Where Did He Go?
Tue., May 1, 03:38 PM
A friend of mine wrote about attending a marriage encounter recently and how much she and her husband benefited from it. I remembered when I first heard about that concept. Almost immediately I realized that, valid as it might be, it would never work for us.
Aside from the fact that, like many men, my husband was uncomfortable about sharing his feelings, part of the program is that one writes down things for discussion. I can imagine it: a facilitator would tell him to write, and Husband would say to me, “you write it for me.” I would tell him I couldn't do it, that we each had to do our own, and he would walk out. Writing was always my job.
It was okay. That was the way we operated — I did what I did best, and he did what he did best. That's how a partnership works. We always took care of each other.
He helped around the house, even if doing it “his way” might be a little strange. He was always a gentle soul. Occasionally he might be thoughtless, but he was never intentionally mean. That man doesn't live here any more. I am sure some other entity is inhabiting his body.
Here is a man who is, I am sure, unhappy, even though he insists he is fine. He is confused by needing half a dozen different prescriptions and frustrated that I actually make him take them. Sixty years of smoking and eating the wrong foods was his responsibility — I couldn't stop him if he did it out of my presence, and if no one saw it, it never happened. Anything he doesn't like is someone else's fault. He misplaces things and insists that someone stole them.
For a couple of years I have been telling his doctors that there is something wrong. No one heard me. I do believe that after knowing him for thirty-nine years, I can recognize changes. I asked about the long-term effects of his medications, but got no definitive answer. “He needs them.” The only thing anyone would offer me was household help, which is useless. We had that three years ago, after his last serious illness. He tolerated the aides and therapists for a couple of weeks, then became rude. He didn't want them any more, and, of course, it was my job to get rid of them.
It took uncharacteristic aggressive behavior and a court order before we could get a referral to a psychiatrist. After speaking with Husband first and then to me, the doctor told me, “It's not your marriage; this is medical.” Recommendations include a CT scan — he could have had some internal bleeding, for example — and a sedative.
After one week he is rebelling against the sedative, and against me because I make sure he takes it. He says it makes him woozy; part of the aim is to make him sleep at night rather than wander the house after everyone else goes to bed. (I told him it was to make him not want to hit anyone, and he answered, “she deserved it.”) The dose doubles in another week. I have my doubts as to whether it will be effective.
I still feel responsibility for him, but I have no more sympathy. Got me again.
