“Why couldn’t we put her in a home?” Wally stopped pacing and turned to look at Miriam. “If your dad were to kick in something and we stretched our funds, we could get her in some kind of home. She doesn’t need someone with her every minute. She does pretty well in that chair … and she’ll probably improve with time.”
“We’ve been over that, dear. It would kill Mom and Dad if their daughter was locked up in one of those places where all you smell is urine and all you hear is crazy people screaming day and night. And I couldn’t live with that either,” she added.
He smiled ruefully. “We both know how this is going to end up, don’t we? After all is said and done, you’re going to take her in. She’ll be the child we didn’t want right away. Only she’ll be worse than a child. A child would belong to us. Even if the child wasn’t planned, it would be ours-flesh of our flesh, bone of our bone. Theresa will be an intruder-” He held up a hand to forestall Miriam’s interruption. “Yes, she will be … at least as far as I’m concerned. And, even if it takes a while, eventually, she’ll be the same to you. Make no mistake, honey, this is a drastic step. This one decision could ruin our marriage.”
Walter had stated his position. He couldn’t help it; that was exactly how he felt.
That he had left Miriam sobbing was beyond his power to change. Better she cry now than later.
In a few weeks, after much remodeling in the Zabola apartment, Theresa was moved in.
That was a happy day for no one.
The elder Waleskis were saddened to send their daughter from their house. They didn’t feel all that great either about imposing their crippled girl on the newlyweds.
Miriam wished to God that this arrangement didn’t have to be. She could have used a lot more support than she was receiving. Most of all, she wished she could have her husband back.
Wally had retreated into a space of his own. Fun was gone. He tried from time to time to recapture the joy of their early days together. But that was gone-gone beyond the reach of either of them.
Theresa was just miserable.
Time dragged by. By the second anniversary of Theresa’s joining their household, daily life had sunk into a deadly dull routine.
About a year ago, roughly midway into this adventure, Theresa had gotten religion. Of course she was Catholic, born and raised. And, until she’d gotten sick, she’d attended Mass on Sundays and holy days. Which by today’s standards was not bad by any means. But according to the rules of the Catholic Church, this was a minimal effort.
Along the way, Ted Waleski, Theresa’s father, had chanced upon a serviceable used car. He was able to outfit it with hand controls, which meant that a paraplegic could drive it. Ted presented this car to Theresa. Theresa learned to drive it. And Theresa got religion.
With considerable effort she began attending daily Mass. She filled her small room with statues, relics, shrines, and candles.
But the relationship and routine of the three reluctant housemates remained the same. Miriam waited on Theresa-constantly, it seemed. Wally groused, but he helped.
Wally and Miriam had drifted into an unhealthy trap that was rubbing raw their bond. With Theresa, there was never a peaceful moment. Her chair tipped and threw her. She was suddenly too weak to lift herself from the toilet. One day she was in fine fettle and comparatively happy, but she was sure to return to her basic miserable state. She would develop bizarre symptoms that necessitated emergency trips to a near-by hospital-her home away from home.
One evening after dinner and after Theresa retired-for the night or until the hospital run, no one knew for sure-Wally said, “We’ve got to talk about Theresa.”
It was Miriam’s least favorite subject, especially when the discussion involved herself and Wally. But there was no escape. She closed her book and laid it on her lap.
“I’ve been giving this a lot of thought, honey. Theresa is faking.”
Miriam sighed. “We’ve been through this any number of times, Wally. You’re going on what the doctor said, aren’t you: that nobody can find a physical cause for her paralysis? But you know he also said that just because they can’t find the cause doesn’t mean there isn’t one.”
“Yeah, I know that, but-”
“Also, there’s the possibility that this is a psychosomatic thing. But the doctor explained that if the cause
“Hear me out, Miriam. I went to the library today and looked through some books on psychology. And I read that there’s a cause for psychosomatic illness: It’s called ‘secondary gain.’”
Miriam sat up straighter. This was a new twist in an old argument. “What did the books mean? What is this ‘secondary gain’?”
Wally considered it a victory that she was willing to at least consider an alternative explanation. “The way I get it is, this happens when, sick or not, you start getting something or some things you want. The examples the book gave were something like, say a kid gets hurt, maybe hit by a car. So he’s going to convalesce at home. He gets pretty much what he wants to eat. He gets lots of tender, loving care. He doesn’t have to go to school. So, when he’s completely healed-or healed enough to get off the sick list-he keeps on with all his symptoms so he can keep getting all the goodies. You know what I mean?”
Miriam nodded, though it was obvious she was not fully convinced.
“See,” Wally went on, “it doesn’t matter whether a person is really sick or not. The thing is that the person is getting everything he or she wants. The person is willing to take on all the symptoms of illness or injury so he can get these other-secondary-gains.”
“And you think that’s what’s going on with Theresa?”
“Why not? She hasn’t got any torn tendons or muscles. She hasn’t got any broken bones. Everything inside her is in working shape. It’s just that her legs don’t work.
“Okay, so you and the doctors say it could be in her head. Let’s say-for argument’s sake-that the doctors are right. I say maybe it’s something else on top of that. She’s got us as slaves. She says she needs something, she needs help, and one of us-usually you-comes running.
“And if we don’t run right to her or answer her right away, it’s off to the hospital. Or it’s hyperventilating- thank God for paper bags!
“What I’m saying, Miriam, is, What if it
“So while we’re on our honeymoon, she starts to get sick-in her head, let’s say. She knows ahead of time how this is going to come out. The only way she can get even is to make us unhappy too. She banks on your parents not being able to take care of her.
“We start our marriage with her creating misery. Mind you, this is still all in her head. She finds out that we’ll drop everything whenever she wants something-what the book calls secondary gain.
“What it means, hon, is that if sometime she got enough of being ‘sick’ and wanted to be free of that damn wheelchair, if she wanted to be healthy again, maybe even if she wanted to be normal, she still wouldn’t do it. ‘Cause then there wouldn’t be anyone around to wait on her hand and foot. The secondary gain, honey!”
Wally had finished his presentation and was rather pleased with himself.
They sat in silence for several moments.
“For the sake of argument,” Miriam said finally, “suppose you’re right. Suppose it’s not only in her mind, suppose she’s holding on to her imaginary illness because she needs us and wants us around all the time. What do you suggest we do?”
“I thought it was kind of obvious. We stop dropping everything every time she calls-every time she demands that we do something for her.”
Miriam knew she could not do that to her sister. But she dreaded telling Wally that even if he was correct she could not stop herself from responding when her sister was in need, whatever the cause.
As she pondered, the sound of a crash came from the rear of the house-from Theresa’s room.
“She’s fallen. She can get up if we don’t run to her,” Wally said. “She can do it if we let her. Let her do it on her own, hon. This may be our last chance to save our marriage.” His tone, everything about him was pleading for a
