A bad start to the end of they year turned worse. Yesterday I sat with my mother all morning. I still had vertigo, but I thought I would be o.k., so around noon, I got dressed to go to the exercise park for a workout. There was a big group when I got there, muscular, athletic guys doing handstands on the high bars. O.K., O.K., so what, I told myself. Just do your routine.
I was alright on the first round. Squats, crunches, push ups, and body rows, then a walk/run around the half mile track. I planned on doing four sets. I was feeling really good when I got back to the exercise area. Squats, crunches, push ups, body rows. . . and then. . . . When I tried to stand up, the world began to spin. I grabbed hold of the bar to wait it out, but there was no waiting it out. I tried to walk, but I was like a drunk on a ship in high seas. I grabbed hold of a post hoping no one had noticed. I waited. O.K. Try to walk. I could barely make it to a nearby bench walking this way then that. I sat, waiting. Surely it would go away. After a few minutes, I tried again. Nope. I hoped I could make it to the car, but then what? I knew I shouldn't drive, but I had no options.
I drove home trying not to turn my head, never going over twenty miles/hour.
I staggered into the house and to the computer. I looked up the Epley Maneuver. I went to my bed and did it as best I could, but my ribs and back and neck are arthritic and painful and I didn't feel I was doing it well enough. I closed my eyes and went to sleep.
When I woke up, it was after four. I needed to shower. When I got out of bed, I grabbed hold of the bedside table. Then the door jamb. Then the counter. I turned on the shower leaning against the wall. I made a mistake and tried to wash my hair, but the bending and turning brought on the vertigo. I was able to finish my shower and to dry myself. I did what I needed to do. I began to wonder if maybe I'd had a stroke. Perhaps I should call 911.
But my mother. I have no backup. There is no one. She can't put together her meds. She can't open a jar or a can. I pulled myself together, dressed, and made it to the car. I needed to stop at the grocers. I didn't think I could, but I would.
In the parking lot, I grabbed hold of a cart. I needed the cart. It was a hard effort to make it through the store. I couldn't turn my head. I had to focus on the cart to keep my balance. I'd make spaghetti. Broccoli. Sauce. I felt as if I might puke.
I got back to my mother's house. I had to take the garbage cans in. One of the wheels had come off the recycling can. I couldn't bend over to fix it. My mother was sitting in the garage. Her concern for me was minimal.
"How are you doing?"
It took every bit of willpower to make dinner. I barely ate. My mother recounted a story of when she had vertigo. She went to an ENT doc and he had done the Epley Maneuver. She was better after that.
I sat on the couch. The room was spinning. I sat in front of the tv and looked straight ahead. What would happen if I began vomiting? What would happen if I had to call 911? I was beginning to panic. This was too much. I have been under too much stress. I have known for months now that this was ruining my health. I have been sure I was dying.
My mother pretended to clean up. She shuffled with her walker for ten minutes to get her bowl and serviceware to the sink.
I went to the bathroom and took a Xanax. My anxiety was chartless.
When the Xanax kicked in, I turned on the television. I thought it might distract me until I could go to bed. I watched videos about great photographers. This wasn't helping. So many of them died when they were my age or a year or two older. I thought about all the things I planned to do. They wouldn't get done. I thought about the suicide package in my bedside table. It seemed impossible. I saw myself in a nursing home suffering through to the miserable end. It would be much harder than I've ever imagined to take one's own life.
I had to get up to put together mom's meds. I cleaned the kitchen. My mother said she was going to bed. She didn't. She kept telling me "O.K. goodnight," over and over and over again. Finally I snapped.
"Go to fucking bed!"
Ten minutes later, I could hear the slow motion rattling of the walker. She walked into the kitchen and stood looking around. She stayed like that for a long time. She gets lost now.
"Go to bed."
I wanted to go to bed as well, but I was afraid the vertigo would not let me sleep, so I stayed up and watched more famous photographers. There are a few very good documentary channels on YouTube if you are interested. Here are a couple. There a some others, but I haven't the energy right now.
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As I sat after my mother went to bed, I thought about needing care. There was no one to give it to me. I have no one now, no support at all. Ili took care of me through my entire recovery from my accident. She slept in my hospital room for weeks. She stayed with me at my mother's for months. We were not even together when I got run over. But she came. And for that amount of time, she was an angel.
Other than my parents, nobody else in my life has taken care of me. Not even my ex-wife.
Red said she would. She was going to send me her miracle drug to heal me. That was a month ago. She waited too long though, I fear. She didn't help.
I resigned myself to the pathetic end, and as I watched the videos on famous photographers, I could only think of all the things I didn't do. If I could just get well again, I thought. . . .
Ten thirty. I stumbled off to bed. I lay down expecting the room to spin, but no. . . it was alright. On either side. And unbelievably, I slept.
When I got up this morning, though, I stumbled getting out of bed. I still have vertigo, but I don't think it is as bad. I am telling myself it is not as bad. Surely it is simply a crystal out of place in my inner ear. The medical websites said that without doing anything, the vertigo will go away in five or so days. The crystals can be dissolved. But the websites also talked about vertigo being the result of a stroke. That's all I needed. My doctor loves to thrill me by telling me that my unresolved high blood pressure can result in a stroke. I have a very apocalyptic imagination. She, I'm afraid, is the fuel that feeds it.
I hope it is my apocalyptic imagination.
So the bad start to the end of the year has gotten worse.
My mother got up this morning moaning and yelling out. She creeped up on me in the dark.
"Somebody's missing," she said in a panic.
"What?"
"Somebody's missing."
"What are you talking about?"
"The person who was here last night, out there, with the crazy hair."
She is beginning to hallucinate. Maybe it is the drugs. I can't be sure. But I am going to need a Plan B. I need backup. I'm not going to be able to do this alone anymore.
I know this is killing me. I will die before she does, I am certain.
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