Apparently, pump head is quite common after being on bypass during surgery. It's well documented that there can be some personality changes.
He is extreme.
When I think of all our little 'in-jokes', 'looks', 'sayings' and gestures which we've accumulated over the years it makes me so sad.
He's not interested in 'talking' or therapists as there is absolutely nothing wrong with him. 🙄
It's just been a barrage of verbal and emotional abuse since the surgery/recovery. And I completely understand what he's going through - it's just impossible to tolerate and remain cordial. Not just me - family and friends have had similar barrages and in some cases worse than me.
I'm actually in my own bed at the moment - I came home Sunday night/Monday morning. I have the lurgy. My body hurts and is much stiffer than usual.
H has been checking in on me and bringing lemsip, ginger tea, and warm lemonade. Non of these are very good things to have when semi-prostrated, when you have a hiatus hernia and gastritis. The acid is something else and it is making itself known far too frequently.
He sat (on his side of my bed - we still have separate bedrooms since the op) for half an hour this afternoon, (K-com are making a huge racket as they are putting in superfast cables or something - we've had a dozen or so cancelled appointments over more than 6 months now, so no one was expecting them) and we talked about things which were inconsequential (daren't take the bull by the horns and confront him anymore - no point) and he was normal, even nice. So I coughed in his direction a few times and thought 'take that yer bastard' (apologies I hate swearing, but needs must).
I've ran out of lemonade (which is barely lemony at the best of times, but my taste buds have crashed) and I'm going to message and request that he gets me another bottle from the garage - he'll like that. 😉
I will dramatically cough when it's duly delivered in the hope that he gets some virus. Although he's saying that he had this at Christmas and that's why he was 'grumpy' (his word). I know 🧐
I will stay in bed Tuesday and possibly Wednesday, at a stretch Thursday - and I will enjoy cat napping (my throat is inflamed, almost closed, not much voice) my nose is streaming, both nostrils, and coughing, snoring (possibly snorting) and drowning in snot are keeping me from any form of prolonged shut-eye.
My daughter, whose house I would normally be at to help with her children, doesn't want me round this week 🥳. (She lives an hour away by car.)
I do think that I'm depressed due to living with Dr Jeckyll/Mr Hyde, lack of restful sleep is adding to that, and as others have suggested, I have to try and let all comments/warped behaviours strike my resilient protective shell and bounce/rebound back. Now that's a bloody hard one to get used to and I'm doubting that I'll ever get my head round it. There's only so much shite one can take before one becomes ground into the dirt and starts gibbering like a gibbery person. But I am actually trying and if my own little way of doing that is putting two/one finger/s up behind his back, is my way of 'retribution' at this moment in time - then so be it. He did see my reflection in a tv screen doing this - and it made us both laugh. This is due to the fact we both know how ridiculous the situation is.
Ah ha! He's visited me on my sick bed and my lemonade will be arriving shortly. He did attempt some small talk (he's been in the garage on his many pieces of keep fit equipment which he rarely walks past) and I told him to sod off and bring me a drink, which elicited a faint wry smile, in the corner of his mouth - barely imperceptible. I can't wait to hear what droll piece of information he'll have for me when he returns in due course.
Isn't it odd?
We can't stop caring for each other, yet we can hardly tolerate each other.
It's a conundrum.
With regards to Olivia Coleman playing me in my life story - that's quite interesting as my son put my Netflix icon as her playing the Queen when I login.
I've not thought who I'd like to 'be me' in my biopic. I'm 56, unfit, hate my neck, (all of my body really) and when I catch sight of myself (I try not to look - I know where I regularly catch my reflection, so I'm adept at avoiding) I look identical to the picture on my late father's bus pass - in which he looks extremely cross.
I was once convinced I could see Sarah Ferguson around a market stall in the city she was Duchess of. It was my first day out alone when my son (now 30 yrs) was 3 months old. It was the end of a hot summer and I had lots of freckles. I was wearing a buttoned up polka dot, flowing dress and uncomfortable sandals, and my hair was swept up in a high ponytail. I was carrying several 'nice' shopping bags and had my most expensive bag slung across my body. I walked (tottered/staggered as my feet were killing me) around this market stall several times in an attempt to get a bit closer to Sarah Ferguson but eventually realised that it was me looking in the mirror of a hat stall. Was I imagining tourists surreptitiously taking my photo - as they had obviously thought the same? There are some similarities between us - even her father resembled my father.
But, I feel old and haggard - haven't had the privileges of royalty (haven't had my toes sucked 🤢) and time hasn't been kind.
I would be more than happy for the sister of the main character in Happy Valley to play me 🤣 and if I was being thorough I would Google it and obtain her name.
I'm still waiting for lemonade - he's forgotten.