Merry Christmas

When I returned, my husband was surprisingly reticent. We had some very frank discussions which were a great deal more civilized. We agreed to work on some things, together and separately, and actually spent some of the quality time together that my mother-in-law had hoped for. I began to think that we’d get through all this. I wasn’t sure how I’d ever be able to talk to my mother-in-law again. She’d hurt me even worse than Jason had. I felt that relationship had taken an unprecedented blow, and had no idea how it would be reconciled. (I would later write a letter that was meant to help, but ended up making matters worse). But I was finally able to get some much needed rest, exhausted to the point of collapse by my long journey and emotional ordeal. Waiting for the kids to return at Thanksgiving was still hard, but the time went by surprisingly fast. I was still physically and emotionally tattered, but their return was like a breath of fresh air, and rejuvenated me for several days, notwithstanding the occasional twitchiness, weakness, or pain.
The week before Christmas, my son was scheduled to have his tonsils out, something he badly needed and could not wait on. I prayed every day to have the strength to get through that ordeal. I barely decorated the house for Christmas, feeling just too overwhelmed as it was to take on any more than absolutely necessary. Many gifts I’d planned to give and activities I’d intended to attend just had to be let go. The day of the surgery arrived, and all was well, until my husband left me alone for a while at the hospital, and I began to panic that he would not return before our son awoke from the anesthesia. The shakes started up and I felt a horrible weakness take hold of me, which only made the problem worse because my greatest fear was not being able to be there when my son needed me most. Somehow, I found untapped reserves of strength, and my husband returned just in time. We managed to get through the day’s challenges, in spite of some petty bickering over how to comfort the boy, both of us being extremely hypersensitive at that point about who was the better parent.
It was the next five days till Christmas that my condition really deteriorated, staying up till all hours with a boy crying piteously from the pain. Jason lacked the patience to deal with his near hysterical sobbing. There was no one to do it but me, and I did the job willingly enough, but it took its toll on an already ravished nervous system. By Christmas Day, I was once again a physical and emotional wreck, and Jason and I bickered and eventually had a blowout after the kids went to bed. I shuddered through the night, trying to ignore my racing heart, too proud to ask Jason for any kind of help. The next day, after he was gone, I called my parents and Dr. O and begged for answers that were not forthcoming. Why was I so messed up? Wasn’t there anything, anybody, that could help me get better?