The City Wire special report: Bob is married without a wife

Editor’s note: This is another story in a series of stories on mental illness issues. Throughout 2010 The City Wire will attempt to post at least one story a month on this often hidden affliction. The list of previous articles in this series is located at the end of this story.

story by Marla Cantrell
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Bob used to be like you.

He asked friends over. They reciprocated. He worked a 40-hour week, paid his taxes, kept up his lawn. On Sundays, he attended services, prayed for the less fortunate, thanked God he wasn’t one of the sick and afflicted.

And then, on the day his second child was born, Bob’s orderly world imploded.

“My wife had a spinal block and she was telling the nurse she couldn’t breathe,” Bob said. “But it was a Catch 22, right? If you can say you can’t breathe, you must be getting enough air to talk. When I saw her I knew there was a significant problem. You could see her struggling. … They rushed me out and I sat waiting.”

The first news Bob heard was good. He had a son.

And then the doctor told him. His wife would recover from the delivery but not from the complications it caused. The spinal tap, meant to prevent her from feeling pain from the waist down, had instead paralyzed her lungs. The lack of oxygen caused severe brain damage. Since then she’s developed dementia.

Bob’s son was in trouble too. It took five years receiving help from Bost Inc., a Fort Smith facility for those with developmental disabilities, to correct the damage from his birth. Today he is a normal 15-year-old, or as normal as a teen can be who lives in a house with a mother who rarely remembers his name.

“He didn’t really exist for me for the first seven years,” Bob said. “That’s hard to say. His sister, who was only nine when all this happened, had to do a lot for him. It made her life hard.”

Soon after his son was born, the community stepped in: Donations spilled onto their doorstep, his freezer filled with casseroles. A group of office workers decided to forgo their usual Christmas gift exchange and instead sent money to the family. And once, a basket arrived that was filled with coins from schoolchildren.

“I’d take some of the food that was donated and send it to my daughter’s school for other families in need, because we’d been given so much,” Bob said.

At that point, Bob felt embraced by the community. But as time ticked by, other tragedies happened to other people. And the support keeping him afloat drifted farther and farther away.

Unable to work and take care of his wife, he chose his wife. Government help eventually paid for some of her care, but that didn’t cover the other bills. He sued the hospital and they finally settled.

“A lot of people think we got rich off of that,” Bob said. “But we didn’t. We had to pay back some of her medical bills and then there were the lawyer’s fees. It certainly helped, but not to the extent some people believe it did.”

For a time, doctors believed Bob’s wife’s condition would, at the very least, level off. There was even hope she might improve slightly. That didn’t happen, in fact, the reverse occurred.

“She was her class valedictorian,” Bob said. “The thing I loved most about her were her eyes, they were filled life. … Now, she can repeat her ABCs and read names from a phone book.”

Handmade Signs hang inside Bob’s house: above the washing machine, in the kitchen, on the entryway door. Their messages are a series of dont’s — don’t open the door to strangers, don’t run the washing machine, don’t open your son’s bedroom door without knocking.

It is a tedious life. Every possibility must be considered. The hot water heater had been adjusted. Trips to the market are carefully planned. The Alzheimer’s Association keeps information on file in case she roams.

Bob’s marriage has been cut in half. For the first 16 years he had a wife who shared his dreams and encouraged him to succeed. For the past 16 years he’s been the caregiver of a spouse with the reasoning ability of a four-year-old.

“It’s the loneliest thing in the world,” Bob said. “I feel invisible. I don’t get invited out much. I’m hard to place. It’s not like I’m married the way other people are, but I’m not single either.”

“I look at pictures of us before, or think of certain events and I don’t remember my old wife anymore,” Bob said. “She’s been replaced by the woman she became.”

Many people caught in Bob’s situation leave the marriage.

“I took a vow,” Bob said. “And I meant it. I don’t judge those who do decide to divorce, but I couldn’t do it.”

Instead, he logs on daily to the Well Spouse website. He chats with other husbands and wives who promised “in sickness and in health” and are now living with the consequences.

Nothing is off limits. Some, who are considering taking a lover, ask others for advice. They talk about neglecting their own health, about the isolation, about dealing with in-laws who won’t accept the truth.

Bob has made plans in the event of his own death. His wife will be cared for by other family members. And if she goes first, he’s ready to start over.

“I’ll get a regular job,” Bob said. “I’ll move to a smaller house. I’ll try to have a normal life.”

That’s what he desires. The day-to-day grind of an everyday life. There is a glimmer to it you no longer see. But that’s what this man, who is married but without a wife, dreams about when sleep finally comes.

Previous articles in the series
• Mental illness hits one in five persons
• Robert’s colors and Asperger’s Syndrome
• Tonya’s world
• Annette’s adventures in her bipolar world