involving late night early morning 999 calls and hospitalisation and had to have emergency angioplasty after my pleas to the doctors to investigate after his toes went black in hospital were ignored and he was discharged.
I had an ongoing battle with social services to keep him at home from day 1, and to get enough care for me not to lose my full time final salary pensionable job. I failed, had a sort of mini breakdown and 18 months off work, but did manage to hang on to 15 hours worth a week work which I still have. Got care drip fed after three years. (It is my house and I was/am responsible for all the bills, so I had to work even though it meant no Carers Allownce of course). Never got enough care to cover any night shifts of course, so I have been cat napping for the last 8 years and on the go all day as I was working when the carers were here.
In September he decided that he had had enough of long days travelling to hospital for dialysis there times a week, he wanted a life he said. He didn't want to die in hospital or alone, so he stayed at home with someone holding his hand day and night. He went straight to bed, stopped speaking after four days, moving after five and died on day 6, which was a blessing as it could have taken a lot longer. At least I was there and holding his hand as I had promised.
I still have so much anger inside me though and I want to find a way of getting rid of it as I know it is doing me no good now. Before, it actually kept me going every day, ready to fight the next battle for him. Not just anger at how cruel life had been to him, but anger at the health service, hospital transport, idiot social workers with little knowledge or understanding of our situation or their own policies, some (though not all) of the carers and agencies that trampled through our house and rode roughshod over our lives and feelings, that sort of thing. I was never angry at him, but I was anngry for him, at his illness and what it had done to him and to me. Caring had/has turned me into a person I didn't/don't particularly like, cynical and bitter. Well actuially the caring hadn't made me cynical and bitter, but all the grief and hassle you have to go through with social services did. Diabetes is a wicked wicked disease.
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