Today I took my husband to the doctor for his annual physical/med check.
You know what? I’ve never seen a family doctor so perturbed. No, that doesn’t even begin to describe it. The doctor went from zero to irate within about thirty seconds of talking to my husband. You see, my husband has been on Zoloft for three years now, because I threatened to leave him if he did not do something about his rages and mood swings. Sometimes, he is rebellious and skips a day. Sometimes two. Sometimes seven. Once he just stopped taking them for six months. I began packing his things.
Backing up for a second, I know, that first sentence probably does sound somewhat strange. Why would I need to take a grown man to something like that? Why can’t he just go by himself? Well, for starters, he would never make such an appointment for himself in the first place. Dentist, doctor, counselor, it always seems to be the same thing. We have a fight. He agrees to take better care of himself and get help. I make The Appointment.
It. Never. Fails. The day before? He cancels. He is busy. A golf simulator tournament comes up. An urgent fire to put out. Boss needs something at work. Something of Utmost Importance is Happening at the Bar Where Boss is Buying Drinks. Fill in Vital Event here. My husband will always attempt to get out of it if I don’t personally escort him there and insist that he go.
Yes. I understand the implications of this stance now. Thank you. To save time, I will post later my dissertation on The Depths of His Contempt for Logic and later still, Baroque Revenge Plots to Unhinge Those Who Think They Know More Than Him.
At first, I didn’t see the pattern, but over the past few years, it’s become harder and harder to escape from the fact that he knows better than any professional, has serious issues with authority, and a rebellious streak three miles wide.
No… rebelliousness is his general world view. It would be more accurate to say that he has a tiny streak of rationality.
Anyway, he has been attacking people in his sleep for a while now. Once he punched me pretty hard in the rear end. In the beginning, it was slightly funny, but it smarted for days. The first episode was about four years ago. It’s always the same. He is in a fight, and punches someone in his dream/nightmare, and woe to whoever is sleeping next to him. I thought it might be useful to find out why, what might be triggering this and his other rage issues, and what, if anything could be done.
I am bewildered, to put it mildly. I have no idea if his bizarre behavior is from demon possession, early onset Alzheimer’s, dissociative identity disorder, brain damage from childhood injuries, or neurotoxicity from the chemicals he has worked with for the past fifteen years. He is a craftsman, and has created some stunningly gorgeous woodworking magic. Rumplestiltskin was right, however. All magic comes with a price.
One morning about a month ago, I discovered he had attacked the headboard in the middle of the night, inches away from our sleeping infant. At that moment, I just finally decided it would be nice to know exactly what I am up against. I decided to make an appointment, and this time I was going to personally attend.
Now, up to this point, I had never met my husband’s physician before. So what I am about to describe may be way off. Perhaps this man’s regular behavior includes interrupting people in mid-sentence. Maybe his baseline includes contempt for everyone he encounters.
I got the distinct impression, though, that something was bothering him.
I checked off night terrors from my list of items, asked about the mood swings, and touched on the memory loss. Then I dropped the bombshell and asked if toxic chemicals damage brains. At first, the doctor was enraged that my husband had to work in such a horrible facility. He was aghast that there were no protective measures being taken by the employer. Demanded to know where he worked.
Then it came out that there weren’t really any requirements to wear protection, oxygen filters, or any other paraphernalia in his line of work. Then my husband finally admitted they were available. He just opts out. At this point, I did try to throw in that this had been going on for fifteen years, and that one of his coworkers died from brain cancer ( most all of the guys there are alcoholics, and on any given Monday, someone got another DUI over the weekend. Fights regularly break out amongst friends, and everyone is high. I blame the chemicals.) but it was too late. Apparently he had heard enough. The guy nearly ran over my feet on his scramble to exit.
What is the politically correct way to inform your patient that he is an idiot? I guess you use words like brain damage, point of no return, and blood tests. The good doctor could not get out of that room quickly enough. Though disappointed, I was also relieved that I wasn’t imagining things.
Ah. Vindication. It’s nice to know that his choices are making someone else angry, too. Although, that feeling of triumph was short lived once I realized that I was likely viewed as An Even Bigger Imbecile for sticking with him.
Later, I spoke with Andi about the doctor’s protective measures recommendation and she laughed. She said she, too, had been to appointments where the subject had come up, and he had already been informed by their children’s pulmonologists that their recurring asthma episodes likely had something to do with all the chemicals on his clothing, and that the items should be kept in the garage, away from the kids. She said he usually follows their suggestions for about a week.
Wow. So this has actually come up before.
I suppose I should look at this situation and try to learn what I can from it. I understand the whole notion that you’re supposed to just bloom where you’re planted. Pardon me for the next few cliches. In a toxic environment, you would, logically, wear a mask and protect yourself. If you recognize that your life is in danger, you might even leave the situation completely. This could apply to toxic work environments, toxic family relationships, or any situation in which your physical, emotional or mental health is endangered.
Alternately, you could choose to just shrug your shoulders, continue about your business and rationalize everything is fine. You could just tell yourself that things could be worse. You could proceed without regard for your health or warnings by objective professionals that you are indeed in danger.
I realized today that if you stay too long in any toxic situation, though, by virtue of the poisons surrounding you, your decisions might make more sense to you, but less sense to the healthy people in your life, as days turn into weeks, months and years, and parts of you slowly die. Finally, you will lose completely the ability to recognize the danger you were in as you slowly drift further away from where anyone could reach you, and you drown.
I have to figure out a way to keep blooming and to stay alive in an environment where there’s litte oxygen, dim sunlight, scarce water and no nutrients.
Musings of a Descriptive Nature. 