At this time of year, it seems natural to reflect on things.  I've realized that I haven't really come to terms with the stress and pain my husband's bipolar disorder has caused.  So, I thought it might help to get it out in the open.

 Up until August, 2006, I had a happy marriage.  My husband and I were like best friends, sharing everything.  I knew I could always count on him to be there for me.  He was a wonderful father to our 3 children.   Like all things in life, it wasn't perfect, but it was very close.

On Aug. 7th, 2006, my husband came home from work with severe stomach pain.  We thought it was appendicidis or something like that.  I drove him to emergency.  After a long day there, they diagnosed severe diverticulitus.  His intestine was badly infected, with a possiblity of a rupture.  He was hospitalized for a week, with no food or water to allow his intestine to "rest".  He was given strong antibiotics.  While there, he complained about how dirty the hospital was.  He had worked there when we were first married.  After 5 days, he was better, didn't need surgery and was allowed to come home.

At home, things began smoothly at first.  He started talking to all his family members on the phone a lot, which was unusual, but I figured  realizing he was mortal had shocked him up a little.   He also began to watch CNN a lot.  He wanted to find and contact friends he hadn't seen since elementary school, and was writing a lot of letters.   He than started to cry uncontrolably sometimes, so unlike himself. 

On Aug. 15, (Tue) his mother contacted me very concerned with the things he was saying on the phone, saying he seemed to be losing touch with reality.  Since he was making his calls privately from the bedroom, I hadn't heard the converstions.  She asked me to check the side effects on his antibiotics.  I had my sister, a pharmacy tech. check.  Sure enough, one of the meds. could cause mental /mood changes.  I called his doctor and described what was happening and they immediately switched his meds.  It was going to take 3 days to get out of his systom, though.  Perfect timing, I thought, because he would be back to normal by the 18th, our  22nd anniverary.

I explained what was going on to my husband, that he was reacting badly to the meds.  He argued with me at first, saying he was feeling great and seeing things more clearly than ever,  but finally accepted it. (I had no experience than to see it was turning into a full manic episode).

To my dissappointment, by Wed., he was no better and even seemed worse.  I took it in stride, though, still believing he would be better by Fri.  Wednesday evening, he woke up from a nap and was completely different.  He was laughing uncontrollably, squeezing me very tightly, and just so unlike I'd ever seen him before.  My oldest daughter grabbed up my son and fled to my mom's house.  I'm still grateful he didn't see it.

My husband then began to try to take off his clothes and run outside.  I had to keep stopping him, but he would just giggle and try again.  I called his parents and my sister to see if they could help me get him to the hospital.  By the time they got there, it was clear he would need to go by ambulence.  I called 911 and they took him.

At the hospital, I explained to the emergency room doctor what was going on.  He didn't believe me.  My husband's blood work came back positive for marijuana, and the doctor said that was what was causing it.  I knew he had smoked a little, but knew it was  not recently and not that day.  I didn't think it could have caused such an extreme reaction, anyway.  The doctor insisted that I take him back home.  I tried to argue asking what I should do if it happened again.  He said to call the police to handle it!

He did seem calmer, and we went home.  All night, he paced around the house, not sleeping.  I was watchful, but he did seem to be improving.  Only 1 more day until Friday, so maybe he was going to get better.

This is how my wild roller-coaster ride began.