Trying to care for hubby

Another rough night worrying over my husband; I think that I should be sleeping in the house at least, just so that I can keep some kind of eye on him. I might even sleep better knowing that he’s close.

I dropped in on the husband on the way to work; I washed the dishes, made him a coffee, and sat with him for a bit and gave him a hug and told him that I loved him.

When dropped in on the way home, he was a confused shaking wreck, he was asleep throwing up. It’s distressing to see, it must be even worse to experience. I had planned to make him some tea, but he wouldn’t be able to hold it down, so I got a pile of flapjacks in case he got hungry later.

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Autism update

I’ve heard from my eConsultation with the doctor’s surgery. 20th July for a telephone call! I wish that I’d asked for a face-t-face – I hate telephone calls. Still, it is a start and it gives me time to overthink and worry about it and get through those feelings.

I have also been mulling over ASD symptoms. Last night I realised that I like to go back to the same shop. I justify this as “they deserve repeat business”, but the reason is because I like to deal with the same people. My husband says that it’s because I’m a creature of habit. He’s pointed out so many of these symptoms to me, so how can he deny the possibility that I might be autistic? Clearly I’m not “Rain Man” autistic, but nobody I know with a diagnosis is – it seems that most are functioning and can effectively make in most situations.

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Time with my counsellor

This is the first time he’s visited me at my flat. We sat in the floor, which immediately felt relaxing. I gave him a quick rundown of the last week or so with my husband, saying the background for more things I wanted to talk about. I described what happened on Saturday; how I had expected one thing and it had evolved into something else … and how my reaction fitted into my increasing understanding of myself.

I then started talking about the “Untypical” book; that I’d originally bought to help me understand and help other members of my family – my autistic nephew (to be precise, he is too young for a formal and exact diagnosis yet, my brother suddenly understanding his own childhood experience as he watches his son develop; and our father, whom we both strongly suspect it’s on the spectrum; as well as friends I have who are also ASD).

I shared how after the first few chapters I felt as though I’d been hit with a bag of bricks: I identified so strongly with so much of what was written. And when I overlay that matrix onto my life, I understand it all much better: my life starts to make some kind of sense!

I have dozens of examples where my behaviour, my sensitivities, my emotions, tick ASD symptoms in varying degrees – a great many of them very strongly.

We talked about my biggest meltdown ever – on the front lawn of my husband’s eldest daughter, which precipitated the final disintegration of his relationship with his children. This happened during a time of intolerable stress which anybody might have struggled to cope with (my husband was in a mental hospital after attempting to take this own life multiple times – even while under the care of the ward, and my nan had died while he was in there).

My counsellor encouraged me to feel compassion for my own difficulties at that time and suggested that I wasn’t completely responsible. I definitely have some responsibility, but maybe not as much as I’ve carried.

I also recognised the shame that I carried over my meltdowns, and shutdowns, and flights from whatever was happening that caused me distress. I need to turn some compassion onto myself, he said.

Finally, towards the end, we talked about what a diagnosis would mean for me. I said that it might convince my husband that I did have this disability and I wasn’t just a shit (I don’t remember the exact word I used), it would also enable me to make better choices and more easily ask for accommodation when I am struggling. I said that if I was autistic then I needn’t carry quite so much weight as I have been carrying, but that’s only true if I get the diagnosis.

He said something like “say that again, without the end bit or the ifs”.

He was guiding me to this sentence: “I am autistic and I needn’t carry the weight I have been carrying”.

My emotions at this point were very intense.

“Do you think it’s true?” I asked.

“Yes,” he said, “if you identity so strongly with so much, it must be true.”

“You can’t identify with a disability in the same way that you can a gender or sexuality” I said.

He replied “in this instance you can because that’s the first step; you are learning so much – if you accept this now, it will give you a party to move forward on”.

It was almost overwhelming, but in a very good way.

I was shaking a little and teary. I don’t think I’ve captured everything exactly, but I hope that I’ve captured the meaning – and the feelings that I had at that point: acceptance and validation.