Tomorrow my daughter will be five years old. It also marks the day that I realized that there was something horribly wrong with her father. A unfortunate collision of anniversaries. The latter half of my pregnancy was marred with increasingly frequent “incidents” that I suppose had I not been pregnant and sick and preoccupied, I would have picked up on. I don’t talk much about the specifics of the early days of my husband’s illness. Partly out of guilt because I didn’t see what is so obvious to me now, but mostly because I know that the things he said and did were a result of the damage that was being inflicted on his brain and thus changing his personality and ability to reason.
I went into labor the night of the 26th. It was about 10:30 when I realized that the rhythmic tightening of my belly was actually regular and close enough to be early labor pains, and of course my water breaking about 15mins later confirmed that I was right. We had been out to dinner earlier, and Will had had a bit to drink. Another thing I didn’t know at the time was that his ability to metabolize certain chains of acids found in food and drink was nearly gone. His illness was a metabolic disorder. His body had stopped producing a particular enzyme it needed and as the acids built up it triggered his immune system into attacking the coating around the nerves in his lower back and the dura matter that protected his brain. The disease also triggered a hyper response from his adrenal glands that was slowly killing them as well. Alcohol is largely composed of the type of acid that he couldn’t metabolize any longer. Even small amounts triggered erratic behaviors because it was like a poison building up in his system that his body could barely eliminate. Long story, but the short of it that night was that he was not much help to me. On the way to the hospital, the stress of the situation caused one of his increasingly more frightening memory lapses where he would get lost in surroundings he had know all his life, much like an Alzheimer’s patient. His stressed adrenals meant that he reacted out of proportion to a situation, so he was angry and a bit scary. Once we were finally in the birthing room at the hospital, his overwhelmed system just shut down, and he spent the rest of the night and into the morning before Katy was born wandering the halls of the hospital in kind of a daze that had the nurses more concerned about him than me at times. Aside from the nurses who periodically checked in on me, I went through the first eight or so hours of labor on my own.
I don’t like to think about any of this really. There is no point anymore. He was sick, and I was too busy to notice, or what I did notice I chose to rationalize away. Though it still bothers me that I failed him so utterly at a time when he needed me so much, the worst of it now is that my daughter’s birth is not a happy memory for me. She is my child. The only child I will ever have and all that I have left of Will, and her birthday is tinged with regrets and sadness that unfortunately I have never managed to completely hide from anyone. Time and distance hasn’t made much of a dent in this of yet, but I have hopes that someday it will.
anniegirl1138 
Oh, Ann i so appreciate your reply to my comment. i will take what you conveyed about the remnants of the sad memories that re-cur, that you have accepted them, and filtered out some nice ones for Katy. “accept what you are able and store away the rest.” excellent advice and i am already finding i am able to do that.
thank you!
Dear Ann,
I am in the process of reading your blog from the beginning. This post made me so sad for you and I can only imagine how difficult it is at times such as your Daughter’s birthday to have to revisit what Will was suffering as you were giving birth to your baby alone. I know it must seem silly for me to comment so far in advance, but I want you to know that I will be holding you close to my heart and hoping that someday when you think about Katy’s birth there will be far more joy to assuage the awful memories of the beginning of Will’s descent into such a horrible disease.
You are a magnificent writer, Ann, and I am learning so much from what you are sharing, both from the past as well as where you are at this point in time – 2007. I am a widow nearly 21/2 years from the sudden death of my Beloved; one year into his illness I was diagnosed with ST IV metastatic breast cancer. We both achieved a very robust remission, grabbed onto our life reinvented and lived with such joy and gusto. but nine months later, I found him dead laying next to me in our bed. Eight weeks after his death I was diagnosed with ST III metastatic uterine cancer. I was a Hospice nurse for 30 years and loved my work; it really was not work at all. it was a calling and I was so damned good at it. I am beginning to find myself again, and hope that whatever lies ahead for me will be as happy and fulfilling as I envision and am working so hard to achieve. I am in full remission from both cancers, I am physically very strong, and doing the work of grief head on. I have lost so many friends and family members – I suppose I am perceived at their worst nightmare. but I have gained friends from forcing myself to get out and do new things; loving and healing through yoga, Reiki, and healing touch, attending writers’ workshops, and joining a SSLF regional group of widows and widowers. I love it when I can help others, and am currently mentoring a recent widow. I find doing things to get outside of my own damned self is so therapeutic and provides a larger and more real perspective on life.
This was long! Thanks for reading it, I wish you and Rob and your children much happiness, and the beautiful feeling of contentment of ordinary days. now I am off to read more of your so insightful and incredibly written blog!
I am pleased you consider what I wrote so long ago worth the time to read. Time is precious. I appreciate that.
I am afraid that I haven’t really ever discovered a way to relive the days leading up, of or following my daughter’s birth that don’t include sad memories. I have accepted it though and have filtered out some nice ones to share with her so she can have the same type of anecdotes that other kids have.
It’s not a big deal anymore. Time has made it easier.
When you’ve been through as much as we have, you learn to sort, accept what you are able and store away the rest.