January 11, 2004
Yesterday was Stew's birthday. He turned 33. I don't even remember turning
33 it was so long ago. I'm sure I did -- I had to in order to get where I am today of course. Conveniently, it was a Saturday.
First on our agenda was Stew's weekly meeting with his therapist. The therapist had invited me to come for a session before, and this time I went. When Stew had told him last week that I'd come this week the therapist had said, "Great! This will be interesting and fun!"
Interesting and fun? He must have heard how I'm the life of the party.
This therapist has been much more helpful than the previous one. He recognizes aspects of himself in Stew, and he enjoys his intelligence and wit. We'd spoken before, when Stew has had disassociative episodes, psychotic breaks, and I've consulted him for courses of actions, but we'd never met.
The session went well. Due to client/therapist/caretaker privilege, that's all I'm going to say. This is an area that only Stew can talk about.
After that we attempted to run an errand for me, but met with little success. Sometimes that's what happens, life's mundane activities that MUST be done. We got something to eat. And then we returned to our homes . . . his morning meds take a heavy toll on him. We'd go out again later to go shopping, to make the trek to look for cool stuff.
And so later we ventured out into the world again. I had gift cards from Christmas and he had one from his birthday. Two for Best Buy, two for Barnes and Noble. Two of our favorite places. It was a win-win situation all around.
The crowds . . . well, let's just say there seem to be way too many people with nothing else to do than go shopping. Rather like us. The other day we'd tried to go to Barnes and Noble, but it was at the end of the day, when Stew's defenses are not as strong, and the gridlock at the Best Buy/Barnes and Noble shopping area, which also includes several other major stores, was daunting. And I knew, like I sometimes know these things, that he wouldn't be able to handle it, that the overstimulation would be too much for him, and so we decided to come back another time.
This time the gridlock was much the same, perhaps a trifle bit less congested, and I believed him to be in a better place. We went to Best Buy first. He ended up getting a computer game, while I bought myself a cheap tax program since I'm outsourcing all my tax work this year (but I still need SOMETHING) and two CD's, Sibelius and Rufus Wainwright. One mission successfully completed.
Then Barnes and Noble. I had two gift cards for B&N, so I was going to buy him what he wanted, and something for myself. After all, I had plenty of gift card money to spend. We went our separate ways, we don't look in the same categories, the same genres. I can often find him in the religion section (Christian fiction), or the literature/fiction section, or new releases. I head for the bargain books first.
Waugh. PD James, Schwarz (Drowning Ruth). Then I headed to lit/fiction, where I found Stew. There I picked up two Virginia Woolf's. Stew ended up with two books. He never buys in the same quantities I do. I saw a few more I wanted, but five was probably enough. Stew found two he wanted; he just doesn't shop in the same quantity I do, but he was happy. There was a balance left on one gift card, and I gave it to him to use at his leisure.
He bore the crowds and stimulation well, though needed a break. I needed one myself. We went to our respective homes, and I told him to take a nap. I attempted, once again, to do some client work. I'm always attempting that.
Stew talked to his dad for quite some time. And eventually showed up again. We decided to go to The Keg for dinner, a spendy steak house that we like. (To those of you who are vegetarians, I sincerely apologize for my steak lust. I have tried to overcome it and dabble in it infrequently, but all the same . . .)
We went early, to avoid the massive crowds that would show up on Saturday night. 5:00. We're like senior citizens who go to early bird dinners. We don't really care; being trendy is not in our lexicon of goals. Not much to be said about dinner, except that the food was awesome, and Stew really enjoyed it. No dessert, who had room?
And then we returned to my apartment, doggie bag in hand for Dog. Stew arranged a plate for Dog; I had to laugh when I saw how he had taken a salad plate, put some baked potato in the middle, then arranged slices of my former steak around it. I half expected to see a parsley garnish. We are not trendy, except to amuse Dog.
We sat around. We watched some tv. I took a nap. And at 10:00 he went back to his apartment, after saying it was one of the better birthdays he'd had in years. He also received email greetings from friends of mine he doesn't know, and he so much appreciated that. He says I know really nice people, which is true.
Sunday morning was not so good for me, though I consider it a slight contretemps in my otherwise contented (seeking) existence. Stew's mother contacted me by IM as soon as I logged into my computer. She often does this. I turn on my laptop and take the dog for a walk while it gets itself going. When I return I find that she's already initiated a conversation, as if she's been waiting for me. She asked how I was.
I said I was fine.
She asked if I'd made carrot cake for Stew. The previous week she'd told me I had to make carrot cake, his favorite. Then she'd told me that there was a cake mix in the package she'd sent him. I'd said, "good, that'll make my job easier," and she'd replied that no way could I use a package on his birthday, I had to make it from scratch. I didn't understand this logic, but I rarely understand her logic.
So I told her no, that I hadn't made any carrot cake at all. I'd considered it, but it was far down on the list of priorities.
She asked if I was making one today. Considering what else I need to do, some of which consists of seeing a client and working on others, it's not entirely likely.
She never asked what we'd done for his birthday. She didn't ask if he'd had a good birthday. All that mattered was that he didn't get carrot cake. I felt chastised, as if no matter what I did, it wouldn't be enough. I might as well tell you that Stew has parent issues, and even though they're great and even helpful with financial support, they still tend to treat him, and by extension me, as a child. I have parent issues also, with my parents, though that's a different story altogether.
Sigh. Stew is much wiser than his parents give him credit for. He says he does not need carrot cake; he enjoyed the time we spent together, he enjoyed our activities, he had a great birthday, despite the lack of carrot cake, which he said all along was not a big deal, if a deal at all. I have noticed, despite his mother's insistence that he can have a good life only if carrot cake is involved, that Stew, while he does like carrot cake, does not consider it mandatory in living a fulfilling and enjoyable life. And he's the one who's mentally ill.
33 it was so long ago. I'm sure I did -- I had to in order to get where I am today of course. Conveniently, it was a Saturday.
First on our agenda was Stew's weekly meeting with his therapist. The therapist had invited me to come for a session before, and this time I went. When Stew had told him last week that I'd come this week the therapist had said, "Great! This will be interesting and fun!"
Interesting and fun? He must have heard how I'm the life of the party.
This therapist has been much more helpful than the previous one. He recognizes aspects of himself in Stew, and he enjoys his intelligence and wit. We'd spoken before, when Stew has had disassociative episodes, psychotic breaks, and I've consulted him for courses of actions, but we'd never met.
The session went well. Due to client/therapist/caretaker privilege, that's all I'm going to say. This is an area that only Stew can talk about.
After that we attempted to run an errand for me, but met with little success. Sometimes that's what happens, life's mundane activities that MUST be done. We got something to eat. And then we returned to our homes . . . his morning meds take a heavy toll on him. We'd go out again later to go shopping, to make the trek to look for cool stuff.
And so later we ventured out into the world again. I had gift cards from Christmas and he had one from his birthday. Two for Best Buy, two for Barnes and Noble. Two of our favorite places. It was a win-win situation all around.
The crowds . . . well, let's just say there seem to be way too many people with nothing else to do than go shopping. Rather like us. The other day we'd tried to go to Barnes and Noble, but it was at the end of the day, when Stew's defenses are not as strong, and the gridlock at the Best Buy/Barnes and Noble shopping area, which also includes several other major stores, was daunting. And I knew, like I sometimes know these things, that he wouldn't be able to handle it, that the overstimulation would be too much for him, and so we decided to come back another time.
This time the gridlock was much the same, perhaps a trifle bit less congested, and I believed him to be in a better place. We went to Best Buy first. He ended up getting a computer game, while I bought myself a cheap tax program since I'm outsourcing all my tax work this year (but I still need SOMETHING) and two CD's, Sibelius and Rufus Wainwright. One mission successfully completed.
Then Barnes and Noble. I had two gift cards for B&N, so I was going to buy him what he wanted, and something for myself. After all, I had plenty of gift card money to spend. We went our separate ways, we don't look in the same categories, the same genres. I can often find him in the religion section (Christian fiction), or the literature/fiction section, or new releases. I head for the bargain books first.
Waugh. PD James, Schwarz (Drowning Ruth). Then I headed to lit/fiction, where I found Stew. There I picked up two Virginia Woolf's. Stew ended up with two books. He never buys in the same quantities I do. I saw a few more I wanted, but five was probably enough. Stew found two he wanted; he just doesn't shop in the same quantity I do, but he was happy. There was a balance left on one gift card, and I gave it to him to use at his leisure.
He bore the crowds and stimulation well, though needed a break. I needed one myself. We went to our respective homes, and I told him to take a nap. I attempted, once again, to do some client work. I'm always attempting that.
Stew talked to his dad for quite some time. And eventually showed up again. We decided to go to The Keg for dinner, a spendy steak house that we like. (To those of you who are vegetarians, I sincerely apologize for my steak lust. I have tried to overcome it and dabble in it infrequently, but all the same . . .)
We went early, to avoid the massive crowds that would show up on Saturday night. 5:00. We're like senior citizens who go to early bird dinners. We don't really care; being trendy is not in our lexicon of goals. Not much to be said about dinner, except that the food was awesome, and Stew really enjoyed it. No dessert, who had room?
And then we returned to my apartment, doggie bag in hand for Dog. Stew arranged a plate for Dog; I had to laugh when I saw how he had taken a salad plate, put some baked potato in the middle, then arranged slices of my former steak around it. I half expected to see a parsley garnish. We are not trendy, except to amuse Dog.
We sat around. We watched some tv. I took a nap. And at 10:00 he went back to his apartment, after saying it was one of the better birthdays he'd had in years. He also received email greetings from friends of mine he doesn't know, and he so much appreciated that. He says I know really nice people, which is true.
Sunday morning was not so good for me, though I consider it a slight contretemps in my otherwise contented (seeking) existence. Stew's mother contacted me by IM as soon as I logged into my computer. She often does this. I turn on my laptop and take the dog for a walk while it gets itself going. When I return I find that she's already initiated a conversation, as if she's been waiting for me. She asked how I was.
I said I was fine.
She asked if I'd made carrot cake for Stew. The previous week she'd told me I had to make carrot cake, his favorite. Then she'd told me that there was a cake mix in the package she'd sent him. I'd said, "good, that'll make my job easier," and she'd replied that no way could I use a package on his birthday, I had to make it from scratch. I didn't understand this logic, but I rarely understand her logic.
So I told her no, that I hadn't made any carrot cake at all. I'd considered it, but it was far down on the list of priorities.
She asked if I was making one today. Considering what else I need to do, some of which consists of seeing a client and working on others, it's not entirely likely.
She never asked what we'd done for his birthday. She didn't ask if he'd had a good birthday. All that mattered was that he didn't get carrot cake. I felt chastised, as if no matter what I did, it wouldn't be enough. I might as well tell you that Stew has parent issues, and even though they're great and even helpful with financial support, they still tend to treat him, and by extension me, as a child. I have parent issues also, with my parents, though that's a different story altogether.
Sigh. Stew is much wiser than his parents give him credit for. He says he does not need carrot cake; he enjoyed the time we spent together, he enjoyed our activities, he had a great birthday, despite the lack of carrot cake, which he said all along was not a big deal, if a deal at all. I have noticed, despite his mother's insistence that he can have a good life only if carrot cake is involved, that Stew, while he does like carrot cake, does not consider it mandatory in living a fulfilling and enjoyable life. And he's the one who's mentally ill.
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