His Shadow

Until last night I didn’t believe it could happen but PTSD has taken a back seat for the moment. About a year ago Chris developed pain in his arm. With the years of abuse on his body in the military we both assumed it was arthritis. Most of us develop a form of arthritis at some point so it seemed reasonable to me. This pain however was odd. His joints and his muscles ached, and his skin hurt.

We waited a few weeks hoping it was as simple as an injury that would heal. Maybe he’d bumped or strained it somehow. But it didn’t go away. He stopped talking with me about it and I assumed it had stopped hurting. Silly me. Several months in I noticed he was walking with his arm pulled up next to his body with the hand curled under.

I made an appointment. Had a false start but tried again. We saw a new doctor and she started scheduling. They eventually diagnosed him with Complex Regional Pain Syndrome. He has nerve damage and numbness in his hand from an injury in Iraq. From my understanding now the damaged nerves are sending signals that the arm is also damaged and his body is abandoning it.

This is a degenerative disease and the possibility of him losing use of his arm – worst-case scenario brings amputation – is looking more and more likely. Last night, I couldn’t even touch him because of the pain. He’s grown depressed and frustrated. The fact the VA took so long to schedule and figure this out aside – time is of the essence with this, only early treatment yields results –, it’s almost become a sick comedy. We started feeling like PTSD was the most awful thing anyone can deal with but we’d found a level of comfort. A combination of treatments had brought us to a place where we’d finally believed in the light we kept glimpsing at the end of the tunnel. And now this, a crushing setback enough to make us want to crumble.

Dealing with PTSD intensifies life’s other issues. We tend to forget this when life isn’t tossing us curve balls. It creates a slippery slop when depression over long-term issues looms. Those of us who are caregivers can easily slide down that slope. It is imperative we keep our footing. I do not have PTSD. This part is not about me. It can be about him. It can be about us. But it is never about just me as much as I’d like to lean up against him some days and tell him about why I’m depressed over him hurting so bad.

I know relationships are about both parties, about balance. But really, it’s a set of scales. We don’t want the scales to tip completely one way or the other leaving one party at rock bottom. Perfect balance can be achieved but more than likely the scales will continue to tip one way or the other. When a spouse is sick the other steps up, the scales tip.

My husband is ill. I am willing to carry more weight because of this. I am willing to make certain days all about him even if it stretches to weeks or months. I’m not saying that I never carve out time for myself and I’m not saying I can’t depend on him. I’m just, to be blunt, damned tired of people who have a loved one with a mental disorder regarding it as a burden on them personally.

Yes, it’s hard to deal with some days. Yes, sometimes I need to vent. But when I do have time to myself I can get away from PTSD for a moment. My husband cannot. He is trapped. PTSD is his shadow, his constant companion.