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“It’s true, you are more likely to wake up and find that you’ve had a relapse, but it’s not the actual process of sleeping that causes it. People can wake up from a fifteen minute nap and find they’re having a relapse. But, not sleeping won’t prevent it from happening. If anything, the lack of sleep will only make a relapse more likely,” Kate explains, and I can feel her eyes assessing the black circles under my eyes.
I had hoped my thick-rimmed glasses would hide them, but apparently not. She answered the question like she knew what I was implying. All the unsaid things, she addressed. She knew I’d been avoiding sleep, and now I need to try and get it in my head that, what I see as my coping mechanism, my way of controlling an uncontrollable situation, might actually be the thing that’s making me worse.
Kate talks a little more about the condition, and both Lee and I sit there, listening to every word she says. But it’s not at all like she’s lecturing us, it’s like she really wants to help us to understand. She isn’t just reproducing an answer we could have read on Google either, she makes reference to real people and real situations, giving me hope that if others can beat this, then so can I.
We arrange to meet again in two weeks, giving us more than enough time to read all the leaflets and come up with some questions. As we were leaving, with Lee’s hand firmly clasped in mine, I’m overwhelmed by a feeling I didn’t think I’d feel for a while—hope.
I’m hopeful that I can learn about my MS and how it affects me, and in doing that, I can learn to get it under control. I can learn what things trigger my symptoms. Like when I go in the shower, I’m so exhausted afterwards because my body doesn’t handle extreme changes in temperature too well. I also know, no matter how scared I am, I need to get some more sleep. All these things will hopefully get me back at work and living a normal life again.
Before meeting with Kate, I had lost all hope. Even with Lee, I was still convinced he will leave as soon as things get rough, but after today, I’m not so sure he will. I have hope he really means what he says, and plans to stay with me, no matter what.
CHAPTERTWENTY-SIX
EMMALEIGH
It’s been over a month since I first met Kate, my MS nurse, and we’ve met a few times now. Every time she gives us homework, both Lee and I work hard at reading and learning the leaflets she gave us. And I have tried so hard to come to terms with my diagnosis, but it’s not going how I would like.
We’ve reached the stage where medically I can start treatment, but Kate wants me to be assessed by a counsellor first. No matter how good an act I put on for her when we meet, she can see through it. I want to be okay with everything, but it’s harder than I thought it would be.
The lack of sleep is still a massive problem. No matter how much I tell myself it’s safe to fall asleep, even when I’m in Lee’s arms, I still can’t get more than half an hour before my body wakes me up, terrified of what could be heading my way.
Obviously the lack of sleep is taking its toll on me, and it’s making me a little irrational. Lee spent all week with me when we first got together, but after that, he had to go back to work, which meant going back home. I wanted to tell him not to leave, to ask him to move in with me, but I didn’t want to sound like a crazy person. I mean, we’ve only been dating properly a week at that point—it’s far too soon.
Lee promised he would do the same as before; sleep at home Monday through Thursday, and come to mine over the weekend. It’s only four days, but it felt like an eternity. Whenever Lee was here, it’s like I could easily keep the darkness at bay, or should I say, it was easy to distract myself and get lost in Lee. Whether it was chatting to him, watching TV with him, or all the sex we had. Being around him gave me the spark I needed to survive. But, sadly, every time he left, so did my spark.
I know it sounds very anti-feminist to rely so much on a man, but I don’t think that’s completely what it is. It doesn’t necessarily have to be Lee here. I think the problem is that when I’m alone, all I’m left with is my intrusive thoughts. My sleep deprived brain gets the better of me and the darkness descends.
Over the past week or so, that darkness has become so bad, it’s hard to push it aside when Lee does come over. I can see he’s worried about me. I’m not showering, I’m barely sleeping or eating. I’m so consumed by depression, it’s hard to function normally.
The whole thing came to a head two days ago, when Lee came home from work to find me, quite literally, hitting rock bottom. As painful as it is to remember, the memories flash in my head so vividly.
“Hey, Beautiful. I’m home,” Lee shouts as he walks through the front door, but I can barely hear him, or make out what he’s saying.
I’m in my own little bubble, and I don’t even know how long I’ve been here. It’s like I have spaced out, and I can’t remember much of what happened to get me here.
I try to look around a little, but the more I move, the worse the buzzing in my ears becomes. It’s so loud it’s almost deafening, and I want to move my hands to place them over my ears, but I can't. Why can’t I move my arms?
My head feels so spaced out, and it genuinely feels like a black cloud has descended over me, making me forget about where I am, or what the hell I’m doing.
As I look around a little, I realise I’m sitting on the kitchen floor, my back against the cupboard door. The lino feels cool under my ass, which now that I think about it has gone a little numb. How long have I been sitting here?
I try to think back to what I was doing before this dark cloud claimed me. I remember it was lunch time, and I came into the kitchen to make myself a sandwich. I had a real craving for a tuna mayo, so I gathered all the ingredients. I placed the tin opener on the tin of tuna, and tried to clamp it down with my hand. But every time I tried, it wouldn’t clamp onto the tin. Or when it did finally clamp on, I couldn’t press down hard enough to have the opener cut through the metal.
The more I tried to open the tin of tuna, the more my hand started to tremble. For the last few days I’ve had intermittent pins and needles and weakness in my hands. Kate assures me it’s caused by my lack of sleep and stress. But that doesn’t help me right now. I’ve never had my MS affect me in such a simple way. All I kept thinking is that if I can’t even open a fucking tin of tuna what’s the point in living.
As soon as thoughts of ending my life began taking shape, the darkness latched onto that feeling, making it ten times worse. I’m so lost, not even thinking about anything except how much better everyone’s lives would be without me. That’s when Lee comes into the kitchen.
I’m barely even aware of him kneeling down in front of me. It’s not until I feel his cold hand pressing against my arm, does he pull me back from the abyss. I look down at where his hand is, and I’m shocked by what I see.
In my left hand, the one Lee is now holding, I have a large kitchen knife that I’m pressing against my right wrist. I don’t know how long I’ve been sitting here, pressing the blade down into my flesh, but there’s blood dripping from the wound, pooling on my leggings beneath my arm.
Lee moves his hand slowly, so as to not startle me, and he places it over the knife handle. For the first time since he knelt down with me, I look Lee in the eyes. His bright blue eyes are filled with tears, and a few have escaped and are streaming down his cheeks. He looks so scared as he glances between my face, the knife, and my bloody wrist. When he finally talks, his voice is so low it’s barely audible, and it’s not hard to hear the way he quivers as he speaks. He's scared. “Em, Beautiful. Please will you give me the knife?”
His eyes bore into mine, and as my brain catches up, I can’t even understand why I still have the knife. I look down again, taking in the cut across my forearm, and my heart races as I realise what I’ve done. It’s like the mist that was clouding my judgement finally dissipates and I’m left with the aftermath. Blood drips from my wound, my hand shakes with fear as I realise how close I just came to ending my own life. Worst of all is seeing the tears my boyfriend has allowed to fall. How the hell could I have been so selfish to even think of leaving him?
But the point is, I never thought about it. It’s not like I sat down on the kitchen floor, with the knife in my hand, and purposefully attempted to kill myself. I’m a nurse for fucks sake. If I were going to end my own life, I’d know how to do it. But there’s no other way to explain it. I genuinely didn’t know what I was doing. It’s like the darkness, and those fucking scary feelings, just took over me, and I let them.
I hand Lee the knife and he throws it to the other side of the kitchen before grabbing a clean tea towel out of the drawer. As he’s about to place it over my wound, I quickly look down and try to assess how bad it is. “I don’t think it’s deep enough to need stitches,” I mumble, as he places the towel over the wound. I can’t help but wince as the fabric hits my open cut.
