Lashed By Storms- CH 4

Chapter Four

Married Life

“The Lord is my portion,” says my soul, “therefore I will hope in him.” Lamentations 3:24

Nothing could have prepared Anne for her first years of marriage. The apartment she’d been living in would be cramped for the two of them, so after the wedding, she and Mike rented a small farm house in Camby, just outside Indianapolis, Indiana. The house had no stove, and the owners didn’t feel obligated to furnish one. To prepare a meal, Anne had the use of a microwave she had given Mike when he graduated from Franklin College, a ten-dollar hot plate from Walmart, and an outdoor grill. Anne was thankful her husband liked the meals she cooked. One evening, they found the light-weight grill had toppled over.

        “We weren’t sure what had happened, but there was also debris in the yard, so we suspected a nasty windstorm. We were living on love and no money—losing our primary cooking source was a financial hardship. Many times we ate at a Mexican restaurant, during happy hour. We’d pay for sodas, then eat whatever was free—usually chips, salsa, and bean dip. During one of those meals, we decided to spend fifty dollars and get a used electric stove."

        The newlyweds were full-time students. Mike had enrolled in Indiana University Medical School, and Anne was majoring in psychology, with a minor in biology, at Indiana University—Purdue University Indianapolis, IUPUI. In addition to carrying twelve to fifteen credit hours each semester, she was also working several part-time jobs. She waited tables at the Spaghetti Factory in Indianapolis; she sold art-work for a studio; and when time permitted, she cleaned houses.

        “Married life was busy for both of us. We had precious little time to enjoy the outdoor activities we both loved and that had been such an integral part of our courtship. Keeping busy, however, was no antidote for the low-grade depression I continued to experience.

        “My depression was made worse by the first of three, if not four, miscarriages from the time we married until Mike’s graduation from medical school in May of 1990.”

        It was after Anne’s first miscarriage that Margie told her daughter everything the surgeon had said following Anne’s surgery at thirteen years old. Her periods had started at the age of nine. Each month was a repeat of the month before, with severe cramping and heavy bleeding. Surgery confirmed a diagnosis of endometriosis.

        As part of the surgery, the surgeon cleaned Anne’s ovaries of endometriosis. Afterwards, he informed her parents it wouldn’t be impossible for their youngest daughter to get pregnant, but it would be difficult for her to carry a pregnancy full term. For reasons Anne would never know, her parents had only told her she might someday have difficulty getting pregnant.

        “My parents should have told me what was going on with my body. I would have understood the bare-bones basics of endometriosis. They could have told me that tissue was growing outside my uterus, not in my uterus. I had no way of knowing each time I had my period there was not only inflammation, but scarring.”

Had Anne’s parents been honest rather than giving her false hope following her surgery, her first miscarriage might have been less heartbreaking. The physical pain was one thing. The emotional pain was worse. Her periods continued to be difficult, but with the second pregnancy came the hope that she would deliver a healthy baby. But that didn’t happen, then or with subsequent pregnancies.

Adoption

“Mike had mentioned adoption, but I couldn’t bear the thought. We’d seen first-hand the failed adoption by another family. Things didn’t go well, and I was determined adoption wasn’t for us.”

        It wasn’t easy for Anne to talk about the things that so easily impacted her emotions. She didn’t have a single friend in whom she could confide. They were all busy planning and attending baby showers.

        “The one person I desperately wanted to have conversations with wasn’t available. The man who had taken deliberate steps to win my affection was busy with medical school. When I would mention how I was feeling, he would ask me what the matter was, and then tell me we’d have children someday.

        “Next to wanting a child, I wanted Mike to stop. I wanted him to stop focusing on classes, stop focusing on the next test, stop focusing on the next semester, and focus on me and my pain.

        “I wanted Mike to acknowledge my feelings. I wanted him to make me feel loved and adored . . . I would have given anything for him to just tell me how much he loved me and that I was the perfect wife, whether we had children or not. I wanted to hear Mike say he was hurting right along with me.

        “I didn’t feel loved and I didn’t feel adored. Mike wasn’t the same guy I had dated. That guy had focused all his love and attention on me. He had always been quick to take my hand, put his arms around my shoulders, and hold and comfort me when I was feeling down. This guy was a stranger.”

        At the end of each day, as they prepared for bed, Mike read from the Bible, and he and Anne would pray out loud. Exhausted from his studies, he quickly fell asleep. Then, Anne would leave their bed and quietly make her way downstairs into the family room. Night time was the only time she could let her emotions out. Uncontrolled sobbing became a release for all the hurt, anger, and frustration she kept buried during the day. Each night, the tears rolled down her face, dripping onto the comfortable T-shirt and shorts she preferred over pajamas and nightgowns.

But no matter how hard she cried, she didn’t have to worry about waking Mike. The upstairs bedroom was at the opposite end of the house from the family room, and he was a sound sleeper.

“I wondered what had happened to the guy who had relentlessly pursued me. Marriage wasn’t all I had thought it would be. My ‘I do’ had become ‘I’m doing’. I was a full-time student working three part-time jobs and doing my best to be the perfect wife. I kept hoping God and Mike would notice. I wasn’t seeing or feeling any appreciation for my efforts. I missed the physical affection I had enjoyed when we were dating. I missed the guy with the brown eyes and green flecks with a sparkle all their own the day he delivered his ultimatum about our marrying.

“I began to realize I couldn’t put my hopes in the man I had married.”

***

What harsh realizations for Anne—reality wasn’t matching her expectations of marriage. Her mother had waited too long to share critical information. She found Mike’s behavior different from when they had dated. How many nights would Anne sob? How many mornings would she see her puffy eyelids reflected in the mirror?

Had reality also failed to match Mike’s expectations? I would soon learn the answer.

Scripture quotations are from The Holy Bible, English Standard Version,

Chapter Four