Talking to my shrink yesterday, I felt how frustrated I’ve been feeling without wanting to admit it to myself. Part of it is the fact that Barry has been losing weight and the neurologist didn’t seem all that overly concerned about it because Barry’s weight has fluctuated over the years of being his patient. While that seems perfectly reasonable, the fact remains that Barry’s weight is less than ten pounds greater than when I thought he was dying twenty years ago. His complexion was gray. I was worried sick. His weight was 135 pounds. It turned out that he was on a very bad combination of antibiotics and he eventually recovered. He is now 144, with his shoes on. His weight has changed over the past 18 months—downward only. There is no recovery from Huntington’s, as far as I know.
Once again, I feel like the rug is being pulled out from under my life, while the expectation placed upon me is that I should behave as if everything is normal. Trying to act normally is not working very well.
What makes me seem normal right now is my frustration. Everyone around here has had it with winter, shoveling, etc. It never gets warm and it snows all the time. Worse yet, there is no place to actually put the snow when you do have a shovel-full. Everyone has a massive case of cabin fever. Everyone is on edge and in a bad mood. People are just tired. So I don’t stand out in the slightest. I’m frustrated. Join the club. I’m in good company.