Guilt Over Sharing

On another blog site that I frequent when I can, a writer commented that her husband complained about her illness and her writing about it on blogs.  She said she feels guilty because many people are worse off than she.  I responded to her that I do not feel guilty about that, although I do feel compassionate towards other people with illness and who are unfortunate, maybe even more so than I - and try to share what little I have with them when I can.  I only feel guilty about being so close to dying and the cost of dying.  It’s taking resources from the already thinly stretched financials of my family, and that makes me feel guilty.  Spending money on my own medications when we need it for food and job-hunting gas, that makes me feel guilty.  Sometimes I lie to my husband and skip my pain refills just so we can buy fresh bananas and oranges, or some meat for dinner.  I know my husband would go without eating to make sure I was taken care of, so I feel guilty about lying to him.  Sometimes I stretch a doctor appointment to several weeks away instead two weeks, just to save gas for job-hunting.  Sometimes, when he’s out job-hunting, I turn off the little a/c unit in our room and endure the heat to the point of sickness, just to save a few bucks on the electric.  I feel guilty about it because I am sick when he gets home and he doesn’t know why.  I just blame it on the cancer.  

The girl on the blog also commented that her husband doesn’t always believe how much her illness impacts her own life.  If she says she is sick all the time, misses work too much, or just stays in bed, hr makes her feel guilty.  She goes on to mention that hubby has been unemployed for a long time while she has been managing her illness and trying to work, too.  As the only earner in the household doubling up her money with his unemployment, it must be extremely hard.  I call him a heartless husband.  Thankfully, I have an understanding husband who also experiences pain on an almost daily level.  He has a permanently injured rotator cuff from his days of jujitsu competitions and heavy ironwork that made it worse.  So, he understands my difficult moments, like today!  I was fell out of bed to the floor.  My muscles had just weakened so much, that when I attempted to roll over, put my feet upon the floor, and stand up, I simply fell into the floor.  There I was, stuck between the bed and the dresser, about a two-foot walking space in that small 10 x 9 room we live in.  I could not reach the dresser top to pull myself up, and I could not get a firm hold on the bed edge.  I tried rolling myself over but there was not enough room.  I struggled for minutes, then laid there exhausted.  I was too tired to even call for help.  After a couple minutes, my almost three-year old (three in Sept. 2011) leans over the edge of the bed and asks me for his “blankey” which happened to fall off the bed with me.  I laughed.  Part of my movement problem was due to him and his zealous night time movements which confined me to limited stretching space while I slept on several inches of bed beside him.  He was sleeping with us because he is sick with the flu and throwing up all night.  I kept him close to monitor his fever, and my husband, who could of slept in another room, remained with us because I needed help moving the baby back and forth, with wet rags for his head, and vomit clean up off and on throughout the night.  With the noisy a/c unit, he cannot hear me in the other room.  (Have I mentioned that my husband has a hearing impairment?)  When the baby shares our tiny full bed it’s killer for both of us.  My arthritis makes my joints so sore I can barely move.  After a night with the baby beside me it’s almost impossible to move.  Luckily, mu husband checked in on us and helped me up.

We noticed the baby’s illness yesterday, when we went to the new clinic to pick up my new prescriptions.  The baby went with us, of course, since we cannot afford luxuries like babysitters.  He seemed fine but his appetite had been diminished for a couple days.  I wrote it off to the heat.  We took him to the cafeteria first, because he refused to eat breakfast when he first woke up.  I had a slice of leftover pizza wrapped in Saran wrap in my purse.  I picked a table in the corner of the cafeteria for our seating, while my husband bought a large ice tea for us to share.  The baby decided he wanted to go with “papa” to get the tea.  While they stood in line to pay, the baby puked on his shoulder.  I witnessed it and hurried over with napkins to clean it up.  It was a small amount, so we contributed to the baby’s acid stomach he gets when he doesn’t eat regularly.  We all sat down and baby sipped on his juice cup, tea, and ate a bite of pizza, then he threw up again, and again.  Now, I knew it wasn’t acid, but more likely a flu or stomach bug.  The last thing I need is to catch the flu, but when you have a small child there is no prevention or separating yourself from exposure.  My husband carried and rocked him while I waited for the prescription.  Then we hurried home.  We spent the rest of the day alternating between wet rags on his head and body to cleaning up puke.  Thankfully, by evening, the baby was feeling a bit better but the fever was still there, lighter, but still there.  He slept with us and seems perfectly okay today. 

  

The girl on the other blog also commented that her husband said she should feel guilty for talking about problems on her blog.  I experience long bouts of insomnia.  Depending on who you ask, it’s caused by worrying about dying, my illness, the results of my illness on those I love, leaving those I love with too much to deal with, the meds I’m on, or the cancer itself.  Who knows?!  But I spend a lot of those insomniac moments writing in my blog.  It helps.  It sometimes helps me relax enough to at least try and sleep, or I come across something or someone that helps me.  I feel bad that she has to feel guilty when she shares just because her unemployed husband doesn’t like it. 

I think we all consider people who are worse off than we are.  It's called compassion.  The problem I come across is people who feel they have suffered more from the same type of cancer than I, therefore my suffering is not exaggerated enough to compare; or people who want to defend all those out there who are worse off than I.  I get many internet "haters" who feel it's their place to tell me to quit whining and get on with life because they know people who suffer more (and they do not say it in a comp[assionate way!).  If I had more life to get on with, then that might work.  I cannot help it that I am depressed over dying sooner than I ever imagined.  I cannot help being depressed over leaving my husband broken and alone, a widow at age 37, his very first marriage, left to take care of everyone's mourning, my dementia stricken father and our three-year old - all alone!  There is no family to help - most have died already.  He will be a widow, single father, jobless, and nearly homeless - and I'm depressed having to put him in this position.  I think I deserve the option of being depressed (duhb!).  He has so much to deal with now, and even more, and all alone, when I am gone.  There are no jobs to support the family.  There is no insurance to help with the baby's health.  Every penny must be managed carefully for food, gas and shelter.  Everything is truly pitiful, bleak and hopeless.  But I'll be damned if I'll feel guilty about sharing my life's problems with others, here on my blog, just because someone, somewhere is worst off than I am.  I have compassion in my heart for almost everyone, and I even share with them when I can - but guilt?  The only guilt I feel is leaving my poor hubby alone to deal with everything while I cut out early to the funeral urn.  The ones who should feel guilty are the internet “haters’ who find enjoyment in “anonymous” torment of those less fortunate just for the fun of it.  Cowards!  Sign your name to your obnoxious, exaggerated and untrue comments and take the feedback.  But their comments will not make me feel guilt.