Q: What do Marriage and Chronic Illness have in common?
A: Lifelong commitment.
One, I entered into happily – whereas the other, can fuck right off.
… Luckily for Pete, he falls under the former.
Myself and Pete got hitched recently. It’s exciting, and at the same time – slightly unnerving. I’ve only ever made two long-term commitments in my life before marriage: my son and my mortgage. Although really, the mortgage probably doesn’t count, since selling a house is pretty straightforward and isn’t generally frowned upon. Whereas, trading in your spouse is a massive ball ache and most definitely frowned upon.
I’m reluctant to add ME/POTS to the list because it wasn’t voluntary. Albeit, managing it IS a long-term commitment – whether I like it or not.
The thing about marrying someone with ME/POTS is it’s not just about making a commitment to the person; it’s also a commitment to living alongside their chronic illness – like a third wheel in the relationship – and being genuinely okay with that … FOR LIFE.
I guess, in a similar way to how prisoners have no choice but to adapt to their surroundings, and probably enjoy the odd game of Snap with their fellow inmates – myself and Pete have had to adapt to life with my ME/POTS.
I became severely unwell in the first year of our relationship. We began 2017 as running buddies, taking dance classes and generally living our best lives. We ended the year with Pete having to carry me up the stairs in our house (that I was rarely well enough to leave), and chopping up my food that I barely had the strength to chew (see My Story with POTS and M.E. – chronicallycraptastic.com for the full picture). The whole situation sucked, however, Pete was an absolute hero about it.
Fast-forward seven years, and my health has improved dramatically. I feel like I’ve escaped Alcatraz and been moved to a prison that allows me regular day releases for good behaviour.
Yet …
… this prison also punishes me for enjoying myself and making the most of those days. A bit like being fed your favourite cake with one hand and subsequently bitch-slapped with a wet fish in the other. I mean, come on guys – there HAS to be some sort of compromise.
In a marriage, you might compromise by not letting your long hair (that falls out for no apparent reason) clog the shower plug – in return for your husband acknowledging that clothes go IN the laundry basket (like, lifting the lid and everything, like a super clever boy!).
Likewise, with ME/POTS, you might have to compromise by doing something fun with your family on a Saturday OR a Sunday – but not both. Well, apart from some weekends when you can do both (yay cake!). Which will happen at random. As will weekends when you can’t go out at all (ah crap, wet fish). With chronic illness, the compromise often involves being willing to compromise on your original compromise. The goal posts will always be moving, and it helps to marry someone who will change direction at the drop of a hat to follow it with you.
Thankfully, I did.
I guess what this rambling post is trying to say is – marry someone who likes cake, has a high tolerance for wet fish, and can live day by day not knowing which one they’re going to get. Oh, and ideally, doesn’t need an instruction manual for the laundry basket.
Happily ever after? I like to think so 😊
Image (below): us on a cake day 🍰
