Prozac and Prayer

Prozac and Prayer

                We were eating dinner, and David hadn’t said much.  He wasn’t a talker, but usually he at least told me a little bit about his day.  Still, I knew enough not to push him.  If he didn’t want to talk, it would only make him withdraw more if I tried to draw him out.  We hadn’t been married long, but long enough I’d learned that.

                We got married later than most couples in the church.  My mother was older when she had me, and then she was sick and needed me, so I didn’t have time to get to know any men.  David was quiet and withdrawn and didn’t ever date any of the young women.  His parents are kind of scary, too, because they’re important pillars in the church.  We were thrown together by default, being the only singles in the church over twenty-two.  Even then, we didn’t really start going out until several months after  mother died.

                “They sent me to the psychiatrist at work,” David said suddenly.  He said it quickly, almost spitting it out.  Like he was afraid of what I would say.

                I wasn’t sure what to say, so I took my time chewing my food to try to think of something.  I wanted to defend him, of course.  He wasn’t crazy.  He was just quiet.  But maybe there was more to it.  Maybe he was different at work.

                “Why?” I asked, hoping my tone sounded curious and not judgmental.

                “I’ve been feeling down,” he said, glancing up at me, but looking away quickly.  “I don’t feel like doing much.  My productivity may have gone down some.”

                “Oh.”  Was it because of me?  Was he not as happy being married as I was?  He didn’t seem much different than he did when we were dating, but it was hard to say.  “Well, what did he say?”

                “She said I may benefit from an anti-depressant.”

                “Oh.”  I didn’t know much about anti-depressants.  The word “depression” was kind of a hot button word to some people in our church, though.  Some people thought it wasn’t real.  I hadn’t ever studied it out for myself, and I’d avoided the discussions about it.  I didn’t like the big “discussions” that sounded more like arguments to me.  Whenever people started getting loud, I usually found a way to leave the room politely.  “Are you going to get one?”

                He nodded.  “She wrote me a prescription for one.  I picked it up on the way home.”

                “Oh.”  It wasn’t like he had to ask my permission.  He was the head of the home, not me.  It seemed kind of weird, though, that he thought it was okay to obey some random woman.  She may have been a doctor, but all that meant to me was that she wasn’t at home taking care of her family like God wanted.    

                “I think it’ll be good,” he said.  “It’s been hard on me, trying to deal with this by myself.  I think I’ve needed this for a long time.”  He finally met my eyes, and then smiled. 

It was the first real smile I’d seen on him in two months, I realized.  He seemed relieved of a big burden.  That melted my heart right there. 

                I smiled back at him and reached across the table to put my hand on his.  “I’m glad you’re doing it, then,” I said.  “I want you to be happy.”

                It took a while, and it was gradual, but I started noticing he had more spring in his step.  He wanted to do things with me after dinner instead of sitting on the couch with a book on his lap and his eyes half closed.  He even volunteered us to lead a youth group outing. 

                The youth group outing got the attention of his parents, too.  We saw them three or four times a week at church, and sometimes went to eat after church, but they didn’t usually come over to our house.  After that, though, they invited themselves over on a Saturday afternoon. 

                I was all fluttery, getting ready for them.  I’m a good housekeeper, but David’s mom, Karen, was extremely clean.  She was also an important person in the church, being the pastor’s secretary, and the person most likely to head the committees that got things done.  I still slipped sometimes and called her Mrs. Cooper instead of Mom.  It was so bizarre that I was Mrs. Cooper, too.  Of course, nobody called me that – not even the little kids.  They all just called me Charlotte.

                The middle of Saturday afternoon was a weird time for a visit, I thought.  David got up early and did all the yard work, and I went to Wal-Mart and bought a pie and got coffee ready to make in case they wanted some kind of refreshment. 

                Once we were ready, we went in the living room and sat down.  I felt awkward, all of a sudden.  David seemed uncomfortable, too.  He kept leaning back to look out the window to see if they were here yet, and his leg was jiggling. 

                “You okay?” I asked.

                “Yeah.  I just wonder what they’re thinking,” he said.  “I know they want to talk to me about something.”

                “You don’t have any idea what it is?” I asked.

                He hesitated, and I thought then that he was going to say something, but that’s when their car pulled up.  He stood up and went to the door instead.

                His parents came in with their usual side hugs and oversweet greetings.  Richard was a large man, and until you got to know him he seemed jolly.  He wasn’t, though.  He just smiled a lot while saying things in a loud voice. 

Karen was slim and perky.  Pretty much the opposite of me.  I felt like a giant when we stood next to each other.  She wasn’t mean, but she was direct.  She’d call the shots the way she saw them.  Every once in a while she didn’t stop to find out if the way she saw the shots was right before she called them, but if it turned out she was wrong, she was always happy to apologize.    

Richard waited to sit down until he saw where David was going to sit before sitting down on the corner of the couch nearest his chair. 

I sort of just hovered near the door to the kitchen, not sure if I should start the coffee yet.  It looked like they wanted to talk first, though, so I sat on the edge of the rocker in the corner so I could hop up as soon as they were ready.

“You seem like you’ve been feeling better lately,” Karen said to David, settling down on the couch next to Richard. 

                He nodded, and it looked to me like he somehow shrank a little, for some reason. 

                “Are you following the prayer schedule I made for you?” Richard said, leaning forward and setting a heavy hand on David’s shoulder. 

                I was watching David’s face at the moment his dad’s hand came down on his shoulder, and I could swear I saw him wince the tiniest bit.  But he straightened his face out quickly, going blank. 

                “I have my own private prayer time every day,” David answered.  “And of course Charlotte and I have our devotions when we pray together, too.”

                We did.  He was a good prayer leader, and I enjoyed the time that we spent together reading the Bible and praying. I wanted to say so, but it didn’t seem like the time for me to talk.

                Richard relaxed and took his hand off David’s shoulder, smiling just a little bit.  “I’m glad to hear it, Son.”

                “See, Richard,” Karen said gently.  “I told you that was the reason he was doing better.  You were concerned for nothing.”

                David gave his mom a tight-lipped smile.  “Of course I always welcome your prayers,” he said stiffly, “but I hope you haven’t been worrying about me.  Charlotte has been a wonderful help-meet for me, and I’ve been feeling better these last few months than I ever have.”

                Did he really think it was because of me he was doing better?  The pleasure of the thought was so intense I almost cried, and my cheeks got hot as they turned and looked at me.  I barely managed not to duck my head at the attention.  To keep from making it any worse, I asked if I could get them some pie and coffee. 

                “Sure,” Richard said, his voice gaining back some of its normal boom in his enthusiasm.  “That’d be great.”

                “I’ll help you,” Karen said, standing up and walking behind me to the kitchen. 

                I wished she wouldn’t offer to help, since it meant she’d get a good chance to look over my kitchen and see that I didn’t make the pie, and that I didn’t wipe down the wall behind the sink and it had a few dried splatters of soap on it, and that there was a cobweb up in the corner of the window over the sink that looked out into the backyard.  Why didn’t I notice those things before? 

The pleasure of the moment before was slipping, and I felt flustered as I opened the box the pie was in and pulled it out. 

                “Oh,” she said.  “Does Wal-Mart make good pies, then?  I’ve never thought to buy one there.”

                I smiled anxiously.  “They make better ones than I do, I guess.  David never complains, anyway.” 

                “No.  He’s not much of a complainer, is he.”  She took it as a compliment on her parenting, probably, judging by the way she looked like a cat with cream.

                “He’s a great husband,” I said.  “Especially since he started that Prozac.  I know the prayer schedule is helping, too, but that was when it really started changing.”  I turned when she didn’t answer, and that’s when I knew I made a huge mistake. 

                She was staring at me like she’d gotten frozen in place.  “Excuse me?” she said, giving her head a little shake like she thought she’d misunderstood me. 

                I opened my mouth to say something, but I didn’t know what I was supposed to say, now.  I wanted to take it back.  They were obviously on the “against” side of the discussion about depression.  Why hadn’t I remembered?  If only she wasn’t so perfect, I wouldn’t get all flustered and say the wrong things.  “Um,” I said, trying to get my voice working so I could say something to fix it.  But before I could, she gave me a hard look, and then stormed out of the kitchen.

                “Richard!” she practically yelled. 

                I followed her out, cringing at the look on David’s face.  Like a deer in headlights.  Scared.

I really messed up this time.

                Richard stood up quickly at her tone, frowning so hard he looked like an English Bulldog.  “What is it?”

                She breathed hard through her nose a couple of times before pulling herself together enough to answer.  “Our son has been lying to us, it seems.”

                They both turned and looked down at David, who was cringing now without even trying to hide it.  “I haven’t been lying,” he said defensively.  “Everything I said was true.”

                “There isn’t something else you want to tell us about?” his mom asked ominously.

                “I got sent to the psychiatrist at work,” he said slowly.  “She thought I might benefit from Prozac.  I filled the prescription, and it really does seem to help.”

                Richard looked angry for a few seconds, and then his face shifted, and he sat down on the edge of the couch and leaned toward David again.  “Son, I’m sure it does seem to help some of your symptoms.”

                Karen took her cue from him, and took a seat in the chair on the other side of the coffee table, a little farther away.  I didn’t know where to sit.  I felt so awful that I’d brought this whole thing down on his head, I just wanted to run screaming out of the house.  Instead, I sat back down on the edge of the rocking chair.

                “I’m sure the drugs do help,” Richard continued, speaking slowly and carefully.  “And I’m sure this woman who wrote your prescription was very nice.  But I bet she wasn’t a Christian.”

                David sighed, looking defeated.  He shook his head. 

                “Do you suppose she gets her ideas on psychology from the Bible?”

                David shook his head again. 

                “I don’t think so, either.  And while drugs will mask the way you feel and perk you up, they won’t fix the problem.”

                He paused for several seconds, like he was waiting for someone to agree with him, but we all just sat and waited for what he had to say next. 

                “These doctors,” he went on, shaking his head.  “They’re probably nice people, but they don’t know the Lord.  They don’t understand that what they call depression is just a natural reaction that happens to Christians who aren’t following their walk with God.”

                “David,” Karen broke in, “you know you can mask the problem with the drugs they give you, but until you get it fixed here,” she put a hand over her heart, “it won’t ever go away.” 

                It sounded like they’d done a lot of studying and praying on this.  It also sounded like something they’d talked to David a lot about in the past.  Was it some kind of recurring issue?  What if he had some hidden sin that caused it?  I felt more and more anxious as they talked to him. 

Finally, they prayed with David, and let me bring them the burnt coffee and the pie.  Richard tried to lighten the mood a little by talking about college football, but David just kept his head down and didn’t say much.  They finished quickly and left.

                I didn’t know what to say, or what to do.  David just sat in his chair with his head in his hands, not looking up, and I couldn’t tell if he was crying, or mad, or what. 

                “I’m sorry,” I said, after about five minutes when he didn’t move.

                He breathed in hard through his nose, and blew it out, then he looked up at me and sort of smiled.  His face was red with white streaks where it had been pressed against his fists.  “I should have mentioned they don’t think pills are good.  You didn’t know.”

                “But you think they’re okay?” I asked. 

                “I don’t know.”  He shook his head and looked like he wanted to cry.  “I just feel so much better when I take them.  I want to serve God when I take them.  It’s hard to care if I don’t take them.”  He shook his head again.  “I’ll try harder.  Maybe this time it’ll be different.” 

                It was a relief, in a way.  I never did feel right about that woman psychiatrist telling him what to do. 

He slowed down again, though.  Even though we were praying together three times a day, and he didn’t have any sin in his life that I could see.  Maybe it was something in his thoughts he couldn’t get rid of. 

Now that I’d seen the way he could be, I saw even more how down he was.  It didn’t seem fair that God was so hard on him, and let other people just bounce around doing all kinds of horrible things and be as happy as clams about it.  Pastor said that God only did that with people He truly loved and had special plans for, though.  “Whom the Lord loves, He chastens,” was the Scripture he was always quoting.  It made me wonder if we were going to end up being missionaries to Africa or something.  

About four weeks later, David called about the time I had supper almost on the table.

“Sorry to call so close to dinner,” he said, “but I haven’t left work yet.  I’ve been in a meeting.  I’ll be home in thirty minutes or so.  You go ahead and eat.”

It was a let-down, but it wasn’t my job to complain, so I went ahead and fixed his plate up nice and put it in the oven to stay warm while I ate my dinner and cleaned the dishes. 

It was more like an hour later that he came in, but he didn’t look as down as he had. 

“Did something good happen at work?” I asked as I set his plate down in front of him.

He smiled.  “I may get a promotion,” he said.  “I’m going to have to stay later some, though.”

“Well, that’s great!” I said.  “I’m proud of you!” 

He looked down at his plate.  “Could I get some tea?  I’m really thirsty.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” I said, hurrying into the kitchen to get him a glass.  Things were going to be okay, after all, I thought then. 

After that he came home a little later most nights, but he acted a lot less reserved and more affectionate, and I guessed that this promotion meant a lot to him.  It was exciting.

Then one day, he came in late, and he fell over on his way in the door.

“Oh, my goodness!” I said, running over to help him up.  “What happened? Are you okay?”

He rolled his head back and looked at me, and I realized his eyes were all glazed over and he smelled funny.  “I got fired,” he said.  “And I’m drunk.”

“What?”  I pulled away from him and let him slump back on the floor.  “What do you mean you’re drunk?  You don’t drink!”

“I’ve been drinking,” he said.  “It helps with the depression.  I’ve been drinking at lunch, and then on the way home.  It’s the only way I can keep going.”

I couldn’t believe he’d been lying to me like that.  I felt like he’d just said he was cheating on me, or that he wasn’t even really a Christian.  I felt weak, and I had to lean back against the wall to keep from falling over, myself.  I wasn’t even twenty-five, and I had a husband who was a drunk.  What was I going to do?

He reached over and put his hand on my cheek.  “Don’t worry,” he slurred.  “I’ll get this figured out.  Okay?  I’ll take care of you.”

“How can you take care of me?” I asked.  “You can’t even stand up!  You lost your job!”  I was going to say a lot more about how he had let me down and I didn’t even know who he was, but I couldn’t breathe, all of a sudden.

He sat there against the front door in the entry hall, watching me hyperventilate.  My face went numb, and things started spinning, and he was still just sitting there, looking tired and thick.  I wanted to slap him.  Instead, I pulled myself together, and I went into the kitchen, and I called his mom.  It was the only thing I could think to do. 

Karen and Richard were pulling into our driveway within thirty minutes.  By that time, I’d gotten David up off the floor, and gotten him to eat a sandwich and drink some coffee.  He was looking a lot more sober, but more depressed, too.  

They bustled in and had me get a bag packed for him and drove us right over to a drug and alcohol detox center a few miles from our house.  I felt dazed at how fast they were moving.  I wondered if they’d done this with David before.  But wouldn’t they have told me before we got married if he had had a drinking problem in the past? 

I cried when he told me good-bye, and again when I got home and realized I’d be spending the next seven days and nights by myself.  I was going to have to find something to fill up my days.

The next morning I resisted the urge to just stay in bed all day.  I got up and made myself breakfast and got dressed, and then after I cleaned up, I called Karen.

“Since David lost his job, I was wondering if maybe I should try to find something,” I told her.

“Oh, Charlotte! I hate for you to have to do that,” she said.  “We can take care of your bills until he gets back on his feet.”

“I really feel I’ll be happier if I have something useful I can be doing,” I said.

“Well, if you think that’s best,” she said, trailing off.  It was obviously not what she thought was best.  She probably thought I was heading down David’s road into sin.  But I just couldn’t stand sitting around the house worrying. 

“I think I’ll see about getting a job at a nursing home,” I said.  “I spent all those years nursing Mother, and I’m good at helping older people.”

Even though I thought it sounded like something she should’ve been happy about, she didn’t sound very enthusiastic.  I got off the phone pretty quickly and went out to find a paper and start looking. 

God was with me in my search.  I found that most nursing homes had a high turnover of unskilled workers.  It might have been because it was a hard job, and the old people were usually crabby, and it just paid minimum wage.  But I had experience putting up with a crabby sick person, and all the disgusting things that came along with it, like cleaning up soiled sheets and bodies, and mopping up spills, and serving meals.  The first place I went hired me on the spot.

I went out and bought two sets of scrubs at Wal-Mart, and the next day I started work.  It was a rough day, but I got home feeling good about myself.  

Until I heard the message David left on our voicemail.

“Listen, Charlotte.  They say I don’t qualify for detox, and that I need to go to some place called the Crisis Center.  So that’s where I’ll be.”

Crisis?  What crisis?  He just needed to stop drinking so he could deal with whatever sin was troubling him.  I looked up the Crisis Center in the phone book.  It was a place for people who were suicidal. 

Now I was getting kind of angry.  These people were supposed to help David stop drinking, not tell him he was a danger to himself.  I started to call the number next to the listing, but then I stopped and called Karen instead.  When I told her, she was mad, too.  She told me to stay put and she and Richard would come get me and we’d go get David together.

While I was waiting for them, it all kept going around and around in my head, until I was so mad I just needed to yell at someone.  I called up the detox center and asked for the manager.

“I want to know why you won’t help my husband,” I demanded when he answered the phone.

“Excuse me?”

“My husband came there for detox, and you sent him to some crisis center.  He doesn’t need that.  He just needs to stop drinking!”

“Ma’am, your husband is not addicted to alcohol.  He’s depressed and potentially a danger to himself.  He didn’t meet our criteria, but we felt that letting him go home when he’s so depressed could cause him problems.  He’s in the best place.”

“He’s not depressed, he just needs to work a few things out with the Lord,” I told him.  The words came out of my mouth naturally, but once I said them, they sounded odd.  After all, this man was probably not a Christian.  He probably believed that all David needed was a little Prozac to make him better.

I wished that were true.  He’d seemed so much better when he was taking it.

“Ma’am, I understand that you may have some religious issues with sending your husband to that facility, but I urge you to let him finish the program there.”

“Well, his parents are on his way to get him right now,” I said.  “Even if I thought it was a good idea, they wouldn’t.”

He sighed.  “I can’t stop you of course.  And I can’t stop him from leaving, if he chooses to.  I hope it works out for the best.”

His words left me feeling subdued and scared.  I got out my Bible and read from the Psalms until they got there to pick me up.

I was a little afraid that David wouldn’t want to go, and he’d make a fuss, but when we went in, Karen screamed at people until they went and asked him if he wanted to go with us. 

He came out with his head down, looking sad and tired.  He barely even glanced up at us.  Richard put his hand on David’s shoulder and guided him out to the car. 

I sat next to him in the back seat.  He glanced over at me a couple of times, but didn’t look me in the eye.  Still, I noticed that his eyes were red, and between that and the two days of stubble on his chin he looked worse than rough.  It made my heart ache to see him like that.  I took his hand and squeezed it, but he didn’t respond.  After a couple of blocks I let go and he pulled his hand back and shifted so he was closer to the window.

Karen and Richard helped me get him in the house, and then when I said I could take it from there, they left.  I didn’t think they would, but they actually seemed like they were glad I was taking over.  Maybe it bothered them even more than it did me, seeing him like that.

“Don’t you worry about anything,” I told him as I got into bed beside him a little bit later.  “I got a job today, so you can just take some time to stay here and work things out with God.  There’s no pressure to go out and work until you’re ready.”

“You got a job?” he asked, sounding the tiniest bit interested. 

“Yes, at a nursing home,” I said, feeling proud of myself.  “It’s hard work, but it’s real rewarding helping these people who are lonely and neglected to be a little more comfortable.”

“That sounds like a good job for you,” he said.  “I bet you’ll be really good at it.”

I smiled.  “Thanks.”

He rolled toward me and kissed me on the forehead, and then put his arms around me.  “Good night.” 

I snuggled up against him and felt safe for the first time since his parents made him get rid of the Prozac.

The next day, he got up and made me breakfast while I was getting ready for work.

“You didn’t have to do that,” I told him. 

“Our roles are reversed,” he said, smiling.  “I just hope I’ll keep up with the housework as well as you do.”

I smiled back.  “Well, don’t worry too much about it.  You just work on getting better.”

His smile slipped, like he’d lost control of one side and it had fallen off his face.  “Right.”

I’d thought he’d have dinner ready when I got home, since he’d said that about our roles being reversed, but when I walked in, the house was dark, and he was sitting on the couch.

“What are you doing?” I asked, turning on the light.

He blinked and rubbed his face.  “Nothing.”

“I guess so.”  I was tired and hungry, and it made me grouchy to have to go fix dinner when he hadn’t done anything all day.  I had to remind myself that just because his body looked fine didn’t mean he was okay.  His soul was sick. 

The problem was, I didn’t have any energy to try to help him with his struggle.  For the first time I appreciated what a burden it was for the man to be the head of the home.  Working all day, and then coming home and trying to be a spiritual leader and take care of someone else’s needs – it was more than I could do. 

That evening after dinner, when he didn’t mention our devotions and prayer time, I let it slide.  He looked so tired and sad, and I didn’t want to say anything to make it worse. 

The next day on my break I called Karen and told her about it.

“I tried calling yesterday,” she said.  “I guess he’s not answering the phone.”

I sighed.  “I don’t know how to help him.”

“Just keep praying,” she said.  “He’s pulled out of it before.”

“Has he been this bad before?”

She hesitated.  “I don’t think so,” she finally said. 

“Maybe you could come over this evening and talk to him,” I suggested.

“I’m afraid it will just make things worse, if he doesn’t want to talk to us.  But why don’t you tell him we’ve invited you to dinner, and see if he’ll come.”

Naturally he wasn’t interested.  He told me to go, but I didn’t want to go by myself.

                I didn’t know what to think or what to do.  It felt like God was punishing me for whatever David was going through.  I didn’t want to have to keep going through this the rest of my life. 

My job was demanding, too.  I felt so bad for those poor people, stuck in that lonely place and hardly even taken care of.  But they made it hard to minister to them.  More than one gentleman cursed at me when the dinner was late one afternoon.  And I was fairly certain that one of the ladies was soiling her sheets and spreading it around just to give me a hard time. 

On Sunday when I got up to get ready for church, David told me he wasn’t going.

“But you have to go to church,” I said.  “How are you going to figure out what God is trying to tell you if you don’t go to church?”

“If He has something to tell me, He knows where I live,” David said.  “I’m not going and having everyone point at me and talk about me.”

I hadn’t thought about that.  When Mother was sick, it was a comfort to know that I was in everyone’s thoughts and prayers.  Now I hoped they’d forgotten about us.  At least, there were some people I hoped had forgotten us.  Not Pastor, of course.  Or David’s parents.

“Maybe I shouldn’t go, either,” I said, sitting back down on the bed.

“No.  You go.  It’ll make you stronger, and then you can come home and tell me what Pastor said.”

So I went by myself.  People asked where David was, and I didn’t know what to tell them.  I just told them he wasn’t feeling well.  I hoped no one knew that he’d lost his job from drinking, and that I was working outside the home in order to support us.

When I got home, as usual, the house was dark.  I turned on lights and headed to the bedroom, wondering how anyone who doesn’t do anything could spend so much time in bed asleep.

“David?” I said, turning on the bedroom light. 

The bed was made, and he was laying on top of the duvet. 

“David?”  I walked over to the bed and put my hand on his chest.  He was still.  Even then, I didn’t realize what was going on.  I had to shake him, and then feel his face, and then put my ear to his chest, before it really started to sink in.  I felt like I was falling.  How could he be dead?  He was fine when I left.  Maybe he had some kind of heart issue nobody knew about? 

I grabbed the phone and called 911, but when they got there they confirmed he’d been dead for a while.  They also noticed the note he left on the bedside table.

I didn’t want to read it.  I wanted it to be a heart attack, or an accident.  He couldn’t have done this on purpose.

But I had to read it.  I had to find out if there were clues.

“Charlotte, You’ve been a wonderful sweet wife, but I can’t stand this feeling anymore.  If God has something to say to me, He’s just going to have to tell me to my face, because I can’t figure it out, and I can’t live this way.  I love you.  David”

                The biggest problem I had afterward – after the funeral, after the adjusting to being alone again – the biggest problem was worrying that it was my fault. 

                Of course Pastor told me that it wasn’t, and so did David’s parents.  As long as I could believe that they knew better than I did, I was okay.  But at night sometimes, I worried that maybe they were wrong.  Maybe I should have encouraged David to stand up to his parents, and keep taking the Prozac. 

I don’t know if he would have done it.  He was raised, same as I was, not to question our elders. 

No.  It’s better not to ask questions.  Times like that it’s definitely better to have faith that God knows what He’s doing, and He’s in control of everything.  Otherwise, I don’t think I could handle it.