dealing

So I cried yesterday.

It was the first time since I relapsed that I cried.

I decided to unload the dishwasher, this, after I watched my partner run around the house cleaning and doing laundry and preparing food and making the house look semi-decent.

You know, the things I normally do on a daily basis.

It's funny how much we've both come to take those things for granted.  Well, she doesn't take them for granted, she says.  She's very grateful for what I do.  She jokes and says she can't wait for me to get better this time because she can't believe just how much I actually do as a "stay-at-home mom" and a "sick" one at that!

But I felt very guilty just sitting there while she worked around me.  I had to do something.


I figured how bad could the dishwasher be.

For an educated person, I can be pretty stupid sometimes.

Just the act of unloading a dishwasher involves looking down and reaching up at several different levels over and over again.  Stopping.  Sorting.  Looking at different vantage points.  Bringing your head down.  Turning it one way.  Turning it another.  If I were designing a vestibular therapy exercise, in fact, I would set up a mock kitchen and have my patients load and unload a dishwasher.  It's quite a functional exercise.

But I was not in therapy, I was home.  And halfway through unloading, I felt the floor come up to meet me.  I held onto the counter for dear life.  That's when the tears came.

Of course my partner scolded me for getting off the couch.  I told her I wanted to help and cried some more.  Then she scolded me for crying (there are no "pity parties" in my house).  She also reminded me it wasn't good for my little one to see me upset (she's right, of course).

Still, I was almost relieved I cried.  I was beginning to think I was incapable of crying.  Now that it was done and out, I felt like I could deal with this relapse.  I think.

And then I went to balance therapy.  I saw the same guy I saw last time.  He did some eye exercises with me, then went on to a few more challenging things.  He was concerned, and, I don't know, puzzled?  I feel way less puzzled than he about this relapse.  To me, this is standard; I will relapse.  Should I not be while in therapy?

While there, I saw one of my regular therapists, who learned of my relapse.  He was surprised and disappointed.  He also got to see me fall.  Twice.  After the second time, my therapist called it quits for the night.

I tried to keep up a cheerful front during therapy...I don't know, so they don't think I'm panicking or something.  Deep down, where nobody sees, my panic is real.  Not about this particular relapse, but about my condition overall.  About its permanence.  About how much it has stolen from me and how much it will continue to steal from me.

I wonder if anyone will help me for good, or if this is as good as it gets?