Jan 28, 2009
It has been a month since the first PVCs. They are getting worse. Chest pain, terror. I feel myself slipping away from my old life, from all I used to be. I am distancing myself from my husband and son because I feel like they should get used to life without me. I am utterly convinced this is going to kill me. My doctor tells me this is benign. I don't believe him. I have seen studies to indicate otherwise. I wish I had a better doctor. I believe in my gut that these are a sign of impending death. I feel death at my shoulder. I am mourning my own life. I used to be happy, and my husband and I laughed all the time. Now I cry. He looks at me with fear and pity. My son doesn't know me anymore. I went to read him a story the other night and he said "I want daddy, I'm not used to you." I have withdrawn from everything I used to love, because I want to make sure they can manage without me before I disappear. Sometimes I think it would be easier to end it quickly than to endure this horrific decline. My speech is slightly slurred now, too, like I have a stutter I never used to have. I don't know what is happening to me, but I hate it. I miss me.