What Really Bothers Me

Well, it all bothers me because it is so sad and not what either of us wanted for our “golden years”. But what bothers me to point that I feel it in my gut, and play it over and over in my mind, is when he starts diagnosing me and wanting me to follow his advice.

Early on, in the magnesium stage, he would tell me that I was flapping my arms in my sleep and breathing funny. I needed to be on magnesium right away.

If I forget anything, even for a moment, dementia is setting in and I get a knowing look.

In the middle of the night I have found him standing by my side of the bed, insisting that I drink some water because he had a hard time waking me. I was dehydrating to death, I guess.

If I get sleepy during the day, it’s the electric field dulling my mind, pushing me into unconsciousness.

Last night he was frightened by how long I supposedly went without breathing and insisted that I get a cap to cover my head from the cold – the obvious solution. Nights are the craziest.

I tried to reason with him this morning and in the process he pointed out that, intellectually, I had to admit that when sleeping, how could I possibly be aware of what I was doing? I pointed out to him that someone who had bad hearing, limited eyesight, and tended to be fearful was probably not capable of making assessments in the middle of the night either, intellectually. It made no difference. I have to learn to listen and reassure, then dismiss so it doesn’t vex me for hours after. VEX, a word that even looks like it feels.


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