Let’s Elope: The Day My “Happily Ever After” Took a Detour

Written by Karen Noble

Somatisation is a new term I discovered recently in a Reframing Autism blog.

The somatisation cycle depicted in the blog describes well my experience with a cascade of symptoms I was desperately trying to navigate in my early twenties which spiralled into turning what should have been a most joyous memory into what was one of the most traumatic times in my life.

The ground beneath my feet shook to a seismic level on the 19th of October 1991, and no matter how hard I tried to be ‘normal’, my masks disintegrated.

It was my wedding day, a turning point in my life.  I had planned everything meticulously – every detail from dresses and flowers to guest-list, seating plan and honeymoon – by 25, I had become a master at studying how to behave, people-please and impress.

I even hand-beaded the bodice of my wedding gown and cross-stitched gifts for 3 bridesmaids and 2 flower-girls. I was projecting the perfect version of all the characters I played – daughter, sibling, friend, social-butterfly, aunt, professional colleague, future wife/daughter-in-law/sister-in-law. I aspired to be intelligent, capable, ‘normal!’

All the narratives of my masks were colliding in one monumental event, and I was to be on show, displaying the full range of my many talents – but I failed catastrophically when my body said no!

Over the months and weeks leading up to the event, my weight and overall health was declining. I had been steadily losing kilos, anxious about the day looming, relentlessly nauseous, then panicked by an overwhelming fear of vomiting – though this was of course the inevitable outcome.

On the morning of D-day, my waif-like form was too weak to stand. Unable to stomach food I went to hospital hoping a glucose drip might get me through the day. I pleaded with the doctors to help boost my energy, but when they tested my blood sugars and found them dangerously elevated, they began to show concern that I may be diabetic. Dehydration appeared my greatest problem so the drip was switched to saline and, though gratefully my blood sugar level came down, at noon the time came to share with the groom – his bride would not make it to the church.

Arriving at the Emergency Department by 1pm my fiancee held my hand, unsure of what to do.

I remember saying, “I can’t imagine this day going by and not being married at the end of it.” Within hours our wedding service was relocated to the courtyard of the hospitals’ oncology ward, among family and close friends.

Remaining invited guests were to join them later and celebrate our vows at the reception, minus the bride and groom. There would be no first dance, cake-cutting or groom speech. A video, recorded for our later viewing, contained footage from the service, reception, speeches, and many monologues by drunken Irish family friends – surrogate aunts and uncles, drowning our sorrows in-absentee, like scenes from an Irish wake.

I weighed 47kg! I resembled ET in photos taken as the priest blessed our union, my neck and shoulders in an acute spasm. After the brief service I was wheeled to a private hospital room, wedding gown slipping off bony shoulders, new husband by my side.

I succumbed to a deep, sedated sleep while a foldout cot was wheeled in for hubby. His tuxedo-clad form, bowtie askew, prompted a smile from the night-nurse when she checked my observations hours later, finding him munching a McDonald’s hamburger, watching ‘Breakfast at Tiffany’s’ on a tiny hospital TV – not exactly the wedding night we’d both imagined.

A crater of shame swallowed me whole. Conditioned to push through, I’d pushed myself till my body collapsed.

I’d spent years suppressing pain, ignoring body symptoms, sensory overwhelm, fatigue and anxiety, but my nervous system was to betray me. I felt broken, overwhelmed with feelings of failure because despite all my efforts to seek medical answers, nothing physically was ever found.

I felt I was the one who let myself and everyone else down because I couldn’t handle the stress and anxiety of life.

It was, however, the most romantic love story I could ever conceive! Despite my long-held passion for romance novels – a Jane Austin devotee – our tale had trumped them all!

The momentous day would mark the start of an enduring marriage –32 years and counting.

Navigating many highs and lows, a love built from such challenging beginnings and a commitment to be there for each other whatever comes, has seen us through them all.

The vows had caught in hubby’s throat, ‘in sickness…gulp…and in health’, eliciting a giggle from those present. The best-man’s speech declared the day’s Caulfield Cup winner ‘Let’s Elope’ may have been an omen – winning money on the same horse at the Melbourne Cup weeks later echoed the sentiment. Our story featured in a full-page spread of the Herald Sun Newspaper and was shared by our priest in homilies at countless weddings over decades to follow, a reminder to couples of what was truly important.

I embarked on a long road of recovery, never able to completely shake off a deep sense of failure and feeling an overwhelming responsibility for my mental health. Years of CBT had framed my thinking as flawed and no matter how hard I tried, I inevitably regressed at stressful times in life and my body kept the score.

My AuDHD diagnosis and learning about somatisation from my neurokin has finally reframed a narrative I had known had more to it, but had never quite understood until now.

About the Author

Karen is a late diagnosed AuDHDer, peer mentor, lived experience advisor and neurodiversity affirming advocate for health, mental health and education sectors. She volunteers as an advocate and peer mentor for the parent facebook group Square Peg Round Whole and as a facilitator for peer support groups at Neurokindred.com.

To read more blog stories and a description of the services she offers she can be contacted through her website www.noblekinnections.com.