She couldn’t get out of bed. She just couldn’t. From the other room, I could hear tears. Sometimes muffled, sometimes heavy, heaving sobs.

It had been a slow descent. Slow, then rapid. Ever since Piper was born, ever since the pandemic, ever since quarantine, my wife had been slowly falling apart. She was caring for both Pidge and Piper full-time while also trying to write her grad school thesis. She was emotionally worn and physically worn. I tried to assist with the kids, but between my two jobs, I had very little to offer. We needed help, and we had no one to help.

I reached out to my in-laws, but they couldn’t do it. I reached out to my parents, but they wouldn’t do it. I reached out to my sister who wanted to do it, but whose job didn’t let her. We. Had. No. One. And my wife couldn’t keep on.

When she was diagnosed with ADHD in July, we were surprised. But she’s not hyper. Isn’t ADHD the diagnosis that applies to those little boys who bounce off the walls? With a little research we learned that there is another type of ADHD, an inattentive type, that can be equally disruptive if not more so. Once we learned a little bit about it, it explained so much. It explained why my wife has consistently struggled with hyper-focus and then an inability to fulfill commitments. It explained her short-term memory glitches. It explained her periodic self-loathing. It explained my frustration with her apparent lack of tenacity, discipline, or will power.

We got excited. Maybe once we treated the ADHD, she would be able to function again. She went to the doctor. He told her that he really wanted to put her on one type of medication, but that our insurance would not cover it until she had tried a different type. He did not want to put her on the different type. But here in America, insurance is King, so we went with the different type.

It was terrible.

And my wife was devastated.        

Not only did she not feel better, she felt worse. Her heart palpitated. She was agitated. She couldn’t focus. She would have periods of productivity punctuated by big crashes or fits of rage. The hope she had was smashed, and she grew depressed. Very depressed.

She stopped being able to care for the kids. I attended Zoom meetings and phone conferences while bouncing Piper on my knee and exposing Pidge to way more screen time than I felt comfortable with. I was just trying to hold on. We feared that my wife would have to check in somewhere. And we still had no help.

We called the doctor again. He took her off the meds and put her on a new one for depression. It seems to be helping some. We are no longer in the black hole we were in, where nothing and everything surrounded us all at once. But we are still struggling.

We are trying to make it all work. It will work. It has to work.

But I don’t know how.