I posted this as a response to a thread by my lovely friend Michael In Vermont. I decided to share it as a blog as remembering the episode reminded me of the power of laughter to cure most everything and the importance of humor for getting through even the toughest situations. Laugh it up, friends!
One of the things that dealing with PsA first left me feeling was overly dependent on Ellen, my spouse. I used to do the floors, the vacuuming, the laundry and Ellen did what I hate most--the grocery shopping. When we moved into our current house we got a swanky new washer and dryer and spruced up that part of the basement so if I happen to drop something it lands on laminate wood floor not on gross and nasty old concrete.
Not long into my Dx things clearly changed and I stopped pushing around the vacuum and the mop, even the steam mop got put away--and I LOVE that thing. But, I had no intention of giving up the laundry. So stubborn was I, that I refused to give Ellen a lesson on how the machines work. There are lots of buttons and they play tunes when you turn them on and when the cycle has finished, so it is a bit daunting to try to figure them out (unlike the old top-loader we used to have). She would often ask if I would show her how to use it and I would make excuses to not. All because I was proud. I felt that if there was just ONE thing that she needed me for then she wouldn't reconsider us being together because she'd actually need me for something so she would keep me around. Pitiful, right? But that's how demoralized PsA got me.
Well, this laundry situation all blew up one weekend when she had asked for some laundry. I thought she needed clothes for the climbing gym but I was tired and very stiff and the thought of going down to the basement and back up the stairs just defeated me. So I didn't come through. She was kind enough to wait all weekend without prodding but Sunday night came and still no laundry. As it turns out what she REALLY needed was underwear. She got so irritated with me (for not having clean undies and for my not telling how the washer worked) and I got angry and defensive, then I cried because I felt defeated yet again. The one thing I insisted I do for her, for us, I just couldn't do. I felt demoralized, weak, and needy.
In the end, and after a lot of careful thought and reflection it all ended up perfectly because I figured out the real problem. Yes, I needed to buy her more underwear. So, I got her two six-packs from Target and we haven't argued about not having enough clean knickers since!!!