Argue Your Limitations and Sure Enough They're Yours

I'm starting this out from a place of road rage, frustration, stress over having too many things to do - little things, like making appointments, looking for a random piece of important paper in my new apartment where I haven't filed anything important yet.  Oh, yeah, and then there's the IRS to deal with soon.  Collector called today and I have this ongoing pain in my back that radiates around to the front of my chest - a knotty (naughty!) muscle that I've had for at least a year now.  There is sadness, too, because my husband, my lovely, most wonderful-ist man in the whole world who is my safe haven, is having medical problems and hates his life but loves me and thinks I'd be better off without him.  But because of my dad, he's made a promise that I know he'll keep.  Deril has fibromyalgia which, if you don't know, gives him constant pain day and night, as if he is on fire.  Doctors are rather ignorant with regard to this syndrome and ours has become complacent. 

Deril also has NPH, Normal Pressure Hydrocephalus (makes me think of Snuffalufagus from Sesame Street - my favorite character).  Last February, he had a shunt surgically implanted in his brain with a tube that drains excess spinal fluid into his stomach.  That's basically what NPH is:  too much fluid on the brain, and it causes memory disturbances, limited intellectual interaction, terrible headaches and difficulty walking.  Oh yeah, and not to embarrass him, but the third key symptom is urinary incontinence which fortunately we haven't had to deal with much.  The shunt greatly improved his mental capacities but it has started to not work so well lately and while it is a good thing that we know why and have a neurosurgeon and neurologist to consult with and hopefully fix it again (as it is something he will have to live with his entire life, along with the fibromyalgia) it pains me that he is going through this.

Lake Tahoe, Our Honeymoon, 1997

Deril Gregor Shannon Balough is the most disciplined, hard-working, attention-to-detail person I've ever met.  He's also the kindest, most generous, giving person.  He will talk to anyone and he doesn't make judgements about people.  He's been through a lot.  His story could be his own blog.  Those from Alaska in particular who were there with him through his trials are nodding their heads vigorously.  Deril is my soulmate.  He has no idea what he does for me, emotionally.  He is my bestest friend in the whole world.  I believe things happen for a reason, and we definitely happened for a reason.

He is WAY too hard on himself.  He expects so much more from himself than anyone else, and being a former ballet dancer, teacher, chef, he expects a lot from others.  He can't accept that he is an amazing, incredible person who is stuck with a body that just doesn't want to cooperate.  The stress of his life that he has forever internalized is now ravaging his physical self.  I love him.  I love you, Deril, and I hope you feel up to reading this soon.  If I were writing with paper and pen, there would be an ink blur on the page from the tears that are welling in my eyes as I think about how helpless I am to make your life better, more tolerable.  But as I say to him always, everytime there seems to be a setback, THIS IS NOT OVER.  WE ARE NOT DONE WITH TRYING TO MAKE THINGS BETTER.  It will never be over, not for me.  To quote from Deril, "Argue your limitations, and sure enough they're yours."  Well, for the millionth time, would you please take your own damn advice, my love?

There, that's it.  I only meant to take up a paragraph with my own venting and then go on with my story, but this is my story today.  Next posting will pick up from 1978, I promise, back to the days of "Grease" the movie and my Mormon baptism (!).  I must have my timelines confused, as my mother pointed out, but you get the jist.  Till next time.