This is going to be a bit… scattered. I’m trying to work out
what the hell happened this weekend so I can see if I can make sure it never
happens again.
So back to Christmas. (Yes, sorry, the saga goes that far
back) We visited my parents at their house and it was not a great visit. My
husband got a terrible stomach bug, which meant that some of the diversions I’d
scheduled didn’t pan out. Most disturbingly, my parents’ didn’t really seem to
appreciate that my husband was incredibly sick and just could not do certain
things. I could tell that they were frustrated by his lack of energy and how
limited our activities became. I wound up spending a huge amount of time
worrying about everyone. On the last night they’d scheduled a dinner party with
friends of theirs – even though my husband had barely eaten in a week and was
weak as a kitten. It was one of the more thoughtless things they’ve done in
quite a while and I seethed the whole night. Afterwards, with a major snowstorm
barreling down on us, we drove to the airport where we stayed overnight so we
wouldn’t miss our flight. My father complained and chided us for taking our
rental car to the dinner party. As I drove through the terrible storm with my
very sick husband next to me, I wondered if we should ever visit them again.
However. Since we’d had all this down time, my parents
became obsessed with planning our “annual family ski trip.” Their main criteria
were that we commit to plans ASAP and that we find a location that could
accommodate their dog. My husband and I grudgingly agreed to a time and place –
though both of us felt bullied into it. But what could we say? No, we’re not
going skiing with you because we don’t like you? All the excuses are too
implausible or too harsh. And on some level we like skiing but we always
approach these trips with such trepidation – especially since it usually means
that we’re taking almost half our vacation days with my parents. Finally, when
they insisted I choose plane flights on the spot I had a meltdown. I told them
that I was far too overwhelmed to make a decision on how we’d fly to this
pretty inaccessible location. I couldn’t even consult my husband since he was
too sick at that point. I promised I’d take care of it as soon as we got home
and things had quieted down. And of course, when I did book the flights I was
so distracted and upset I still wound up making costly errors.
So fast forward to February and we make the incredibly long
& complicated trek out to the mountain they’d chosen. But the entire trip,
I just kept thinking about how my husband and I would finally have a few days
out of our busy schedule to spend together, doing something we loved. But when
we arrived, dead tired, we were informed that they’d decided (since this was a
school vacation week) the mountain was too crowded. To remedy the problem,
they’d hired a private ski instructor to take us around for 2 of our three
days. All dreams of spending time alone vanished. We’d be with them – and more
importantly, living by their dictates – the entire time. I seethed. The ski
instructor was a nice enough guy but by that point I’d shut down. Seeing me so
upset, my husband shut down as well. We’d taken off the better part of week for
this trip, spent a fair amount of money, and we were having a terrible time. On
the last night as my father criticized me for mentioning my Chronic Fatigue
diagnosis, I wondered if we should ever visit them again.
And unlike other visits, this time I had data. For
Christmas, my husband had bought me a heart rate monitor. One of the symptoms
of Chronic Fatigue is a racing pulse and it’s been helpful for me to keep track
of what sets it off. Well, during that brief visit, my resting pulse shot up to
unhealthy levels.
_______
By March, I’d decided that I wasn’t bringing up any future
trips – we’d just let things lie. But of course, my dad couldn’t have that. One
night on the phone, he informed me that he and my mother were signing up for an
extended cruise in December. Despite promising to celebrate Christmas at our
house for the first time ever, he went back on his word. Insulted and frankly
incensed, I decided to draw a hard line in the sand. They were still welcome
but we were staying at our house regardless of what they did. They could not
bring their dog and the day after the holiday we were going to go on a trip by
ourselves somewhere we’d enjoy. Although my husband said my email wound up
coming off as business-like, I tried to soften what I knew would be a blow: “If
you'd like to plan another time to get together you are always welcome here. We
could also come to your house this summer to celebrate your 70th
birthdays in person if that would interest you.”
They finally relented, agreed to come
for a few days at the holidays after their December cruise and said, of course
they wanted us to come visit for Labor Day weekend. I felt like I’d stood up
for myself but I also worried that I’d played on their fears of losing contact
with us to my advantage. I try to take the high ground whenever we interact
because otherwise, I find that I can all too easily stoop to their (childish)
level. And then I end up feeling even worse about myself.
_______
So as you may have noticed, yesterday
was Labor Day. And we flew out for the weekend and it was awful. (I know,
you’re shocked.) We’ve had a hell of a summer. For a short time this spring we
were worried that I had ovarian cancer. (I don’t – I just need a hysterectomy.)
One of my students was diagnosed with a rare, terminal cancer. Our friend DIED
from a rare, terminal cancer. My husband had a strange health problem that
caused him daily pain for reasons that remain a mystery. And then on Thursday,
one of my husband’s students was diagnosed with a rare, terminal cancer. We’ve
been running on fumes, dreading this trip to my parents’ house and now we were
leaving completely shell-shocked. The trip was doomed to failure.
Still, we tried to be patient with my
parents and do whatever made them happy but our frustration tolerance was incredibly
limited. I immediately ran a 100 degree fever, developed a blinding headache
and my resting pulse shot up by 10 points overnight. Finally, Sunday night, my
husband and my dad got into it over politics, which led to a particularly
heated argument. I knew my husband wasn’t actually THAT mad – he was just
exhausted and upset. (And in his defense, my father was saying horribly racist
statements.) But my parents couldn’t read any of this and my mom got very
judgmental. “Don’t lecture me,” she
said as my husband tried to calm her down after the storm had blown over. Hurt,
tired and confused, my husband gave up and, then after my father begged us to
pretend that all was well so my mom wouldn’t yell at him for weeks, we filled
the remaining few hours of the trip with stony platitudes. Leaving for the
airport yesterday, my husband offered an olive branch and said he was sorry to
have lost his temper – that he’d just been overwhelmed lately. My mother barely
acknowledged his statement. “Well it’s
all over now, right?” She said. No mom. No, it’s not.
And of course it’s not over. Because as
a present for getting tenure, my parents gave my husband a present with so many
strings attached it’s kind of hilarious. They offered to pay for a family trip
for the four of us wherever he wanted to go in the world. He’s dreamed of going
to Antarctica since he was little and we’ve been eyeing a great trip we’d
planned to go on when he turned 50. We’d have to save up a bit but it we could
afford it by then. But then, hearing my parents’ offer, we – stupidly – jumped
at the chance. We got all excited about the idea and started looking up dates
and facts about penguins. And then the fight happened and as we drove to the
airport yesterday, bleary-eyed from a fitful night’s sleep, I wondered for the
1 millionth time: should ever visit them again?
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