a Fall and a Song

I always get up before anyone. I love the quiet time. I need the quiet time. As I was sitting on the couch, husband decides to get up earlier than usual. Came down the hallway, into the living room and fell flat on his face. I fly up, asking if he's OK, all the while my heart is in my throat. "It's really happening, this is really going to happen", I think to myself, after putting my heart back where it belongs.

I have seen husband fall a number of times the last several weeks. But, it never gets old. That feeling of seeing him fall, so helpless, face down into the carpet. It makes him mad. Mad at everything. I can't blame him.

I mentioned again that maybe he should use the walker. Of course, he says no. I know how he feels. He doesn't want to give up the last ounce of dignity he has left. He hates that walker. I got it out of the garage and he put it back in the garage.

Took Jack to school. On the way back, for some reason, I turned on the radio. Since diagnosis last year, I stopped listening to the radio in the car. Tuned into a Soft Rock station. They were playing a song I love. Unchained Melody by the Righteous Brothers. And I started to cry, big, racking sobs. Could hardly see to drive. I don't know why I did that. Maybe because the past week has been really rough on me. By the time I got home, I was OK. Emotions.

Tomorrow, I go for a check-up. My Dr knows all about husband. He is the one who referred him to Neurology, way back in 2009. Keep thinking I need something to help calm my nerves. I don't want to take anything, but something has to give. Will have to see what he says.

Today, I will try to keep calm. Husband has not moved from his chair since he fell. Is he afraid of falling again? Probably. I have to keep really close watch on him now. All the searches I've done the past couple of years say this is the beginning of the end. Once he cannot walk anymore, he will be bedridden. Then, it'll be all downhill from there.

All because of a tiny microscopic gene. A gene that does more damage than an atomic bomb. A gene that kills. A gene that is now in full force in my husband's brain. Killing him.