Worst Week - Car Accident and Tornado Alley

 My husband had a car accident last week.

First, and most importantly, he's fine. The guy in the other car is fine. Damage was minimal, and considering how bad it could have been, I'm so grateful that things turned out okay.

When my husband told me about the accident, I breathed an audible sigh of relief and told him this:

"Honey, it's okay. It was an accident. That's why they're called car accidents."
"Hey, it's about time we put our car insurance to good use."
"You handled things well and I'm so glad you're okay."

Here's what I was thinking:
"GREAT! Like we need this right now!"
"How did it happen? Wait, lemme guess... you fell asleep?"
"Goodbye low car insurance rate!"

Isn't that awful? It was like two of me this time. The regular wife and the wife of a narcoleptic. We growled at each other, each determined to have her say... fortunately, now that I've had some practice, I was able to control myself and handle things fairly well.

He did fall asleep at the wheel while waiting at a light. When the car in front of him stopped, he drifted along, jerked awake, slammed on the brakes and swerved in time to hit the rear corner of the car rather than slamming into the entire back end. The most frustrating thing about the situation is my husband's denial that narcolepsy was a factor.

It's a recurring issue for us.

My husband seems to feel that admitting that narcolepsy is occasionally at fault for his mistakes is an admission that narcolepsy is a bigger issue than he cares to admit. I'm in the confusing place of not knowing when to blame narcolepsy and when to blame the man. When that confusion threatens to undo me, I stop and focus on whatever that silver lining may be. In this case, it was the fact that things could have been worse.

They really could have been.

On April 27th, our city was one of several hit by devastating tornadoes. The series of tornadoes killed almost 400 people across several states and caused billions of dollars in damage. Our family was scared, left without electricity and a few fallen trees, but we had our home, belongings, and our LIVES. Some of our friends didn't fare as well and are now homeless. Some here are still without electricity. It was a week of trauma that really put things into perspective.

My husband may have an annoying, frustrating chronic illness, but my goodness, who cares! At least I have my husband. The day that we sat huddled and frightened in our home, I leaned on him physically, emotionally, and spiritually. He handled everything. That strong supporter was definitely not narcolepsy - it was all the man.

Narcolepsy and Depression - A Natural Combination

Narcolepsy is depressing.

Picture the life: You are intelligent, love to be active, involved, affectionate, and funny. But your illness makes you dull and slow. Mentally lethargic, you'd rather just listen to the conversation rather than participate. You can sometimes make it to the party, but the first thing you need to do is find a place to nap.

Such is the life of my husband, the narcoleptic.

Understandably, he gets down about his condition. A born list-maker, he always has a million things he wants to get done each day. Realistically, he often has to settle with just getting through the day. This frustrates him and sometimes saddens him. Many times he gets very sad. So sad that he feels hopeless. So hopeless that he feels like giving up. He swings from ranting to crying and back again, in an exhausting cycle of emotions that drains us both.

That's depression.

My husband didn't think he was depressed. He thinks that he's just "messed up" sometimes. While I certainly respect his opinion (it is HIS body, after all), I vehemently disagree. See, about 10 years ago, I was clinically depressed. Major depression was a large part of my life for many years. Too many. I spent years seeing psychiatrists and therapists, participated in group therapy, tried several different anti-depressants, and was even hospitalized a few times.

Nothing helped.

Eventually, I decided that if I was going to get well, I'd have to take matters into my own hands. When I did, I slowly got better and now all these years later, I know I made the right choice. But that's another post. My point is that, if nothing else, I recognize the symptoms of depression. I recognize them like I recognize the facial features in a photograph of someone I once hated. Someone who stalked me relentlessly, teased and tortured me, and fought tooth-and-nail when I was finally able to push them away. Yes, I know depression.

So what to do? If you suspect that someone you love suffers from depression, can you force them to get help?

No, but you can show them what healthy looks like.

In describing my experience with depression to my husband, I saw recognition in his eyes. Now I just have to introduce him to something else.

Hope.