Two became one

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Sam had surgery yesterday. He's had some trouble with one of his knees since he's started playing basketball and volleyball with a team at the university gym. He's gone from wearing a knee brace to having his knee give out. The orthopedist said he has two divets in the articulating surface of the joint under the kneecap. So in a two-hour surgery yesterday Sam had two bone plugs placed into the divets, and his medial meniscus tear was cleaned up and taken care of. He is medicated and blissfully snoring in the other room, his leg wrapped in a rigid knee immobilizer.

There was something eye-opening that happened to me during the last 48 hours that I want to comment on here--something I didn't anticipate when I married Sam four and a half years ago. Because yesterday I was terrified that I would lose Sam. That he wouldn't wake up from his anesthesia, or by some strange medical fluke, he would die.

That's really not that odd an idea that a minor surgery could kill a person. I did, after all, work for 20 years as an ICU-Trauma nurse and saw every unbelieveable thing that could happen and that did happen. All the pregnant women I ever took care of in the ICU died from those one in a million negative side effects of pregnancy: disseminated ischemic coagulation (DIC), amniotic embolism, toxemia, hemorrhage, extensive cancer discovered at the birth of their baby, and I could go on and on. And speaking of unexpected medical catastrophies, what about the man I took care of who was in a chronic vegetative state after having his wisdom teeth extraction go horribly wrong? Oh, and there was also the man who came into the hospital to have a fatty cyst removed from the back of his head--not even inside his skull, just at the base of the back of his neck--and I did chest compressions on him for 45 minutes. He threw a pulmonary embolism and died in the O.R.

So I was aware that my view of medical procedures is a bit skewed, when I kissed Sam goodbye and watched him be wheeled down the hall on the gurney to the operating suite. But there was another type of reservation about his surgery and concern for his wellbeing. I was fearful that he would die and I would be without the man I have come to love very dearly.

While waiting for his surgery to be finished I had plenty of time to reflect back on all the years I did not have Sam. I was 44 years old when we got married and it is my first marriage. I can look back on many, many years of feeling like an emotional and sexual discard. For whatever reason, the men I dated left, womanized, or became untrustworthy in some way--and they left me. Of course, many of them I should never have been involved with. But I was, and the end result was that I felt more and more undesirable and inept with each passing relationship.

And it wasn't as if there was a lot of support for me as a single woman from my surroundings. My single friends were tremendously supportive, but they were in the same situation as I was. If one of them had said to me, "Barbara, you're not married because of [some trait] they would be indicting themselves as well. So they were supportive. But it seemed that every church service contained references to family life, the importance of raising children (while I was watching my natural childbearing years slip away), and remaining faithful to spouses who may or may not be "in the Lord." The only comments I ever heard about singles from the pulpit were deprecating and ignorant: "Some feminists feel that they don't need a man and they are downplaying the value of the family." "You don't need to be married to be happy, and as soon as you realize this, you'll get married."People who don't have children are really very selfish. They can't possibly know what sacrifice and love really are." "Single people are self-centered because they only need to think about themselves, and they usually do just that." "A single woman in her late 30's to 40's has a better chance of being shot by a terrorist than getting married" (this was followed by uproarious laughter by the pastor and congregation).

To add insult to injury, there were many comments by relatives that did not help. For a period of time my mother called me weekly to tell me she'd been thinking that maybe I wasn't helpless enough, bold enough, feminine enough, or that I was too smart, too quick, too capable, or socially inept, or somehow unaware of my surroundings. Another close relative said in my hearing, "I don't know what Barbara is waiting for, but it will have to be a Mack truck for her to do anything." Another called me "Holy Mary" because I wasn't interested in dating the kinds of fast and loose people they were drawn to.

I recall many nights when I sat looking out the windows of my darkened livingroom, wondering what was wrong with me and if I would ever have a relationship with a man who was trustworthy and goodhearted. One shocking comment from the days I was engaged to be married seemed to be what I came back to again and again. It was said by a woman who had lured my fiance away and caused the breakup of our relationship. In an effort to be transparent, my fiance had repeated to me what she had said to him about me: "Why be content with hamburger when you can have prime rib?"

It took many years of therapy and life experience to realize that I am plenty just as I am: desirable, fun, warm, devoted, caring, affectionate, intelligent, and just plain good company in general. I just had to believe and know it for myself, whether I was to be married or single.

When Sam came along, I knew immediately that we would be happy together. We fit like hand and glove in so many ways--just the level of comfort in being together was amazing. We got married three months from the day we met. No one was more surprised than I was.

The early days were absolutely marvelous. I would wake up in the morning and feel Sam sleeping against me and be horrified--wondering what I had done. Then I would remember that I was married and this was the frosting on the cake. Or he would come in from mowing the grass and complain about how he had been sneezing. I would "ooh" and "ahhh, poor thing" and he would happily go out to finish up the lawn.

Last week in church our pastor began preaching a series of sermons about living in intimate family relationships. (I note with approval that one sermon is on living single in relationship. It's about time.) He commented that there are several waves that occur in the life of marriage. The first seven years are the time when the couple learns each other and tries to come to terms with the differences they possess between them. The next seven years are generally consumed with childrearing responsibilities and just being caught up with life in general. The following are the same--but with each seven year period, the marriage changes and grows substantively. One comment that stood out for me was this: if a couple can get past the stage where they are constantly recognizing the differences between them and get to the place where they are thinking of the good of the other--seeing the world through their eyes and living in such a way to enhance the joy of the other, that this couple experiences true intimacy.

I was startled by this. Not because I've never heard it before, because I teach couples and students about marriage relationships, and my students about marriage and recovery from distressed relationships. But what I really heard this time was that it is normal to be struggling in the beginning of a marriage with the differences and challenges of being married. That meant me--not clients. Especially when I had 44 years of doing things my way, of living the austere life of a curmudgeon. Suddenly I was married to a man who played loud music, spent hours at the computer and TV, and whose likes and dislikes upset the predictability and manageability of my own life. Every disagreement, every argument, every misgiving would send me into an internal turmoil: should I not have gotten married? Should I get a divorce? Can I tolerate this? and the interminable laundry list of self-pitying comments and wound-licking. Poor me, married to this person who is so different. Internally I raged, moaned, and in general, carried a burden of angst.

I'm not sure what prompted it, but it dawned on me one time that I could simply be afraid that Sam would leave me and I wasn't giving myself over to loving him fully, completely. If I could just maintain that window of skepticism about being married, when he did leave, I would be able to say, "See! I knew this couldn't work out." Or if he left my whole heart wouldn't go with him, since I was keeping part of it in reserve.

Yes, that is what I did for the first four years. It has only been in the last six months that I have really been able to fully commit to him and to being married, in my heart. The doors have been thrown open and I love him unreservedly and with hyacinths aplenty. Why? I'm not sure. It could be that with the death of my father and dependence of my mother, I need him more and realize that my life with him gives me tremendous fulfillment, support, and joy. I do know that divorce is not my mental default anymore. Neither is telling him off, or thinking ill of him. I love Sam and he has truly become part of me in heart and soul. I am beginning to understand what my parents had for one another and how it has been so difficult for Mother to move on after my father died last year.

To see Sam wheeled off to surgery and wonder if I'll ever see him awake and vibrant again was a powerful experience yesterday. When he came out of surgery and I first saw him in the recovery room, I kissed him several times. "Honey!" he remonstrated with slurred speech, glancing around at the others on gurneys in full view. He's a private soul, but I was thanking him for loving me, for living, for staying with me, and wanting to make his life with me.

I'm tired today, from having my sleep disturbed during the night. I was helping him up to the bathroom, turning on the ice pack under his brace, and getting him medications. I would like to drop in a heap. But he is safe, happy, feeling better, and not in pain. Just last night he told the girls, "God really blessed me when I married Barbara."

So I marvel that I possess an inner connection--a strong, devoted connection--to this man who is my husband.
And thank you God, for keeping him safe during surgery.