For Well Spouses, a Love Story Can Also Be a Tragedy

This week I listened to a gathering of people in Brea talk about the trauma of taking care of a disabled family member. I wanted to hear what they had to say, but my primary motivation was to learn more about just one person in that group.

She is Pat Oswald, a former American Airlines flight attendant. She helped found the group, a chapter of the Well Spouse Foundation, which meets in a clubhouse near her Brea home.

Last year she had been kind enough to help me out by telephone on a piece I wrote about this national organization. Her husband, Fran, an executive with Eastman Kodak, was suffering from Guillain-Barre syndrome, an inflammation of the nervous system. Four years ago, he was a healthy, active man; then, one morning he fell out of bed, his legs paralyzed. Though the disorder did not affect his mind, it eventually left him paralyzed from the neck down.

After my column was completed, Pat Oswald called me back with an afterthought. “I wish you could meet my husband,” she suggested. “He is such an amazing man. How he’s dealing with all this is so remarkable.”

Maybe it was the way she said it. Somehow she left me with the impression that here was a tremendous love story. I thanked her for the call and made a note to myself to meet Fran Oswald.

Then, I forgot about it. Hey, we’re all busy, right? A few months later, Valentine’s Day was approaching and I stumbled across the note with the Oswalds’ name. I thought of them as candidates for my annual Valentine’s column. So now that it suited my schedule, I was ready to go see Fran Oswald.

I had waited too long. He is so near the end he has given up, Pat Oswald explained to me with more courtesy than I deserved. She said it wouldn’t be much of a conversation. Fran Oswald died on Feb. 28, two weeks after Valentine’s and 18 days after the Oswalds’ 16th wedding anniversary. He was 59.

So attending a Well Spouse meeting this week was a bit of unfinished business for me, but also an eye-opener about the trauma endured by those who devote their lives to taking care of people they love. I’m sure many of you can identify with what these people go through. Or maybe you are like me--you know people who have the burden of being caregivers, but you don’t really know what it’s like for them.

The first thing you notice at a Well Spouse meeting is lots of laughter. If you don’t laugh, some of them said, your only choice is to cry. A meeting like this is often their only outlet for sharing humor in their situation. They are with others who have been there.

“The nicest thing about talking to another caregiver,” one woman said, “is that you don’t have to explain yourself. The other person already knows where you’re coming from.” Others nodded or commented in strong, heartfelt agreement.

Family counselor Terry Greenwood of Seal Beach, guest speaker for this meeting, talked about all the phases that these caregivers go through: anger, resentment, denial, guilt, depression. And then the final phase--acceptance. Most everyone present agreed they had hit all those phases and were now in the last one.

“I have finally come to realize,” another woman said, “that this is now my role in life. This is what I am here to do.”

This woman was caring for two people, a mother in her 90s and a husband suffering a nervous disorder that had left him immobilized. The same woman told me later that meetings like this and attending church on Sunday give her the strength she needs to return to her role of taking care of two people who depend on her.

Another woman in the group brought gales of laughter when she said, “I used to pray for strength, but a minister’s wife told me, ‘Be careful, you might get what you ask for.’ So now I pray for peace.”

All the group members, mostly women, shared their personal stories. I listened in amazement at how a loved one’s illness had created such havoc in their lives.

One young woman suffered a double trauma. Her husband was left paralyzed after being shot eight years ago, and the shooting suspect, though arrested, has yet to be brought to trial. Any crime victim can tell you that the agony of awaiting trial for so many years can be maddening.

Not only is it a big job to be her husband’s sole support, she said, but you wind up suffering great bouts of loneliness. You miss just being a couple. Yes, yes, others said emphatically; you miss what you once shared with your spouse.

One woman said she was floored when her husband, who is deteriorating rapidly, asked her recently if she were married. Another said that when she has about reached her breaking point, her husband will say something funny. It brings her such joy, it helps her get through, because she knows he is groping to find his own way to cope with this tragedy.

And by the end of the session, I realized that’s what this meeting was all about. These people reach out to help each other get through the pain, so they can get back to their task, because they know that the greater pain is being endured by the loved one’s they are caring for.

Wrap-Up: Which brings me back to Pat Oswald, and her sadness at seeing her valiant husband finally give up his fight to live. She wrote a paper about him for the group, which reaffirmed my initial thought that this must have been one dynamite great marriage. She wrote in part:

“I still find it hard to believe that we both went through so much trauma and kept our heads on straight, and our marriage only grew stronger. . . . I learned so much from my husband on this journey of illness. Fran had such a great attitude and dealt with all his suffering in such a mature, humorous way. . . . How lucky I was to be married to this very special man.”

You don’t have to wait for Valentine’s Day to pass along a good love story.

Jerry Hicks’ column appears Tuesday, Thursday and Saturday. Readers may reach Hicks by calling The Times Orange County Edition at (714) 966-7823 or by fax to (714) 966-7711, or e-mail to [email protected]