Why I Need Caffeine

For the first several months of the brain tumor journey, Lou would wake up not knowing what had happened. I always stayed in bed until he woke up because the awakening was always awful. He would wake up, and ask what time it was. That would lead to , "Why am I not at the office". The brilliant people from rehab (sorry, they really ARE brilliant, but they do not know WHAT to do with brain tumor patients) told me to explain to him that the reason he was not at work was because he was not well. Because he was not well, with a brain tumor. How's that for a great way to start the day? That inevitably lead to tears, anxiety, questions and more questions, more tears and anxiety. The routine repeated itself daily, for months. It could take two hours to get out of bed. I didn't follow their advice for long, but no matter what I tried, it didn't work. There was a book I was supposed to take Lou through each day, at breakfast. The book had things in it, like the day, date, our names, where we lived, what we were going to do that day, and what Lou was being treated for (at the time, we were going to daily radiation, so that is what the agenda for those days said). It was almost like a book kids make in kindergarden. The thinking was that this was supposed to prompt some memories, and, with repetition, things would get better. Can you imagine looking at this, with your brilliant husband, a national collegiate debate champion, at the breakfast table? Going through these basic topics, only to have them forgotten a few minutes later? I gave up on that, too. Eventually, we got to a place where Lou could get up and make it through breakfast without all this. At some point, he didn't ask why he was home anymore. At some point, he didn't ask why he was taking so many pills and seeing so many doctors. I'm not sure it was because he comprehended, or accepted it. I think it was the meds that finally kicked in and took away some of the anxiety. It doesn't matter, now. What matters now, is that I think about this, alot. As I go through my days, I think about his days. I think about what it must have been like for him. Sometimes, I wake up, and see all the pictures of him, and us, in our room, and I almost forget that it happened. Almost. When you are in that groggy , not quite awake state. That's when I think about what it must have been like for him. I think about those mornings, how he would wake up, and not understand. I can't imagine it. I can't imagine starting the day like that. It's not such a great way for me to start my day either. That's why I have to have four shots of espresso. To make that memory, of Lou, with no memory, go away. So much for my positive posts. Maybe tomorrow. I've really been missing him.