What Happens If You Die?

"What if you die?"

This is not an attention-seeking or over-dramatic thought. It is a thought that runs through my head and terrifies me every day, both as a wife and as my husband's carer.

I walked a long and lonely path for many years before I met my husband, and I didn't meet him in the rosy-red romantic circumstances that you often hear about couples meeting each other.

I met him whilst we were patients in a psychiatric ward, during the most traumatic time of my life.

A place where I had been brought in by four ambulance men who had to hold me up because I had been sleeping on the street for a long time after escaping violence and traumatic rape, and I only weighed four stone. A place where I had no idea who I was, and no idea how I got there or where I was, because I had fallen temporarily unconscious in the ambulance. A place where in the early days, I kept myself out of the way for months because of the sheer terror of being abused again, after enduring years of abuse and torture both in and out of relationships.

Also, a place where I met the love of my life, who looked after me through my years of illness and loved me for all that I was and am today.

This is a man who has always taken care of me and helped me through the trauma.

A man who is the only man ever to have shown me true love.

I have had girlfriends in the past too, but none of those relationships have ever been as deep and original as the marriage that I have built with my husband, who has been my friend, foe, companion, lover, husband, and many things to me over the years.

"What happens if you die?"

I silently ask myself this question while my heart bleeds silent tears every night. I see my husband constantly battle pain, and I hear the confusion in his thoughts every day.

I watch him struggle in pain getting around the house and up the stairs, even just walking in the street, and I see him fall a lot, but still, I fight my inner emotional struggle to help him make it through the day.

Here is another thing;

My husband has an irregular heartbeat on top of the chronic pain and other multiple damages that the operation to remove his brain tumor as a toddler, COVID-19, and the car crash brought about.

Every night when my husband sleeps, his heartbeat jumps or slows, sometimes causing him to gasp heavily for breath as he wakes up, sometimes a nightmare followed by sleep paralysis will make it worse.

Nightmares do not just happen to children.

During this time, all I can do is try and comfort him until he becomes aware of his surroundings, but,

If these dreams raise his heartbeat too fast, they could kill him or give him a heart attack.

I do two jobs at once:

First and foremost, I am his wife, but I am also his Registered Carer.

Balancing these roles alone like I do, can be extremely emotional, and I have to work harder at taking care of myself as well as my husband.

Sure, we do get out a little more now and I manage to get him to concerts and shows because he enjoys those, but it's not without difficulties as often the facilities are inappropriate and do not meet my husband's needs.

However; it isn't healthy for him to be indoors all the time either, and it would be even more unhealthy for him to have to give up the things he loves.

I restarted my fitness routine recently so that I can remain strong both mentally and physically, but still the thought,

"What if you die?"

creeps into my head.

It isn't so much the loneliness that comes with it; it's the terrifying feeling that these disabilities are and will get progressively worse.

However, I think many carers out there would probably relate to me since I am a carer to a cancer survivor too.

I have a deep fear of that cancer coming back, even though I am told it is rare.

One of my ex-boyfriends was told the same thing about his cancer which he developed as a toddler, he died about seven years ago from the same cancer.

I refuse to let fear beat me, but I am only human, and keeping it inside will break me.

I still have to be strong for my husband, but sometimes I have to open up because not allowing myself to be vulnerable does not help me mentally.

However, I continue to care, even if nobody else does because well, this man is my husband and he is my entire world.

My husband spent 31 years caring for mental health patients, and drug and alcohol addicts. He has cared for famous people and non-famous people alike.

He was a good mental health nurse, and he was well-liked,

But if no one else cares, even after all the kindness he has shown throughout his career, at least I do.

And I always will.

My fear won't beat me, because I have got this.