Back in Great Barrington

Recently I drove to Great Barrington to spend a week in the same place I’ve been renting for the past five summers—a stunning white modern house looking out on six acres of rolling hills, mature trees, including apple, pear and peach trees, and lush green grass bordering the Housatonic.

The first two summers my husband Richard came with me; the last three he’s stayed in the city. The worse his chronic arthritis gets, the more anxious he becomes about leaving the familiarity and comforts of home, so I set off by myself.

  Eager as I was to leave the city, I had some anxieties: I hadn’t driven since last summer. Now I’m a year older, about to turn 85, and worried about doing a 2.5 hour drive. Plus I worry that Richard might not be able to manage on his own. Though his homecare aide came Monday thru Friday mornings, and my daughter Christine lived next door, he’d still be on his own for the better part of the week.

  But mostly I felt guilty. No matter how deeply I felt that I had earned a break from being a caretaker, guilt was what I was taught as a child brought up in a devout Catholic household—to feel guilty for almost everything I did, wanted to do, or thought. And, after all these years, 84 years later, that hadn’t changed. I still felt guilty about leaving my responsibilities behind. I was reminded me of something my therapist had told me, “No matter where you go, you bring your baggage with you.”

  Once on the road, I quickly adjusted to driving again. By the time I was on the Sawmill, it was smooth sailing. By the time I reached the Taconic Parkway, I was putting the gray walls of the city behind me and looking forward to the rolling hills of the Berkshires. Finally, I’d soon be in Great Barrington instead of just dreaming about it. The guilt was wearing off.

  As I left the wintry streets of the UWS and adapted to the curvy turns of the Taconic, I felt as if I was being released from hell and on my way to heaven. But I also felt disoriented: my body was making the transition just fine, but my head insisted on remaining in the city, specifically in apt 10E at 245 west 104 street. Would Richard be okay, and was I doing the wrong thing by leaving him on his own? The guilt was back.

  As soon as I arrived, I called Richard to let him I’d arrived safely. He told me he was fine and said not to worry. Still, it took two days for me to begin to relax, three days to take an afternoon nap, and four days to enjoy being on my own.

  Then, just as my anxieties were fading away, Richard called to say he wasn’t feeling well. He had had four bouts of diarrhea during the night and now had severe stomach cramps. He had called our PCP but he was on vacation. I told him to wait for Emilia, his homecare aide, to take him to Urgent Care. They sent him to the Lenox Hill hospital ER for a tummy scan. “It could be just a viral episode,” the doctor told me, “but maybe not; I can’t tell without further testing.” Meanwhile I called his son, Rick, and asked him to go to the hospital to relieve Emelia, and then called Christine to ask her to stand by in case Richard was released from the hospital. If he had to stay overnight, I would come right home.

  Turns out that the scan was clear and Richard was released late last night. Rick drove him home and called me to say Richard was okay and having a cup of Progresso’s Chicareena Soup. “What brought on the diarrhea and cramps?” I asked. “Not sure,” Rick said, sounding weary and slightly annoyed, “it probably was the spicy burrito and cheesecake Dad had for dinner the night before.” Now I was annoyed, too. Richard was up to his old tricks, eating the wrong foods late at night and paying the price the next morning. Back home from the hospital, Richard called me. “I’m fine,” he said. “I’m glad,” I replied, “but please put a note on the kitchen table saying “Don’t eat spicy and rich foods; they’re not good for colostomy patients.” He promised to do so; maybe he will, maybe he won’t.

  Suddenly, all my guilt and anxieties disappeared. Even if I had been home, I thought, I couldn’t have prevented what happened. Luckily, Christine and Rick were nearby to come to Richard’s rescue. I had one more day in Great Barrington. I might as well relax and enjoy myself. Soon enough I’ll be back home wishing I were back in the Berkshires.