Vague mega-swoon
“It’s really good after all these years and everything we’ve been through, that we can still vaguely enjoy each other’s company.” ~ Pete.
Oh wow – I can feel a mega-swoon coming on; oh, Mr Darcy! – sorry, I mean Pete – I feel a little faint! … Oh, be still my beating heart!
… My ‘vaguely’ beating heart, that is.
(Well, my racing heart, actually. But that’s not Pete – it’s the POTS.)
Move over Mr Grey
So, this is what 8 years together – with ME/POTS as a third wheel in our relationship – and one year of marriage amounts to: vaguely enjoying each other’s company. Brilliant. They didn’t sell it to me like THAT in all my old beachy romance novels. I can’t imagine why. I mean, doesn’t EVERYONE want to read about how ridiculously long one’s husband takes to have a shit in the morning when the whole family needs the bathroom, or how often he ignores you and hurts your feelings when you’re talking because you’re ‘going on a bit’ and he’d rather look at his phone? Or how, at the grand old age of fifty-something, he still doesn’t know how a laundry basket works?
… Move over Mr Grey: 50ish shades of Pete is in town. Quick! Lock up your middle-aged, tired and peri-menopausal daughters!
My turn
Now, over to me; I’m sure you will find this next revelation especially eye-opening, and INCREDIBLY hard to believe:
… I get on Pete’s tits too.
I know, right?! How could this possibly be, when I’m such a delight! Yet, apparently, I annoy Pete by mixing all the food on my plate together, instead of eating the meat, veg, and rice separately (one could argue that I’m saving my stomach a job by getting in there first). And he really hates it when I get dismissive in a confrontation (can’t imagine why. Doesn’t everyone enjoy that?). Also, I am categorically theee most selfish woman on the planet when I accidentally leave more than 3 strands of hair in the shower plug. And I really can’t emphasise enough how much he LOVES it when I wake him up in the middle of the night to make him turn over, because he has the audacity to be … wait for it …
… breathing.
(What kind of animal DOES that?! Oh, wait … oops.)
But I digress. Well, not entirely digress, seeing as Pete’s breathing offences only keep me awake because of the nighttime hypervigilance caused by my ME/POTS.
Miracle or murder
Startled as I was by Pete’s observation – I have to concede that he’s right. It IS nothing short of a miracle that we’re still together and not plotting each other’s murders after everything we’ve been through over the years (mostly to do with my ME/POTS, rather than all the aforementioned irritating habits). Or at least, not plotting each other’s murders out loud. (I don’t really fantasise about how beautifully I’ll landscape the garden and decorate the house with the life insurance payout I’d get from Pete’s untimely death. Just like he doesn’t dream of a quiet life of blissful bachelor solitude, with nothing but a garden full of chickens for company, whilst composting my remains to fertilise his biggest vegetable patch yet.)
But getting back on track … what was the track again? Bloody brain fog. Oh yeah – vaguely enjoying each other’s company. In the grand scheme of things, we got lucky; a lot of couple’s crumble under the pressure of ME/POTS. And it’s hardly any wonder: the grief and loss can be truly suffocating at times.
Loss
In the early days of our relationship, it was the loss of the fun stuff we could no longer do together, eg., exercising, dancing, dinners out … and eventually, my ability to leave the house. It was such a scary and confusing time. This was followed by not being able to watch TV together anymore as my condition continued to deteriorate … followed by not even being able to talk for longer than a few minutes. It was kinda hard to enjoy each other’s company when I was practically mute. But still – we plodded on.
… Though, on the plus side, we never argued over the telly remote.
Then came navigating pregnancy – my grief over not being able to go shopping with Pete to choose our own child’s pram, cot, clothes … anything, while he either did it alone or with my mum – was fucking heartbreaking. Then there was the birth (I’ll bypass that so I don’t freak anyone out), and navigating parenting in a way that didn’t make me feel like I was missing out on my baby’s life, whilst also finding a way for Pete to not feel like a single parent.
Our love was constantly being mocked and prodded by my illness.
We had to find a way for Pete to be my partner AND my carer, when I couldn’t be much of a partner in return – let alone an ‘enjoyable’ one. We had to find a balance when there was no balance to be found.
… And that shit was HARD.
Improvements and upgrades
Thankfully, things got better once we found the right combination of meds to help manage my POTS (after being housebound for 3 years by this point). Because, once my POTS started placing less strain on my body, my ME finally had a bit of room to improve. Or at least, that’s the only rational explanation I can find for my progress. Don’t get me wrong – I’m far from cured – what with it being chronic and all. But I am a shitload better than I was when I was Severe. My improvements were gradual, over the course of a few years – until eventually my health stabilised and we were able to establish a ‘new normal.’ With the kind of stress and bullshit I could only have dreamed of when I was Severe.
… One with a car full of litter, an eternally messy house, and relentless arguments over turning off the utter shitshow that is Roblox and Youtube – and even bigger arguments over eating the fucking broccoli (the kids that is – albeit Pete isn’t that far behind re Youtube). One where we try and fail to spend much child-free time together. One where we don’t know what we used to talk about before chronic illness, kids, and household bills, but we have faith that we will remember one day.
There’s a guy called Mark Manson, who’s podcast and social media I really enjoy. He posits that we will always have problems in life – but the goal is to work on upgrading them. And I feel truly blessed to have finally upgraded my problems from ‘I feel so guilty and like such a massive burden to Pete, he’d be better off without me,’ to, ‘I fucking hate it when Pete doesn’t leave enough petrol in the car for me to do the school run.’
… This is SUCH a colossal upgrade that I will never take for granted.
Muddling and blooming
Eight years on from falling in love and having the rug pulled from underneath us – we’re getting older and muddling along as best we can – as parents – and as a couple. My fuse is a lot shorter than it used to be (hello years of chronic illness), and Pete’s diminished compassion mirrors that. But we ‘vaguely’ still enjoy each other’s company. Through the exhaustion, stress, fluctuations in my health, and sameness of everyday life – we still love each other and make each other smile. We still make each other cups of tea and text kisses whenever we leave the house; we appreciate the little gestures. This is nothing short of a miracle. And after all is said and done … this is a seed that will sprout and bloom into something even more beautiful and precious than ever before; it’s an achievement worth celebrating and a future of growth to look forward to.
… And I don’t just mean the growth of my cankles and Pete’s waistline.
Owning it
Our life would have been so different if I hadn’t got sick only 3 months into our relationship. We would have had longer to laugh, dance, travel. Longer to be just the two of us – without ME/POTS hanging around like a third wheel. But I did get sick – and it tested us, and continues to do so on a regular basis. But … it never breaks us. And despite its best efforts – we still got to have our beautiful family.
So, I see you, ME/POTS. I see what you did, what you constantly try to do, and what you will always fail to do. And to you I say …
… Our names are Emma and Pete, and we vaguely enjoy each other’s company.
We’re gonna own that shit and sing it from the rooftops. So, take THAT, chronic illness, and shove it up your bum hole!
Here’s to the next 8 years 😊
