Heartbreaker

This afternoon, my Beloved and I ventured out. We went to see "Fever Pitch" with our best friend's parents. Very fun.

There was a trailer for "Revenge of The Sith", and damned if it doesn't look really good. I remember though, I thought that about the first two...

I am so, so afraid it's going to suck. Oh, what if it sucks worse than the second one? I don't think I could bear it. I know I'm going to go see it in the theater. I know Husband and I will go, I'll get all goose-bumby as it begins...and I will probably walk out at the end muttering about the two hours I'll never get back again.

Long Story Short...

Husband's home, having surgery May 11th, and I got sent to the ER Wednesday morning with E. Coli.

My father said that if it wasn't so sad, it would be hilarious.

One of my friends said "Of course! Of course you've got E.Coli! Next your arm will just fall off!"

Maybe locusts (I say with a smile. Realizing that, this too, shall pass).

His surgery has been delayed. Tomorrow they move him to Boston.

I am so sick of being jerked around. Stupid "System". Stupid "The Man". Stupid "HMO"'s.

Stupid...uh...pen that ran out of ink!

Must maintain some semblance of a sense of humor.

My Parents Are Here, Part 1

My Dad rode back with me from the hospital. On the way, I asked if he would grab my cell phone out of my purse, in case Mom (who was following us) got lost. He rummages around in my bag for a minute, then says “Ah! Here it is!”

Pulls out my fold up hairbrush.

I almost got us in an accident, I was laughing so hard.

He stared at it for a minute, puzzled...honestly thinking it was my cell phone.

They operate on my husband tomorrow.

The Angel

He stands in silence.

She is collapsed. Sobbing with her entire body.

Tearing the air until it bleeds.

She doesn’t hear him.

She doesn’t see him.

She doesn’t know he’s watching her heart break.

He is patient.

He reaches into her.

She waits for his disdain, his resentment, but it never comes.

He only gives her some of his strength.

Enough for her to get up and move through the rest of the day.

He whispers loud enough for the screaming in her head to stop.

He tells her things that she already knows, but cannot find on her own.

She believes only him because he does not love or pity her.

She wants him to go away.

She wants to be able to stand on her own.

She knows she can't.

She loves him and hates it.

I still have not slept.

Things I have to forgive myself for:

The house is a mess.

The grocery shopping hasn't been done and we have very, very little food.

I cannot heal my husband.

Things I can forgive the hospital for:

The fact that few people seem to know where they are going. The new ER opened less than a week ago, so everyone is still getting lost.

The fact that my husband isn't first in line. There are other people there who are just as sick, or sicker than he is. There are just as many panicked wives/husbands/significant others/parents/children etc. who are scared and feel that their loved one is more important than anyone else. The nurses and doctors are kept busy.

Things I cannot forgive the hospital for:

Sending my husband home from the ER twice in twenty four hours with prescriptions that failed, as he grew progressivly worse. You see his medical history? Do you really think he's going to miraculously get better?

Within two hours of being discharged a second time, I was calling 911 again.

I was crying with rage. I called my mother, who is great at pulling the Warrior Woman out in me and drove to the hospital ready with threats, demands. I was going to mention lawsuits, I was prepared to cause a scene and be arrested (they can't send him out with no one to take him home)!

Thankfully, I didn't have to use that. This third time in his doctors were women.

I hate to sound sexist (I have had wonderful male doctors), but (in my experience) women have a greater capacity for empathy. Maybe some scientist proved it somewhere, whatever. Women are also more likely (and this was proved somewhere) to use their common sense more, while a man reahces around his mind ofr something he learned in a textbook. Not knocking the textbooks...glad we have them. Very, very useful in certain times.

However, a frightened woman with a husband whose ass has been kicked by "The System" does not want to hear about the technical CT scan results. She does not want to hear the test based explanations for why her husband was not admitted.

She want someone to look at the howling, vomitting man who has swallowed a QUART of laxatives (yeah) and taken an enema and is STILL constipated, miserable and has just begun to throw up. She wants that person to say "Hey...that guy's pretty fucking sick!"

Dr. Murphy came up to me (as a nurse was helping my vomiting husband) and said, without my even having to ask "We're going to admit him." Then she hugged me and said "Oh, you haven't slept all night, you must be so drained. Don't worry. We're won't let go of him until we get this taken care of. Have you eaten?"

Thank you. THANK YOU! Thank you Dr. Lisa Murphy and Dr. Molly Bliss of Rhode Island Hospital for acknowledging that I was in pain, that I had done everything I knew how, and that, though nothing was showing up on the fucking CT scan, that something was obviously VERY VERY WRONG.

Thank you.

He's drugged out of his head right now, and hooked up to an IV. Still no change. But he is admitted and they are going to find out what is wrong.

And I am going to sleep.

The Wife Writes

Sometimes the stupidest little thing can bring back a flood of memories, and reassure you in the strangest way.

My husband’s disease is getting better. This is wonderful. In the time of his illness, we let out marriage slide. This is not wonderful.

That is why I took time off from writing. Not something I will do often, but my nights will be better spent talking to this man that I live with than focusing entirely on my own issues.

My husband believes that techno is the best genre of music and that Babylon 5 is the best television show. He believes that repeating things back to me right after I have said them is not absofuckinglutely annoying. He doesn’t understand my extravagant displays of physical affection (I think it embarrasses him) and he cannot seem to grasp the concept of “laundry hamper”.

He also has one of those chivalrous, old fashioned moral codes. I don’t mean old fashioned in the close minded, conservative way. I mean in the way that he takes tremendous pride in the job that he does, in the impact that his work leaves on the people he interacts with, and society at large. He believes in exercising regularly, eating healthy, well balanced meals, and not letting kids watch too much TV.

He believes that pornography is degrading to women, and cheapens the beautiful act of lovemaking (yes, really...I didn’t believe him at first, either). He believes that there are a lot of assholes out there, but there are people who are basically good to the core, and we should seek those people out, and try to emulate them, because they are the few that are truly happy. The assholes you put up with, and try to do so gracefully. He holds the door open for the people behind him. He never flips anyone off (whilst I use the finger like a handshake...it’s how Sam and I hug). He never honks his car horn, unless it is to warn someone of danger. He believes that children needs discipline, but boundless love above all else. He believes that no matter what, you do anything you can to help your friends and family.

He also believes that I am gorgeous, talented, intelligent, funny and that I will be a wonderful mother.

This morning, on the way to work, we stopped to get gas. He filled the car, I went in to get a donut. When I got back in the car, he had clicked the dial on his iPod back to play the last song again. It is one of the three techno songs that I like, and is actually a song that I love. He knows these little tiny things about me, and nudges them out into our day when he can, causing all of the reasons I love him, all of the proofs that he is indeed, the Love of my Life to flood my mind.

Random things I noticed in the hospital

In the ER:

1. Ceiling tiles can only be interesting for...that long.

2. Catheters are uncomfortable. Probably more so for guys, still no picnic when you have a vagina.

3. It's really, really hard to see stuff when you have your head in a brace. People are just nostrils and chins.

In Husband's Room:

1. I like Ellen. She seems so nice.

2. I also like Here Comes The Hotstepper. Fun song.

3. Why is everyone making a big deal about Andrew Giessler? He found $9,000 on the ground and returned it. I mean, he seems like a really nice kid, but why are we making such a big deal out of NOT STEALING? I don't steal many times a day.

4. Hospitals make you pay for television. Why do they do that? My husband is to exhausted to hold a book or converse, and he can't get out of bed. What else can he do? Why would you make someone being fed through a tube pay for the one working part of his body to be stimulated?

5. I need to cut my nails. They grow so damn fast. I realize that every other woman in the world wants long nails, and it means I have a good amount of calcium in my diet, but they are inconvenient. Typing, lifting...all harder when you have long nails, but cutting them every week is tedious (much like this paragraph). Nails like these belong to an older woman with big breasts and a tight angora sweater. A pink one.

An Escalator Can Never Break. It Can Only Become Stairs.

My favorite stand-up comedian died yesterday. Mitch Hedberg was thirty seven. Dammit.

Dammit dammit dammit.

There are not enough intelligent, funny, creative people in the world right now.

When Husband and I watched his Comedy Central special half an hour ago (for the fourth or fifth time...I never get tired of it), I had no idea that he was gone.

On a message board, some say they are waiting for someone to say "April Fools".

Please, somebody say "April Fools!"

Say it, Mitch.