The last few days have played havoc with my whirling mind. There is so much for which I should be really grateful, ecstatic even, yet I have noticed my mood tipping in the downward direction. And I haven't liked that slippery slope one little bit.
Having a Man Child such as my beloved Alex has always been tinged with the odd slash of drama, but the immediate past events have just about blown me off kilter. Discovering twenty-six years after his Autism diagnosis that he has had a probable traumatic brain injury, possibly early in his life, has caused me distress and confusion. And now we have to wait...for an EEG (next week), for a neurology appointment (triaged for prior to the end of May) and for a Neurosciences appointment to discover the associated neurological damage (no idea of a date) to confirm or not confirm what has been contained in Alex's rather alarming MRI report.
The war in Ukraine and the suffering of the refugees has also added to my unease. There but for the grace of God go we. What is a life of a Ukrainian worth? A Syrian? An Afghan? An Iraqi? An Iranian? A Hazara? A Georgian? A Chechen? A Tamil? So many wars. So much death and destruction.
Then there are those of us who may be supported (or not) by the NDIS, Centrelink or Veterans Affairs. How disabled or ill does one have to be before somebody else decides that life costs too much? We have made huge advances in medical science, so that those who may not have survived thirty years ago are now surviving. Christopher died with a right-sided heart lesion. Alex has lived with a similar right-sided heart lesion. Now that we have achieved those medical successes, we have to give us all the best quality of life as possible. To do otherwise is to play God, which is precisely what is happening in the war zones around the world.
Plus COVID. We comfort ourselves that the majority of people who have died were elderly and had other co-morbid conditions. Did those thoughts help anybody through their own COVID death? Or did those thoughts ease the emotional burden of those left behind?
So, that has been the context of my thoughts and feelings recently. I shouldn't wonder that the Black Dog has come sniffing. As I explained to my doctor, my triggers that lead to the darkness are never apparent until they are upon me. Then begins the fight to return to equilibrium.
Today, I have concentrated really hard on success. One of Michael's sculptures sold to a very generous couple over the weekend. They have also ordered a second piece. That meant I could pay outstanding bills that had been put on hold. I can take the cats to the vet for their vaccinations. I can think about birthday gifts for Callum, Alex and Bronwyn. I can pay John and Nicolette the five dollars I owe them from a long-ago morning tea.
And we had an absolutely wonderful Sundowner on Saturday night. The crowd was small and intimate on the pavement. Everybody was able to talk and listen. The vino flowed. Lawrence played music. We had enough sausages left over to make one of Michael's favourite dishes Sausage Sensation (an Ian Parmenter recipe) for dinner last night with Jan and Greg as our guests.
These are my small personal victories I've achieved to enable me to blow raspberries at the Black Dog. I've told him to bugger off again. There is no doubt that he will try to return, which means I must be on my guard. I still have to deal with all the external chaos. However, my cocoon of safety, of Michael's love, of my family and friends serve to protect me.
How lucky am I.
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