Marriage
It’s a funny thing, marriage. Humans are not naturally monogamous of course. Men in particular should be out fathering as many offspring as possible in order to maintain the human race (a fact which will come as no surprise to anyone who spent a Friday evening at The Bell back in the day). And, yet, in January, Martin and I celebrated our fourteenth wedding anniversary. Now I am aware that fourteen years seems like a blink of an eye to all those veteran husbands and wives out there (shout out to my mum and dad who will celebrate their 39th this year and still seem to tolerate each other pretty well) but when I look back at what has happened to us over that period, it might as well be a lifetime (and sometimes feels like it).
It all started in the summer of 2004 when I went to spend a few months working on Martha’s Vineyard, off the coast of Boston in the USA. This island is a popular summer retreat for the rich and famous, linked to the Kennedys and the Clintons among others, with a year round population of around 15,000 which can increase to more like 100,000 over the summer months. Being the glamorous lady that I am, I got a job selling souvenirs at a shop on the island. I was living in a house with a number of other students, one of whom was a dashing Bulgarian fellow by the name of Martin. At the end of the summer, when I returned home, we had to make a decision about whether we wanted to stay together or call it a day. We opted for the former (which, for the most part at least, has seemed fortuitous) and in 2006 had what has been henceforth known as “The Visa Wedding”. “The Visa Wedding” took place in Bulgaria and was attended by only a few friends, and was necessary for primarily logistical reasons. At the time, Bulgaria was not in the EU and Martin was planning on moving to America, with a job offer in place, so wherever we ended up living, being married was going to make visa requirements a whole lot easier. We finally settled on the UK (which, given that the POTUS has just posted an image of his face superimposed onto Rocky Balboa’s body, seems to have been the sensible choice) and Martin relocated himself to England, to the delight of his dad, who, for unfathomable reasons, loves the weather here.
I was doing my teacher training at the time. Martin started working as a web developer but money was pretty tight so for nine months we resided in what was affectionately (and accurately) known as “The Box”. This was essentially a garage attached to someone’s house which they had converted into a granny annexe and was no longer required (for reasons it is probably best not to give too much thought to). It had a bed, some wall storage and a row of kitchen cabinets all in one room, with a tiny shower room. Martin credits these cramped living quarters with forcing us to address any issues we had at the beginning of our marriage, as we had literally nowhere to go to get away from each other. Fortunately, once I started teaching, we moved to a bigger flat and began planning what became known as “The Big Fat Fake Wedding”. We had deliberately made “The Visa Wedding” a non event as we knew we wanted to have a big celebration at a later date. And so “The Big Fat Fake Wedding” involved a church blessing, flowers, bridesmaids… and a wedding taxi.
After “The Big Fat Fake Wedding”, we both settled into work and living together. Life was happily plodding along when I found out I was pregnant. This came entirely as a surprise. In fact, Martin is fond of telling people that ‘he went to Luxembourg and when he came back I was pregnant’. I feel it is extremely important to clarify that this is not the case — I found out that I was pregnant while he was visiting his cousins, but Sasha’s paternity is not in question. An unexpected baby is obviously a shock but my husband is nothing if not laid back so took all of this in his stride.
Of course, an unplanned pregnancy is one thing but the birth of a baby with severe brain damage is another and it is a sad truth that the divorce rate among couples with children with special needs is significantly higher than the rest of the married population. This should perhaps come as no surprise. Long term relationships are hard to maintain in the best of circumstances, and the challenge of co-parenting often increases the amount of stress a couple are under. Having a child with a disability almost inevitably increases this stress level even more. Parents may feel differently about the situation they have found themselves in, or have distinct and separate ways of handling their emotions. It is often the case that finding babysitters is distinctly more difficult so couples get little quality time together. Frequent worry about a child’s development or medical needs is very draining and parents may disagree about the best treatment or therapies for their child.
The first two years of Sasha’s life were probably the most difficult of our marriage. We were both desperately worried about Sasha’s future. His sleeping patterns were incredibly disrupted and we were permanently sleep deprived. Martin is the classic eternal optimist and believed, for example, for a very long time that Sasha would be able to walk. I knew very early that this would not be the case and was angry with what I felt was Martin’s refusal to face reality, while I struggled through a very tough acceptance process on my own. Martin wanted to spend huge amounts of time and money on therapies which I was certain would not help Sasha in the slightest. As much as I felt frustrated by his attitude, I am sure he was saddened by what he considers to be my pessimism (I would argue that what I am is in fact realistic, but there you go).
It would have seemed impossible at this time that we would be able to finally grow back together, rather than continuing to grow apart, and yet that is what happened. We both slowly began to recognise that we each brought a great deal to the table. Martin thinks outside the box, coming up with (sometimes outlandish, sometimes phenomenal) ideas. I rein him in when these ideas go a little too far. Martin is the calm in the storm when I feel irreversible panic (not an uncommon occurrence). He has put so much energy and knowledge into Sasha’s therapy and communication options, while I do the admin relating to school, care plans and hospital appointments. We have the same values and still laugh lots. Whatever has happened in our family life, we have always been a team.
I think what it comes down to is this. Many people seem to have slightly unrealistic expectations about the realities of marriage. I have a ‘peaks and troughs’ theory which, as far as I can tell, applies to many, or even most, long term relationships. Sometimes you really like your spouse. You enjoy spending time with them, you talk to each other (usually about what the kids did that day rather than your hopes and dreams for the future, but hey, you can’t have everything), they don’t even annoy you when they eat really slowly and loudly (I am aware that this may be more of an individual issue). This is a peak. But then, suddenly, and usually for no apparent reason, you hit a trough. During the troughs, you strongly dislike (Martin tells me off for saying ‘hate’, even when it isn’t being used in a context applying to him) your partner. Everything they do is irritating (especially eating really slowly and loudly). The bulk of any time together is spent bickering and disagreeing with each other. You cannot imagine why you married this person, or how on earth you have stayed married to them for as long as you have. And then, something miraculous happens. The cycle continues and you move back into peak territory. So as long as you haven’t upped and left during the trough (although you may have felt like it), brighter skies are ahead. And you remind yourself that this is what you signed up for. For better or worse — for peak or trough.
Fourteen years on, despite all the obstacles we have encountered in our path, the peaks in our marriage are far more frequent than the troughs. Long may it continue.
