It was last weekend I decided the grease-stained stainless steel tea kettle with the half-missing whistle spout had reach the unbearably uncleanable stage. "It's time to throw this out and buy a new one!" I said. Mr. Z agreed. "I'm going to buy a new one this afternoon!" I declared as I tossed the old one in the trash.
A few moments later Mr. Z said, "When are you going to get a new tea kettle?" He sounded kind of uneasy.
"In a few hours, when I go out to get the lemons. The Giant Box Housegoods store is in the same plaza as the grocery store."
"Maybe you should keep the old one for now, until you get the new one," he suggested.
"Why on earth would I keep that disgusting tea kettle for two more hours when I am going right out to get a new one?"
He hesitated. "Well...that's a lot of time between now and then. Anything could happen. You could have a migraine by then and not be able to go." Pause. "That's just how I think these days."
My heart broke with love and sadness. I said, "It makes me feel really loved to know that you would worry about me. But I feel so bad to know that you worry so much that you feel like that. I don't want to be a burden to you." I said, "If I have a migraine and can't get the tea kettle, we'll boil water in a pot on the stove. We'll boil water in the microwave. We'll manage. It's summer and we aren't drinking tea much anyway."
Dear reader, I was trying to tell him I can still cope with life even if, even when, the migraine strikes. But he knows I can't cope as well. And despite the neurologist's assurance that with ten years past, my stroke risk is just the same as any other woman my age, he sees every migraine as the terrifying potential prelude to another stroke.
Right now there are Things going on, Serious Things, with his parents, and that seems to keep changing every day. The ground underfoot is shifting, uneven, treacherous. He wants to be able to count on me going out to buy the teapot. But he can't. And neither can I, truly. The migraines have been a little worse lately. Chocolate is still my friend, but it seems peanuts, bananas, yogurt, and milk have deserted me. (But not raw onion! I can still eat raw onion! At least the scallions.) Either that, or there's a med that still needs some adjusting. I'm crossing my fingers for the med.
Right now he needs my support as much as I ever needed his. He's not a talker; what he needs is as much stability and sense of homey-ness, calm and order in our house that can be provided. He knows I hide headaches from him so as not to worry about him. So every time I'm in the bathroom if he thinks he hears a pill bottle he interrogates me: do I have a headache? what am I taking? shouldn't I go lay down? Meanwhile I know he hides a lot of the news about the Serious Things so as not to distress me any more (because I have my own family things, and lost a brother and mother in the past two years, and then just this past month my mother's sister passed.) So every time he goes outside to talk on the cell phone I think it's his sister, and more bad news, and I worry about extreme scenarios, but don't ask, because he's not a talker, and I don't want to make him talk if he doesn't want to.
He says I do a lot to help him, but because none of what I do that helps him is what I would want done for me, I feel like I'm doing nothing. And I don't know what I'd do without him, but because he can't magically prevent or stop my migraines, he often feels he is not doing anything of value for me.
If you are a talker, say thanks to your spouse for the support. If you are a doer, do something to show your thanks.
If you are in a talker/doer relationship: talkers, please try to recognize what the doers are saying with their doing; doers, please try to understand what the talkers need to do with their talking.
In the advanced talker/doer relationship, doers can endure and even start small conversations with their talker, and talkers can learn silence and the value of "now" for getting around to that Thing That Needs Doing.