I have been losing weight like crazy since Jan 29th when Chad went into a coma. I basically stopped eating then. The day he died, February 4th, I made a rule that I had to eat twice a day no matter what. When I am depressed, sad, stressed out? I don't eat. And that spirals me worse and worse. That was the motivation for my rule. And I have faithfully followed my rule.
But, that hasn't prevented my lower body from circumventing my brain's intentions. 80% of the time when I eat, I shit it out the back end within 30 minutes. Explosively, uncomfortably and it makes me really, really not want to eat again. But I do. The next day. And it happens again. So far I've lost about 20 pounds this month.
And, I can't sleep. Or maybe, won't is better. I have been so terrorized by nightmares that I became terrified to fall asleep. For a week straight after he died, each time I drifted off to sleep I would get out of bed to splash cold water on my face, turn up music loud in my headphones, I took stupid doses of caffeine (lucky I didn't give myself a cardiac event), I even did jumping jacks in place to ensure that I woke up sufficiently to stay awake. About a week ago, I confided to my various friends that nightmares were terrorizing me and that I needed stuffed animals to cope (going somewhere to buy them myself is too overwhelming). I was deluged instantly with about a dozen flully animals. Believe it or not, I haven't had a single nightmare since.
My body though, appears to be so well trained of 3 weeks of desperately fighting sleep every time it approaches me, that it has become a reflex. Today is what, late Friday night. I slept Monday night normally. After that? I didn't sleep Tuesday, Wednesday or Thursday night at all. As in at all. And I took only a few hour or two at a time daytime naps. So in the course of 4 days, I slept maybe 6 hours total. That is not good.
My doctor today came (he comes to our house, lucky, I know) and we talked for a very very long time. He used to be Chad's doctor actually. Now he's mine. And he is really in the best position to evaluate and treat me because he saw so much of me during the last few years with Chad and particularly the last few weeks before he died of such a mystery (which was later solved after his death). I trust him. He trusts me. So if I say: I need Ativan, he doesn't treat me like a drug seeker and trusts that I won't abuse it.
Unlike my previous doctor who made me feel like I was asking for heroin when I asked for a few doses of Ativan for his funeral day. That was it. She made me feel like a drug addict for asking, and ultimately refused to write for it. That was really great, and a long story about how I managed to get a (legal, doctor written to me) prescription anyway. But it was a stress i REALLY didn't need then. I mean if 4 tablets of Ativan aren't appropriate for a widow at her husband's funeral, just exactly when IS Ativan appropriate?
So today, with my "new to me" doctor seeing me who already knows me extremely well, he gave me some appropriately strong medications to help me sleep, and some to stimulate my appetite. I took them at his insistence right after he left this morning, and I fell asleep around 1 pm. I will be going back to sleep again soon, I briefly woke up to make sure my phone hadn't blown up with text messages of people worried about me (people have a tendency to freak out about me when I go silent because I'm a very communicative person typically) and to try to eat. And I ate successfully. It's been one hour and the food is still inside my body. Even if it exited 30 seconds from now, I at least got some calories from it and I think I'll be ok, my stomach feels good so far.
Now if I could just somehow clean my house.