Munchausen Marriage - Part IX
I never stopped to think what married life would be like with Werner Forman. I really didn’t know my partner very well, and from the beginning I could sense that things were going to grow stranger and more confusing with each day.
THIS IS PART 9 of a TEN-PART STORY
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10
At the time Jofka was born, in the spring of 1973, first-time mothers were expected to remain in hospital till ten days after their child’s birth. For most mothers, this was a deserved rest and they were okay with it; but for me, married to Werner Forman, it became very difficult. Guests would arrive, wanting to visit me and the baby. Well, they could visit me all right, but seeing the new baby was a different matter.
Werner, who had been so opposed to having children, would not allow his child out of the nursery during visiting hours for fear of germs (pronounced “gairms” with a hard G). All the other mothers would have their babies happily on display either in their arms or in bedside cribs, but there was me, empty-armed, with Werner, who was there every single visiting hour, beside me, and when guests asked, “Where’s the baby?” I’d be hard pressed to explain. The situation was extremely awkward. The nursery in that particular maternity home was hidden, not behind plate glass where guests could view rows of cute new infants in pink or blue, but in another part of the ward. My guests would arrive and there’d be no baby, just me, the incredibly nervous, stressed-out mom. And of course, Werner, the new dad, proud and in control. We’d make small talk. It was horrible and I couldn’t wait to get home.
But at home other horrors awaited me. From the beginning I loved being a mom. The baby suckled easily, I had plenty of milk and took the middle-of-the-night feedings and lack of sleep in stride. Back then we still used cloth diapers, so I became inured to the stink of the diaper service bag on the doorstep and the prick of pins.
But it wasn’t the new baby that was the problem; it was Werner. No sooner had we arrived home than he proceeded to have a Munchausen style nervous breakdown.
He took to the bed, wouldn’t get out of his pajamas, wouldn’t leave the house. Suddenly I had two children. He would say he had headache, stomach ache, dizziness, nausea -- whatever the malady made no difference as I was the one who had to care for both him and the new baby. But I took this in stride as well, not stopping to wonder what the hell was going on, not daring to ask questions.
Image: Armin Lotfi
I think my post pregnancy hormones kept me high and blissed-out. When he did get out of bed, Werner would have nothing to do with the baby. I seemed to be living on two tracks. It took my mother, who arrived six weeks after Jofka’s birth, to fix the situation.
Cover Image: Edvard Munch’s “The Scream”