My wedding was the most beautiful day of my life. It really was. I couldn’t have asked for a more perfect ceremony. It was magic, it was us, and I wouldn’t trade one moment of it for anything; from the sappy, teary vows to all that went wrong.
What? It was perfect despite it being imperfect? Don’t be quoting fortune cookies — explain.
I was sick. Terribly, nightmarish level sick. I did too much. Planning a wedding in a month is no small feat, friends. Honestly, it wouldn’t have mattered if we took a year to plan it. I was already out of spoons by the rehearsal dinner and all the last-minute to-dos piled up until my body was unable to take it anymore.
I woke up nauseated, early, because the ceremony started at 10:00 a.m. We stayed the previous night at the bed and breakfast where the ceremony was held. My honey ran some quick errands and picked up the dog, who made an appearance as flowerpup. My nausea had me migrate to the floor. The B&B had a memory foam pad on their bed, which was not helping me. The floor was safe and immune to gravity. I didn’t have a shower, because that was just not going to happen. My bridesmaids were invaluable. I couldn’t have gotten through the morning without them. I had to take several breaks during my makeup and hair. I spent more time on the floor, this time in my wedding gown, curled around a puke bucket. I made my bridesmaid sit next to me on a chair so I could steal her heart rate and have someone stroke my head.
My body was done and there were several times throughout the morning that I didn’t think it was going to happen.
My beta-blocker had run out the day before and of course the pharmacy had to give us trouble trying to refill it. My heart was not happy and my belly tremor was nasty. The worst it’s ever been. Usually, I feel the spasm deep in my abdomen, so faint I’m not sure it’s happening at first. This time, it was violent, rough, and strong. I had my bridesmaid feel it and nickname it my “belly troll.” My body was done and there were several times throughout the morning that I didn’t think it was going to happen. I even considered forcing everyone into our tiny room and doing it in bed, Frida-style.
I don’t know how I did it, but I did. I pulled myself off the floor and managed a smile, most of the time, to get married to my best friend. We changed the ceremony last-minute to help my revolting body. I walked the aisle with my dad before everyone else, instead of last. We sat in chairs except for our vows and the rings. We cut the music and one of the poems. It was short and sweet and then it was over.
As the day got older and my beta-blocker kicked in, I started feeling better. At the reception, there was no dancing, but there was a rap as a toast and all the people we love. We served brunch and mimosas. I was still too nauseated to feed my new husband a piece of cake. And I only had to answer one question about the cane. Which went as follows “What’s with the cane?” “It’s so I can walk.” I think I got my point across.
We got back to the B&B in time for my next pain pill and promptly undressed and got into bed to nap until I moved back to the floor. We were to spend another night there, but I was too sick and just wanted to go home. So hubby packed everything up and we went home. Unromantic for a first night married, but very emblematic of life married to a spoonie.
It was not quite a wedding, but a war and we fucking won that shit.
It was nothing like I thought it would be, but it was perfect. It wasn’t how we planned, exactly, but it was beautiful. Everything that mattered happened. I was okay with everything that went wrong. I didn’t let my illness ruin my day, as so many spoonies are afraid of, as I was so afraid of. It was not quite a wedding, but a war and we fucking won that shit.
Are YOU planning a wedding as a spoonie? What tips or stories do you have to share?