The past few days, let me think and remember. Working to set up a Paypal and try to learn how to ask for and accept help from people. I have Aspergers, it's hard for me, a lot of times honestly.
We have a really awesome friend and Wash's frat bro who it looks like will be spending a few hours with us a couple times a week in between classes. Gives me a chance to do what I have to do, and Wash loves his friends. I'm happy for this.
And for the gifts and cards and postcards that occasional show up in my mailbox, not just overdue bills.
I had a good time working out my knee in physical therapy this week so far, as much as it hurts I know it's for the better. I just want to push through this and get better - even a little- every week.
I also finished "Under the Dome" on Sun. Took me 4 days, but that was counting the two and a half that Wash spent complaining about me reading. I brought this up in therapy, his life of double standards. He begs and bugs me for months to read again and when I find a good book and a good story he spends half the time trying to distract me and take me out. Not really fair love. I didn't give on this. He was fine and had his kitten, I wanted to and did read my book and finish. And I did hate and cry at some parts, some parts far too close to what my own life was and is like. The sudden growing pain that isn't spoken of and the sudden turn from a loving soul to a cruel abuser. I try to forget those days, but there are times I cannot. There are marks still left. And it felt like I was in Wash's head at that point; hearing Arnie speak and hit me.
Apologies dear reader if I have not explained this lately, Wash refers to his tumor/ personality with it as "Arnie", not himself.
It was stressing.
But the story was more important and I finished.
It makes me wonder though, about our own story. Our own ending. When and what that will be. How close, how far? Is it weeks- I think no. Is it months- I worry yes. Is it years- I never let myself be completely set on that. I know this disease too well, for every 5 year survivour there are 98.~ % that will not survive.
Which brings me around to the issues of today.
A little fight - tiff- between him and his parents. He told them the other day he wanted to try and find an Adult Make A Wish type program or sponsor who will give us a vacation at Disneyworld over my birthday. He's never been and neither have I. He wants time off to relax and live while he can, and so do I.
He wants it on my birthday. He wants me to have a treat, something special, something good for me to hold onto and remember.
And this I think is only part of the bigger issue. I'm not certain why his parents would object to a vacation. A we-are-only-going-if-it's-paid-for holiday. Because to see him getting that would perhaps... solidify? to them that he is in fact, terminal.
I have my theories why they have not so far, despite the articles, doctors, hospitalizations...
They are not the ones taking care of him. I am. They don't see him at his worst. I do. They don't see his pain. I do. They don't see the medical files, the statistics, the grim looks from questions of years- plural. I do.
I see him sick. I see him cry. I see him hurt, and begging for relief. I see his hard times and I hold him until he can move past it, or until I have to carry him past it.
And that's my marriage. That's my devotion, my love, my right. My life is to give him the best life that he wants right now.
His parents don't see that, I don't think.
For him to do this, go away on a "last hurrah" (which it might be) will sink it in that he is dying.
Now, we've slowed it down a lot, but he is still going a lot faster than say I or perhaps you, dear reader.
So many issues.
Aside from that as of next month we will have been infertile for a year.
I'm crying a bit, because it is just hard to write, to speak of, to think about.
I've had so much taken from me, so much lost.
And I still have 62 days before I'm even 24.
Where do we go from here?
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