You adopted a child with medical needs and the game changed. The Coach altered the playbook. The new little life in your family has your whole team scrambling to reorient themselves. You survived the stretching adoption process with its paperwork, lack of control, waiting and financial stress. You made it home, and you’d like to settle in for family bonding, but you can’t. You’ve got a bunch of new balls to carry: nurse, equipment manager, advocate, caretaker, researcher and appointment chauffeur. You start pushing so hard, shifting from offense to defense, and back again, that you can think of little else. You deem yourself team captain and suit up for battle, sometimes forgetting the teammate you share a life with. It’s enough to rattle a marriage.
The game has changed and all things are new. It’s a good new, but it just might take some time to feel the victory.
Whether your child needs no surgeries, one or six, years of therapies or a couple months of treatment, you experience some level of family triage. You prioritize needs. A treatment plan? Pain? Attachment? Sleep issues? Needs of siblings? Educational catch-up? Your exhaustion? Everyone’s emotions?
Medical needs busy your days and can usher in feelings of fear, powerlessness, guilt, denial, anger, disappointment, and grief. I seem to be working my way through several of them, and try to remind myself that my husband is too. This is new territory to navigate, both together and individually.
Our relationship playbook is different now. For us, a surprise is the fierce, new protective parent anger. It is intense, and it’s hard not to let it color communication with everyone in our lives, especially each other. It bubbles up after medical tests, surgeries or even weeks later. It’s laced with fear and powerlessness, and we’re trying to figure out how to name and overcome it. It’s a powerful marriage opponent.
Our marriage has battle scars. And those wounds teach us that strong marriages are earned from intention. It’s not easy. Many days we’d rather either unleash our frustrations on each other or shut down completely. We are weary, but slowly becoming new. Better even.
1. Acknowledge that the ground under you has shifted. If your marriage is floundering a bit, admit that it is a hard season and give yourselves grace. It will take time to find your footing again.
2. Trust that the Lord can put you on the same page for decision-making. The amount of decisions that need to be made as a medical parent has surprised us. Are you wanting to hold off on a therapy, or get a second opinion, but your spouse doesn’t agree? If you are not in agreement, communicate, then wait. Harmony is not impossible for God. Pray for it.
3. Make time. It’s easy to become physically and emotionally unavailable to everyone except your child. Prioritize pockets of time to be a couple. It might seem impossible, or that you are too tired, but do it anyway. Reach out for childcare help, even after bedtime if necessary. Take a breather from the crazy, and show your spouse that you still value time spent together.
Read the rest, and download the Date Night Q and A printable over at No Hands But Ours.
Courage, dear hearts.
This post is post five in the "Medical Momma Toolkit: A Tips, Tricks and Encouragement Series".
