By Tab Moura
My memories that come to mind, when I reflect on my rougher chronic illness years, are often bitter sweet. Early in my marriage my husband and I endured incredibly painful seasons of debt, unemployment, the push-and-pull of checking out, and angry words shared… but these were years that truly taught us to love.
When it comes to chronic illness, sometimes we hear romantic stories about a dedicated spouse becoming a caregiver, and we imagine the indescribable strength it takes to support a spouse in that way. And as romantic and powerful as these stories are, I don’t believe that their romance is the point. Romanticizing sickness creates a perception that is not realistic- life is not a Nicholas Sparks movie.
The truth is, I once fell into this category, my husband was the strong one for me when I needed it most. It brought us closer together, but I confess it was much messier than it sounds. My husband would help lift me out of bed when my cervical instability was at its worst, he’s brought me my coffee in bed more days than I can count, and he’s helped me medicate when my arms were weak following seizures. My husband has also experienced burnout. He has worked a 9-5 and had to drop everything to come home and help me. He has listened to me yell and scream due to my brain inflammation overwhelming my body. He has helped me off the floor when I collapsed after accidentally breathing in a chemical (I am allergic to many chemicals). And he’s gone without intimacy and affection for long stents of time, due to how empty I felt from my seizures. Is he my hero? No. He’s something much cooler than that, he’s my husband.
Any decent human being would help someone when they were symptomatic like I was, but who would choose to live with it? I once read that a person with strong character is honest, resilient and dependable… that is exactly how I would describe my husband. People with strong character stick around— it’s not because it’s romantic.
I know this, because there were 6 months when my husband and I switched roles. It was me who was becoming healthy and fit, and his health hit a rough patch. I watched him lay in bed for days during a flair, and there were times that he was so miserable he would say ugly things to me. I watched as he would become emotionally closed off and hardly eat. Biological hormone imbalances are brutal, y’all; it’s not just mental health that is affected. He was in physical pain, suffering, and it splashed on all of us. When he was sick he didn’t want me around, but I stuck around anyway. Because he deserved it. He later told me that my actions saved our marriage… but I believe it’s simpler than that. When I consider our history, his hard work, his dedication to our family, the way he supports what I love- and yes, how he took care of me on my sickest days… The choice was simple: stick around.
I believe that the healthiest marriages aren’t the ones that have weekly date nights, or weekend getaways— These things can be great, but we haven’t done those things in years due to poor health. Specific activities don’t save taxed marriages like ours— character does.
