Another Darkness Approaches

By the end of October I’d been to the emergency room again with another episode of my heart racing out of control and my tremors coming back. This time it was precipitated by a challenging week involving no less stressful an event than taking the GRE. The test itself had literally made my brain hurt, but I hadn’t guessed it would result in another setback physiologically. Jason was starting to think it was all in my head because every time I went to the hospital, I came home with no definitive answers from the doctors. All I knew was that I felt like my heart was going to explode, and I figured that if it did, I ought to be at the hospital.
Then came the strep throat. What might have been a merely unpleasant bout with a nasty bug for anybody else was a serious blow to my system. The pain in my throat was so intense I found it difficult to swallow, and it rapidly spread to include my head, neck, and shoulders. The stress of the pain in turn triggered my others symptoms, and the shaking and emotional roller coaster ride became more magnified. Another trip to the ER, and the doctors explored the possibility of meningitis. A painful spinal tap followed. They gave me some morphine to ease my discomfort, but it made me shake more and I felt like my body was coming unglued.
The coming and going of me, back and forth to the hospital and doctors, as well as the steady stream of different caregivers were starting to take their toll on my kids, and they’d both been wetting the bed. I felt like a horrible mother, and I knew that they needed some stability for a while that I was simply unable to provide for them at the time. I tried to think of where they would be most comfortable besides home. I called my mother-in-law, and she and my husband’s brother came the next day.

My biggest mistake was in being very open with them about everything that had happened, and was happening. Especially problematic was my revealing to them what my feelings had been that awful morning in September, and my fears since that time. I even made the unfortunate decision to mention Andrea Yates and Susan Smith, thinking it would help them understand how badly I needed their help, how I did not want to end up like those women. “Our brain chemistry is so fragile,“ I said. “I’m so afraid that there, but for the grace of God, go I.“ I trusted these people, and in my naiveté and desperation did not think about the fact that, to most people, even speaking of such things is unthinkable. In essence, I horrified my in-laws, but they did not give any immediate indication of this at the time. Rather, they very calmly took charge of my children and left me alone with my husband in the hopes that he and I would “work something out.”

(It was not until a couple of years later (ago) that I fully came to appreciate how hard all this was on my husband. I was too caught up in my own trauma to see how awful it was for him. He eventually confided in me that along about this point in time, he found himself in the shower on night, huddled on the floor, shaking, feeling like he just couldn't take anymore. Despite what transpired thereafter, it is much to his credit that he is still with me.)