Shout out to Redmond, WA and Hong Kong for the recent ever-so kind and encouraging words. Words that have inspired me to share this post from the other blog writing I’m doing just for friends of Lynn interested in knowing how she’s doing.

Just as there are two distinct Lynn MSA stories to tell, there are two distinct ones that I could tell about myself as primary caregiver.

When you tell your own story, you run the risk of making yourself into a hero. Of emphasizing all that’s admirable and slighting the inevitable messiness and selfishness. This story is hella complex with contrasting personal histories all mixed together with psychology, mental health challenges, emotion, and spirituality.

Thus, the Reader’s Digest version.

Lynn’s predicament is way, way worse than mine, but I’m as unhappy as I’ve ever been. Lynn’s only advantage is that her challenges are obvious to the steady stream of people who visit. People mostly look past me, assuming I’m fine, which I try telling myself I am.

But that’s bullshit. I’ve never experienced anything remotely this challenging. And I don’t feel like I can tell the whole story to anyone because who would have the capacity for the whole damn thing? Simpler to say “fine”, “okay”, “hanging in”, “coping”, “keeping my head just above the water”. I’m a five tool player when it comes to keeping people at a safe distance.*

The sad fact of the matter is I have had to sacrifice everything that brings me joy, especially social connections, in service of Lynn’s daily needs. I have been housebound for exactly a year now. Except for a daily shortish run, ride, or swim. Without those physical activities, I don’t know where I’d be.

I also don’t know where I’d be without our two health care assistants, my two daughters, and Lynn’s closest friends who keep showing up for her, and by extension, our family. People keep making meals for us even without the Meal Train. People are praying for us and sustaining us with flowers, fellowship, and love.

Still, I recently told Lynn I don’t know how long I can carry my half. And feeling abandoned just at the idea of some alternative arrangement, she broke down. And for now, to make a very hard thing even harder, things suck between us.

Hearts will soften and things will improve. They always do. But this challenge will not lessen. I feel overwhelmed almost all the time. I am no match for this relentless disease. But doing the best I can for her. Today at least.

Postscript: I have caught a second, or is it third, or fourth, or fifth wind? And hearts have softened and we are back on track. For now.

*a baseball concept for a player that excels in all five key areas: hitting for average, hitting for power, running speed, fielding ability, and throwing arm strength