If I only knew then…

Have you ever had your life completely turned upside down? Me too, a few times actually: relocating to NH in 2008 and deciding on a complete career change, having my daughter, changing careers a few more times, taking control of my health while finding true self-love and discovering what living with OCD is really like as a caretaker, wife and mother after my husband’s life-long OCD exploded in October of 2018.

My husband Chris and I have been together for 16 years, married for 14.  We are best friends, love to laugh, and our relationship has always been founded on being our authentic selves.  We met in the 102D CT Army National Guard Band, Chris was crass and rude, yet funny, charming, super talented, kind and quite handsome.  When we started dating I was introduced to his OCD, though it didn’t play a huge role outwardly in his life.  Chris believes his OCD first appeared in fourth grade after a drug presentation in his classroom.  That is the first time he can remember
compulsively washing his hands.  Throughout the years he had coped with OCD on his own, managing the obsessions and compulsions until the OCD moved on to another topic and the process would begin again.  I always knew the OCD was there, but I had no idea just how much of his behavior was a result of his OCD voice and neither did he.

It wasn’t until I was pregnant with our daughter, 8 years into our marriage, that I started to see the compulsions.  After 24 years, the compulsive hand washing returned.  In a truly frustrated and feeling helpless fashion I demanded that Chris seek help, therapy, meds, whatever in order to get the OCD “under control”.  Ugh, if only I knew then what I know now…..

Chris started to see a therapist and I blindly assumed that all would now be well.  We never talked about his therapy sessions and eventually, they stopped.  When our daughter was born that December, 2013, his OCD hit a new high.  He was distraught in the hospital, terrified that our daughter would stop breathing or that she would be deaf.  As a new mom, exhausted, shell shocked and hopeful that my husband was going to figure this out, I sent him to the hearing screening routinely performed on newborns.  It wasn’t until Chris and the nurse returned from the test that I realized how anxious he was.  The nurse had spent the entire time trying to talk Chris down off of the ledge, reassuring him that even if there was hearing loss (which there was not) that it would be ok.  I was embarrassed and frustrated.  If only I knew then what I know now….

A few weeks after Sydney was born, on a typical week day, I received a phone call from my husband’s employer letting me know that he had been hospitalized for chest pains.  Chris was an on the road salesmen at the time and was in a hospital over an hour from our house.  With a newborn, I was not able to travel to him, so I waited patiently for the updates.  He spent the night in the hospital and returned with his diagnosis – a panic attack and his temporary prescription – adavan.  Once again, in true frustrated, exhausted and feeling helpless fashion, I told Chris that he  better get back to therapy and figure it out.  It hurts my heart now to think of it, but I just didn’t know any better and I didn’t have the emotional energy to do more. 

A few months later Chris had another, though more mild, panic attack at an event for one of his accounts close to our home.  I packed up our infant daughter and begrudgingly went to get him, embarrassed, making excuses for him, frustrated and upset.

At some point Chris started on Zoloft and it seemed to help a little, for a short period of time.  I hardly ever asked about his meds – well except for when he would take the bottle with us somewhere late in the afternoon, still needing to take his morning dose.  Taking his meds had become a focus of his OCD and the compulsive looking, checking and fear of contamination
became too much for him and he eventually stopped taking his meds. This pattern of starting and stopping therapy and meds continued for about four years without a ton of input from me, other than recommending he figure it out.  At one point I remember asking him about his therapist, he
was on his third or fourth for insurance reasons, and it just didn’t seem to be helping.  Chris stated he really liked the therapist, so that was the end of that.  Eventually though, he stopped seeing that therapist too.

I now know that all of the starting and stopping was because of his OCD, it was because the therapists weren’t helping, they weren’t treating his OCD, at all.  They had little to no experience with it, but still thought they could help him.  If only I knew then what I know now…but I will get into that later.

The night before Christmas Eve 2017, our daughter Sydney was in the bath and Chris suddenly called out to me from our bedroom.  When I walked in, he was sitting on our bed, pale, clammy, grabbing his chest and breathing heavy.  He told me he was having chest pains and wanted me to call an ambulance.  I knew it was a panic attack, but I didn’t want to tell him no, I didn’t want to downplay what he felt he was going through.  At the same time, I was annoyed yet calm and I was determined to keep this evening as normal as possible for our daughter.

I called 911 – I don’t even remember what I said, just that he was having chest pains, something about experiencing this before, a panic attack, and then I was playing with and talking to my daughter while staying on the line and waiting for the ambulance.  The entire time the paramedics were here, I kept Syd in the bath – I didn’t want her to be scared – and she couldn’t see a thing from the tub.  As a side note, Chris is a big dude – a power lifter, and watching them try to carry him down the stairs….wow.

After the paramedics left, whisking Chris off with them, I got Syd dressed and we headed to the ER.  It was about midnight or so when the attending doctor came in after multiple tests and a hefty dose of adavan.  “Nothing indicates a heart attack at this point, but we need to recheck some levels in a few hours before you can go home.”  I watched some dialogue go on between them and then Chris asked me what I thought.  “Listen,” I said “why don’t we just call a spade a spade – it was a panic attack and his heart is fine.”  At that point, the doctor who had avoided
mentioning anxiety, panic, etc tried to hide a smile.  I don’t think he was mocking Chris, just grateful that between Chris and I, at least one of us could see what was going on.

One would hope that this was the straw that broke the proverbial camel’s back.  That after keeping our daughter up til 1am at the ER that I finally put my foot down, got involved and got Chis help.  In reality, I was annoyed, frustrated, still completely clueless about OCD and I just didn’t want to deal with it.  So, as I had done multiple times before, I told Chris to get his s*it together, get back to therapy and take his stinking meds.  He did, for a while, but it was the same pattern as before – therapy and meds weren’t really helping, so he stopped doing them.

If I only knew then what I know now…..but it would take an OCD explosion of epic proportions for me to finally get my s*it together and learn more about the torturous hell my husband was trapped in.  To finally get him the right help, with the right people and to finally become an advocate for him and mental health versus a frustrated and annoyed wife.  That my friends
is a story for another day.