On a blog about chronic illness and relationships, it makes sense to share the story of how chronic illness first made an unwelcome appearance into my marriage.
My husband (Joe) and I were married on June 18, 2011. We honeymooned in Disney World (because I will NEVER, EVER, EVER outgrow wearing mouse ears!), and then added 2 extra days in Orland because I wanted to see the Wizarding World of Harry Potter. (Okay, so now we are clear on how much of a nerd I am.) Anyway, it’s the last night of the honeymoon, and we go to bed- completely healthy . . . Hours later (I’m not sure when exactly. I was relatively incoherent.) I wake up in crazy amounts of pain. Okay, I’m talking the type of pain that is so all consuming that you aren’t really sure WHAT is hurting.
**Now, let me side bar here to point out- this was my HONEYMOON! In other words, this was a point in my marriage when I still wore cute pajamas and tried to look semi-attractive at night. I realize Joe was already legally bound to me at this point, but I still, you know, wanted him to think he had wife rather than female beast of some sort.**
So then, my stomach (is that even what was hurting??) decides to release its control over dinner, and I remember thinking, “Oh please, God, don’t let me vomit on my husband. I’m pretty sure that’s not how a honeymoon is supposed to end . . .” So I spend the next little while heaving in the bathroom (and, “Oh my goodness! Is that blood?!?!?”) while my tired and oblivious husband rests peacefully.
(If you are totally grossed out at this point, I promise this is the last post about vomit. Hang with me, please.)
I stumble out of the bathroom and collapse on the floor in something between a faint and an “oh my goodness. Too much pain. I. Can’t. Comprehend. This.” And, THEN, the other half of my wedded bliss awakes, walks over to me, and says, “Are you sick? You should get in bed.”
Even in times of pain and illness and overwhelming grossness, my sarcasm is apparently completely in tact, because my loving reply was, “Do you really think I’d be lying in the floor of a Best Western if I could get to the bed?” I’m ashamed to say that it was at this point I started crying. I have no clue if it was from pain, frustration, embarrassment, or just because I wanted my MOMMY, but I cried . . .
Joe looked at me- I was pale, dirty, ashamed, and crying “wild animal style.” (I’m pretty sure he definitely considered just walking away from the disgusting heap on the floor. Who wouldn’t?) But he looked at me, shrugged, and laid down next to me in the floor. It was in this moment that I experienced something far more magical than anything I had seen in Disney World or HP’s World . . . I still hurt. I still felt disgusting. But I wasn’t alone or scared.
So, friends who live in this world of chronic illness, that’s my wish for your today. I hope somebody will love you at your grossest. 🙂
Peace, love, and health to all.