Just so you know, Honey does not complain. Ever. He is also a poor judge of his pain levels. When he was in the ER having seizures with migraine, he said he was a 4 out of 10 but it took morphine to get him functional. I had to draw him up a pain chart.
1 = hmm, I am feeling the beginning of something here
2 = I think I might need to lie down
3 = don’t talk to me. don’t touch me. call SN (super nurse) for advice.
4 = ER. I need the ER now. There is no drug in this house that can begin to touch this
5 = death would be a welcome respite from this
Because he does not complain, I have to ask him specifically and judge how he is doing by his mood and behavior. That sounds something like this:
How are you doing this morning? How is your body feeling? How are you doing emotionally?
He usually says he is doing well, that he is in good spirits. Now that he is taking Concerta, his apathy has lessened and this is very good.
The thing is, I don’t really believe him. He tries to protect me so that I don’t get more depressed.
He is weary. He is tired. The side effects from his anti-seizure meds cause an ugly cycle that includes horrible GERD that makes him cough so much that he doubles over in pain. This is followed by a case of hic-cups that lasts at least three days.
Another negative aspect of his lack of complaint is that I occasionally think he is being extremely dependent. Well – check that – he IS extremely dependent, but I find myself thinking he is going to look at me one day and say, “Ha, I fooled you. Wow you tucked me in when I slept. I got you to put my socks and shoes on me and you even took up cooking for me. You really do love me…”
But I know that’s not going to happen.
He really is too tired to walk the 5 minutes to get to Randall’s. He really is crying when he coughs.He really does need to be tucked in when he is resting on the couch. He really is sick but he refuses to acknowledge it. How could I think that he is pulling my leg? I guess because if he is – I’m not going to lose him.
Last night, he had a dream that he was in hospice. I was there and he was using sign language to communicate with me as he had a tube in his throat.
I wish so much that this was just a colossal karmic joke.
Oh, wait, it is, isn’t it?