Wednesday, August 6, 2008

The Dark Side of Diabetes

Apparently, last night's tirade was completely unbeknownst to MetalliDad.

This isn't the first time that's happened... where later, upon being confronted by things he has said or done... ALWAYS mean, hateful things... he has given me this *look*, and been totally clueless at to what happened, what was said, and especially WHY.

I've had it.  While part of me says, "Hey, at least it wasn't a CONCIOUS attempt to be the biggest asshole on the planet!" - another part thinks it's even scarier.  And a little worse, maybe.

So, a little history here.  Shortly after I was in the hospital in July 2007, I wound up taking MetalliDad into the ER because of *nasty* sores on his feet that, with me having worked in surgery at a podiatrist's office... had me almost gagging.  There was an obvious infection going, and it had started making his right leg swell.

He was diagnosed with diabetes... and his blood sugar was a whopping 380mg/l.  Whereas the diagnosis wasn't really a surprise to me (both his parents were diabetic), how he wasn't in a coma from the sugar levels being so high, I STILL don't understand.  He felt *fine* other than the foot pain.  Eek.

Anyhow... this past May was the first time that he had been made aware of MANY just plain *ugly* things he had said or done.  And he had no idea.  Pending the insurance fiasco getting itself worked out... he agreed (and actually suggested *himself*) that he would look into if a doctor felt he needed medication for this apparent "mood disorder."  Especially since, according to him, his father became extremely mean for the last few years before he died.

June, he woke up, and essentially laid into me without provokation.  It was UGLY, and I felt like I had been slapped by every word that had come out of his mouth.

Last night, it was the same... except that this time, it had a shadow of violence beyond just the words he used.  He wound up yanking my arm in an attempt to snatch the tv remote from my hand, and then proceeded to fastball it at me as I tried to leave the room.  I'm amazed that it is still in one piece after the impact it made with the dresser as it whizzed past my side.

This morning when he got up for work, everything was normal.  He leaned over to give me a kiss goodbye, asked if we were still planning on going to the optometrist after he got home, and went on his merry way.  He called on his way home from work, and was pleasant, had no problem with the fact that I honestly was in a bit too much pain to feel like dealing with the eye doctor, and ended the call with an "I love you."

So, after dinner, when the subject hadn't yet been breached (and I was doubly depressed from what *should* have been a fantastic dinner gone-wrong), I brought up the fact that, after last night, I was done.  He needed to make an appointment with his doctor for the sole purpose of figuring out WHAT THE HELL HIS PROBLEM WAS.

His response?  "Why?  Last night again??"

I was... dumbfounded.  How could this man become Mr. Hyde without his being aware of the fact?  What the hell was wrong?  Could it even be fixed?  SHIT.

So, off I went to the internet before soaking all my pains away in a hot bath (or at least trying to).  And, lo and behold, I find this:

Apparently, there is strong research that shows that blood sugars of 70mg/l and lower can result in anger, violence, etc... and a high probability if being unaware of the behavior.


Now, we may be on to something.  But what to DO about it?  Do I make sure he eats a little something before going to bed, in order to elevate his sugars throughout the night?  Do we suggest to the doctor that his evening dose of medications be lowered in order to correct this problem?  Do we *still* bring up and advocate for a mood stabilizer?!

While I am slightly relieved at this information, I am also just as frustrated.  It's great if I can pinpoint what is causing the problem... but in the end, it still doesn't take away the fact that I have been driven into the ground by his words while he spit insults and attacks on my grave.  *sigh*

To top it all off, Greyson had another night from HELL.  And this time, it was worse than last night.

While trying to get him to even *lay down* - he told me to "leave him the fuck alone."

Obviously, he was well aware of what was being screamed at me the previous night and chose to use this phrase to punctuate his OWN speech.  Fabulous.

He got his very first - and hopefully, his very last - pop on the cheek.  I know.  I feel horrible about it... but ya know, when you have your *2 year old* flinging such a horrible statement at you... Well, hell.  I regret that it happened, but it could have been worse.  I don't think I have been angrier at him than at that point in time.

He didn't fall asleep until almost 1am.  I'm exhausted... from every possible angle, and in every definition of the term.  I feel like I've been torn from the line, and left lying in the mud.  Something *has* to change... and I don't know where to start.

Well, I know where, but even from that point... I have the feeling I am on a long, winding road.

I love my husband.  I have forgiven a BIG mistake, and am not about to throw away the second chance that I have given him without benefit of the doubt - and intervention.

I adore my son.  But honestly?  He has just had too much fun pushing every. last. button. the last few days.

I have already been diagnosed with depression, panic disorder, and anxiety disorder.  I have chronic pain.  My migraines are returning from the vacation they took back when I was pregnant (which, while I admit was a NICE long trip, I was really hoping that they would *love* it so much, they wouldn't come back!).

How much more can I take?  I haven't been feeling like I have any support (besides from some of you LOVELY ladies that read and post comments here!  THANK YOU - more than you will ever know!), and my well is running dry.

It seems that with every up, I am shoved down further than before.  I am *really* trying to look for that silver lining, but lately... it's been a pretty torrential storm.

Rainbows *are* real, right?  Anyone care to send a little sunshine my way?

3 Harmonizations:

Kari said...

I agree Larissa, that it's almost scarier that he doesn't remember what happened after these outbursts. It really sounds like he needs help ASAP. Will he go back to the doctor with the information you found and see if they can adjust things for him? I'm sorry you are having to deal with all of this.

moo said...

He needs help, period. Whether it's mood stabilizers or a different cocktail of insulin, there is NO REASON for him to treat you like that (and then not remember it). He needs help and if he refuses, YOU have to be the one to get it for him. You obviously value your marriage so you'll have to push him into this.

As for Grey, you're going to have to lay down the law with both him AND your husband. No more swearing, especially around the boy. Get a "swear jar" and every swear is a dollar. At the end of the month, deposit the money into a savings account for greyson.

You can also say to G, 'those are grown up words that only mommy and daddy are allowed to use.' and then go from there about how you want to punish infractions of that rule.

Oy. I don't envy your struggle ONE BIT.

CookieMomsterNCrumbs said...

There is never any excuse. As you know Im going through my own lil something here with Rich and like I said there is NEVER any valid excuse for that kind of shit. NEVER EVER.