Vacation Lessons: When Illness Becomes a Convenient Excuse

My Wife Always Gets Sick When I Take Vacation, So I Decided to Be Smarter & Teach Her a Lesson

I went on a covert vacation to rediscover the peace of nature and impart compassion and understanding to my wife Valerie, as regularity may sometimes bring out the worst in us. However, the result was not what I had expected.

Hello, this is Alan. Life has its peculiarities, you know, and I’ve had a story idea for a long time. It’s about Valerie, my wife, and an odd pattern that has confused me more times than I can remember. But let’s not get carried away. Let me begin at the beginning, the moment when Valerie and I first came into contact.

This was no ordinary romantic comedy scenario with the awkward first date or the unintentional coffee spill. No, we were paired together in an adult evening Spanish refresher course. Ironically, she asked for a pen. Just a simple ask that resulted in discussions, notes being exchanged, and eventually plans for dinner. It was authentic, grounded, and quite honestly, a welcome change of pace.

After a little while, we exchange vows and make a commitment to face whatever challenge life presents to us as a couple. I’ve always taken great satisfaction in being a kind and patient husband. Valerie discovered her destiny as a stay-at-home mother, and she loved the freedom it offered her. I urged her to seek a job if that was her desire. Personally, I really respected her decision.

This is when things start to get interesting. My work is the kind that takes up a lot of your personal time: late-night calls, over 40 hours a week, etc. Nevertheless, I always make time to support Valerie and the children, Lucas and Emma. I relish my tiny vacation days, my fleeting haven of peace and quiet, even in the middle of chaos. There’s a catch, though. Valerie, God bless her, always, I mean always, gets sick just as I’m ready to relax.

I’ll make sure to illustrate things for you. The day before one of my planned stay-cations is approaching. Valerie is aware that we have more than 30 days to plan this. But then, as if on cue, she becomes ill with an unexplained illness. This time? Her back pain is so bad that she’s restricted to bed, ruining my intentions, which were just to sleep in and maybe, just maybe, go fishing in the morning.

I can clearly recall one event. With tears in her eyes, Valerie appeared as though she had fought dragons and apologised for spoiling yet another trip. And me? All I could do was offer solace, my displeasure a silent presence in the space.

However, this most recent occurrence? It has sparked an emotion within me. Imagine this: Upon entering, my eyes are brightened by the thought of a two-day break. However, to my surprise, Valerie is lying down with an expression of agony on her face. She claims that she is having excruciating back pain and is struggling to hold back her tears. She says the soreness is because she has been cleaning all day.

Later, as Emma and Lucas and I are immersed in homework assignments, the truth is casually revealed. Emma says, “Mom’s been on that game all day,” not realising the shocking revelation she just made. Lucas nods in agreement, his attention mostly on the maths problem in front of him rather than the meaning behind his sister’s remarks.

“Wait, what?” I blink and the puzzle pieces start to fit. “You mean she wasn’t cleaning?”

“No, she was using her computer to play that farming game. “She mentioned that she needed to gather the crops before they went bad,” Lucas adds absentmindedly as he works on his schoolwork.

That was it—not just about a day wasted on virtual farming, but also a pattern that made me start to doubt everything. How was it that I missed it? My children had put out the signs.

Thus, as I share this with all of you, I’m thinking about what to do next. How can I bring up this subject without making someone else cry and apologise again? Is there a more fundamental problem here that I’m overlooking? Since I’m honestly at a lost here, any advise would be highly appreciated.

For my next planned getaway, I decided to do something different, a kind of undercover operation. I had been open about my vacation time for years, until unidentified illnesses took over. I held my cards close to my chest this time. Not even a word of the two days off I’d sneakily booked. The strategy? to recover a small portion of the peace that seems to be so distant.

It was a great day for fishing when the dawn of my secret vacation arrived. a day when the sun winks at you, bringing with it tales of adventure and nostalgia. Silent as a mouse, I got up early and stealthily packed my fishing equipment. I bid Valerie farewell with a kiss and a hazy “Got to head out early today,” as I slipped out the door. Valerie was still in her dreams.

It was amazing to see the expression of confusion on her face as I made my way to the car. She looked surprised and confused, a look I bet she hadn’t experienced since our Spanish class days. The lake was calling, though, so there was no time to linger on it.

I felt my soul was healed by those two days. All that was left of me was a man, his fishing pole, and the wide, silent void that is nature. The act of throwing a queue and waiting, with only the sound of the softly tumbling water and the sporadic cry of a far-off bird, encapsulated the essence of simplicity. I allowed the strain and cacophony of my everyday existence to flow away with the tide while I lived in a tent and enjoyed its rustic charm.

When I got back, Valerie was in a completely different state from sick. She moved with an enthusiasm that, strangely, appeared to flare up in direct response to my unexpected trip. She was the epitome of health. I wasn’t prepared for the hurricane of outrage and betrayal that was the rage in her eyes.

“Have you gone fishing? for two days? without informing me?” Her voice pierced the serenity I had surrounded myself with like a keen razor.

I attempted to clarify, to help her understand the pattern that led me to this conclusion. “Every time I take a vacation, Valerie, something happens to you and our plans get derailed. I needed to be here, now, worry-free and able to adjust my plans.”

Her eyes were filled with tears, not the crocodile kind, but tears drawn from the depths of her feelings. “You choose to treat me as though I’m unimportant, then? As though I’m merely a hindrance to your happiness?”

My heart fell at the realisation that it was not at all it. This was about ending a pattern that left us both exhausted, not about winning or making a point. “No, that’s not the case. All I wanted was for you to know how it feels to have your plans abruptly changed. Yes, I did wish to find some serenity, but not at your cost.”

There we were, deadlocked, the silence between us heavy with suppressed feelings and unspoken thoughts. It was obvious that this, if such a lesson could be called that, had created a rift that would require more than just an apology to heal.

Now that I’m returned from my little adventure, people, I’m feeling both heartbroken and full with fresh air. Did I approach it incorrectly? Was there a different course I could have pursued, one that would have brought us understanding instead of strife? The seas are murkier than ever right now, so I’d appreciate your opinion.

Here’s another one for you to consider while you consider the answer:

The weird thing about being homesick is that it can catch you off guard. It will wrap its icy claws around your heart and squeeze until you can no longer breathe and long for the comforts of home.

After spending more than three months away at college, that’s just how I, Brittany, felt. I had never been away from home for so long, and every day seemed to go on forever without the usual chaos of my family around.

I was struck with nostalgia one day and took up the phone to call my younger brother, Ian, who is 10 years old. In our family, he had always been the source of innocence and happiness, and his voice could lift the spirits on any dismal day.

I said, “Hey, bug,” calling him by my boyhood nickname. “You are sorely missed. “How is my best friend, the little man?”

Ian’s voice came over the phone, a mixture of astonishment and excitement. “Brittany! I also miss you! It’s so far away from college. When will you be returning?”

Our conversation seemed to last for hours. We were separated by Ian’s incessant inquiries about college life and my attempts to make my boring daily routine sound intriguing. But when I eventually turned the subject back to my home, something kept pulling at my heart, even in the middle of the laughing and anecdotes.

“So, what’s going on over there? How are Mom and Dad doing? Trying to sound casual, I asked.

Ian’s voice had a small hesitation that caught me off guard. It’s alright, I suppose. However, I sincerely hope you could pay us a visit.”

No matter how harmless his remarks were, they made me feel uneasy. Though Ian never minced words, there seemed to be more in his tone than what he was revealing. I remember the conversation vividly replaying in my head as I lay awake that night, a mix of worry and homesickness.

I finished all of my outstanding college assignments ahead of schedule, determined to get rid of the bad sensation, and then I packed my luggage for an unexpected trip home. I felt a surge of joy I hadn’t felt in weeks at the prospect of seeing my family again, hugging my younger brother, and having dinner with my parents.

The journey back was a haze of worry and excitement. Why hadn’t Ian told me? Why did his voice now have a weight beyond anything it ever had?