Well, we made it through yesterday in one piece. Seems to have been just a bug after all. The forensic evidence follows.....
1. Instead of lying on the couch all day and subjecting me to the spectacle of his misery, he WENT TO BED. In the bedroom. And slept.
In the early stages of diabetic wierdness, he lies on the couch all day moaning and yet insisting nothing is wrong and that he's not acting defensive...defensively, and scowling and talking to you as soon as you're out of earshot and then pouting when you ask him to repeat himself. Occasionally he'll get up with his hair all sticking out like Astro Boy and stumble off to the bathroom holding one side of his stomach as though his liver were migrating. Where he spends 45 minutes making odd noises, reading magazines and snarling when someone asks if he's going to be much longer. Then it's back to the couch for another round of 'how long can I irritate my wife before she puts me out on the curb in a heftybag? IN PIECES?'
2. He actually took pain medication. For pain. *
Instead of bitching all day about having a (headache, backache, toenail ache...) and then getting all defensive (and denying it) when you ask him if he's taken any asprin.
3. He barfed. The clincher! Not a person who just goes around chunking up chow on a whim, he.
Now, I play this for laughs here, but actually it's not funny. It flat fucking sucks to have to keep second and third guessing the actions of someone you respect like a spy, particularly when you know they're not feeling well. On the other hand, the suckage factor goes way up when you have a 250 lb biker who benches 300 lbs undergoing a diabetic event in your house wandering at large and hallucinating. Its just not fun. Getting said into the car to go to the emergency room is not fun. Keeping him in the car is not fun. Having him check the speedometer every fifteen seconds to see if you're speeding is not fun.
Now don't go getting all worried and shit. That only happened once, ten years ago. I'm just venting off some excess paranoia. But keep us in your thoughts, won't you, because I just may take a baseball bat to him yet.
* just poopy old naproxin, dammit. wheres the fucking vicodin? someone call keith richards for me.
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You got my utmost sympathy FN. F is on the verge of adult onset diabetes - nothing to what your guy has, just extremely wonky blood sugar levels which manifest themselves as most of the symptoms you've listed in the past 2 posts...(less the hallucinations) but I know the black depressions well) Having had to put up and second guess the reasons for them for years I think that the baseball bat is entirely justified - indeed I think its a medical necessity....
ReplyDeletei am so sorry. diabetes is fucked up. its one of those things that is so very delicately balanced that adjustments have to be made almost monthly, and that not taking into account daily stressors, illness, etc. the good news is that once the meds are stable, the depression goes away.
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