Ever since I was in early grade school, I’ve known that, someday, I would take my own life. I was berated by my father and my peers, spanked severely on a regular basis, teased for my “Frankenstein” crew-cut (NOT cool in the ’60s), sexually abused by a next-door neighbor, frequently in trouble at school. In short: life’s pluses rarely outweighed its minuses in my mind.
As I grew older, the highs and lows changed, but my conclusion remained the same. I did attempt suicide several times between ages 18-22, was hospitalized for one of them on a psychiatric hold, but I knew what to say to be released. I had a high IQ, but not the maturity or focus to take advantage of it. Drugs and alcohol became a source of relief – the alcohol being furnished by my abuser as part of the grooming process – so I was drinking a pint of whiskey and a six-pack of beer every day by my freshman year of high school.
My respite came at the age of 22, oddly enough, from the other next-door neighbor; he placed me in a company apartment for the summer, gave me six weeks of free room/board to start self-studying computers. This was 1981, before the IBM PC was introduced, so college computer science still revolved around “main frame” computers with punch cards for programming. There was also a series of dumb terminals for creating short BASIC and Pascal programs. I took one semester of classes at the community college: BASIC, Pascal, Cobol, Fortran, Accounting. At the end of the semester, he arranged an interview at the startup company he was hired to write a business plan for. I got the job (supposedly without any outside influence), but for nearly minimum wage. I worked my ass off and rapidly advanced. Employees and customers loved me. I was happy for the first time in my life.
Years went by; I met my wife through work, we raised a daughter and two sons. We had a nice, four-bedroom home in Southern Orange County, CA. Open thoughts of suicide were rare, but they never left my subconscious; I “knew” the good times wouldn’t last. I was right.
At the beginning of the year 2000, our net worth, including stock options, was approximately two million dollars. We gave money to charities and needy individuals – a lot of money. It was the right thing to do. Then the market crashed. Due to the “magic” of stock options, we lost over 1 million dollars in less than 24 hours. But we had our home and our health, so we were okay. Our lifestyle changed; our charitable giving dropped substantially. In 2002, my wife was diagnosed with an autoimmune disease that was ultimately fatal: Diffuse Systemic Sclerosis (Scleroderma). Within 6 months she was unable to work; within 3 years, she was unable to walk. She cheated death on several occasions – hypertensive crises, the #1 cause of sudden death from Scleroderma – and the disease hardened the joints of her extremities, making it nearly impossible to move her arms or legs. She was able to use a spoon in her left hand, but that was it. I had to carry her to the toilet, cut up her food, etc. I also inherited the household chores. For various reasons, we didn’t want to burden the kids with extra duties as a result of her disease. It’s debateable whether or not that was the right decision.
Along the way, I was fighting infirmities of my own. My hands were becoming increasingly painful from using the keyboard. I was tested for carpal tunnel syndrome, but nothing was found. The pain progressed ’til I began to lose movement in the ring finger of my left hand, and the pain was moving up my arms almost to my elbows. My back, frequently a source of acute flare ups, was becoming a chronic source of pain. I was forced to sell my motorcycle, because I couldn’t use the handlebar controls. I sold my part-time photography business, because I couldn’t hold a professional DSLR for any length of time. Eventually, a chiropractor x-rayed my neck, and discovered I had Degenerative Disc Disease and Degenerative Arthritis in C5,C6,C7 discs and vertebrae.
Then, in 2009, I lost my job. My boss said I was “no longer capable of performing my duties.” He was right. Between my medical bills and my wife’s, we quickly eat through our savings, followed by the 401-k. We sold our house in a “distress” sale, for many thousands less than it was worth, during the greatest recession of my lifetime. The timing of our difficulties couldn’t have been worse. We moved into an apartment in a neighboring town. My youngest son, a junior in high school, changed school systems for the first time in his life. He was brave and upbeat at first, but the newness wore off. We were fighting to get Social Security Disability benefits for me, and we were still fighting when we were forced out of our apartment. We had to move in with her mother Los Angeles County, roughly 60 miles from our original home. We left our son behind with friends, so he could finish high school back with his original classmates. We missed him a lot, and he grew up a lot. Since then, he has left us to pursue a Computer Science degree at Sonoma State University, incurring a great deal of student debt in the process. I never thought that I would not be able to pay for my childrens’ college educations, but such is life. My daughter has since married (a story all its own), and my elder son is living with us and “Nana”, attending the local junior college, and trying to figure out what to do with himself.
My wife is still alive, but it’s hard work keeping her that way. She makes frequent trips to the hospital, either for blood transfusions or secondary infections of one type or another. My pain continues to worsen, because of natural degeneration as well as the stress of frequently lifting and turning my wife. I have greatly reduced my pain medication, eliminated all psychiatric meds, but I participate in group therapy for pain management, meditate several times a day, and use a TENS device regularly to help reduce my pain. Several people along the way have expressed surprise that I have stayed with my wife over the past 12+ years of her illness. She has been bedridden for a majority of that time; we haven’t had “relations” since 2001. Other people, including most therapists I’ve seen, have suggested that it is “acceptable” and “understandable” if I were to decide to pursue a sexual relationship outside our marriage. These people remind that my wife “isn’t capable of performing her ‘wifely duties’, and that I shouldn’t feel ashamed” if I decide to look elsewhere for “relief”, “comfort”, “companionship”, etc. Apparently, marriage vows are only “guidelines” if you want to maintain your mental health. Perhaps there is some truth to this, but I’m sticking with my vows, at least for now. Truth be told, I’m no hero – I have no idea how I’d react if a “desirable” woman were to throw herself at my feet. Fortunately that hasn’t happened yet, so I can continue to hold the moral high ground, but you’ll never catch me judging someone else in my position for making a different decision. Life is hard; I can’t fault someone else for wanting to pursue any opportunity for joy, especially when their current situation makes joy a rare visitor to an otherwise pain filled life.
Conclusion: If I didn’t still have a living wife, I would already be dead. My children are grown, and they worry about us more than they should. I would love to see their life milestones, but the mileage in between just isn’t worth it. I know someday soon, the benefit/burden ratio will tip in favor of “checking out”, and I’m okay with that.
Posted by David Amordë 