I'm not getting enough compassion from my husband as I near the final stretch of my daily radiation for breast cancer.
My big mistake was declining his offer to drive me to the treatments.
Because he's retired and gets up at noon, and my treatments are at 9 am, I said, "No, you don't have to drive me. I can find a parking place and go in myself. It only takes fifteen minutes to go in, change to a hospital gown, get the radiation, get dressed again, and leave. It would be nice to be dropped off and picked up, but you don't have to do that."
Being tough and independent is my usual pattern. Maintaining a stiff upper lip worked for a few weeks, but now I'm actually tired as a result of radiation and not taking time for an afternoon nap.
I forgot to communicate the change in status to my husband. He hasn't asked, "How are you feeling?"
I haven't sat him down and said, "Look, this radiation is getting to me. I need some support."
Instead, I've gotten irritable and he has continued to yell at me whenever he feels like it--for example, when I turned on the dryer with his wet clothes in it, but he didn't want them dried.
The solution: a fainting couch.
I found these couches mentioned in the preface to a new book by Susan Campbell, Tempest-Tossed: The Spirit of Isabella Beecher Hooker, and I took the hint.
Turns out they are for sale at Macy's and everywhere else on the internet.
Today I took a big dramatic nap in the bedroom, but tomorrow I'm ordering one of these plush red fainting couches and having it moved into our living room.
I can't say there's been any change yet, but here's hoping.
My big mistake was declining his offer to drive me to the treatments.
Because he's retired and gets up at noon, and my treatments are at 9 am, I said, "No, you don't have to drive me. I can find a parking place and go in myself. It only takes fifteen minutes to go in, change to a hospital gown, get the radiation, get dressed again, and leave. It would be nice to be dropped off and picked up, but you don't have to do that."
Being tough and independent is my usual pattern. Maintaining a stiff upper lip worked for a few weeks, but now I'm actually tired as a result of radiation and not taking time for an afternoon nap.
I forgot to communicate the change in status to my husband. He hasn't asked, "How are you feeling?"
I haven't sat him down and said, "Look, this radiation is getting to me. I need some support."
Instead, I've gotten irritable and he has continued to yell at me whenever he feels like it--for example, when I turned on the dryer with his wet clothes in it, but he didn't want them dried.
The solution: a fainting couch.
I found these couches mentioned in the preface to a new book by Susan Campbell, Tempest-Tossed: The Spirit of Isabella Beecher Hooker, and I took the hint.
Turns out they are for sale at Macy's and everywhere else on the internet.
Today I took a big dramatic nap in the bedroom, but tomorrow I'm ordering one of these plush red fainting couches and having it moved into our living room.
I can't say there's been any change yet, but here's hoping.
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Fainting couch - Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia
en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fainting_couchWikipediaA fainting couch is a couch with a back that is traditionally raised at one end. The back may be situated completely at one side of the couch, or may wrap around ...Fainting room - Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia
en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fainting_roomWikipediaA fainting room was a private room, of which its main features/furniture werefainting couches, used during the Victorian era, to make women more comfortable ...-
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