Frank McCoy
2005-07-05 02:33:26 UTC
Note the cross-posting:
The wife is in the hospital again ... Fading in and out of being there.
This likely started several weeks ago, when she started acting a little
"off" from her usual self. She's been a little more amorous than usual,
which I guess should have been a tip-off too.
Then, last Wednesday, she sent me off to work (at the lumber-yard, where
I've been working as cleanup-man for the last month or two) with hugs,
kisses, and an, "I love you, Honey-Bunch," which in-itself was a bit
unusual.
I came home that night (it was Garbage Day) and looked in what *should*
have been the empty garbage can (Luckily, the Garbage was picked up
about a half-hour *before* I left.) and found it full ... of my books
and other stuff. Mostly books ... Some porn, of course, but mostly my
Science-Fiction. Stuff I've had for years, since 10-15 years *before* I
met her, let alone married her. Nothing secret or new or anything she
didn't know I had when we married.
I asked her if she was throwing *me* out, by throwing my stuff out ...
And, while I couldn't get a completely straight answer, the answer
seemed to be: Yes.
Years ago, I'd told her I'd leave if she ever wanted me to go. So,
tears in my eyes, I took off down the road, on foot, leaving everything
I'd worked for, for the last 35 years behind, with nothing but the
clothes on my back and the money in my wallet. I figured I'd take off
for the West Coast, and start some kind of (miserable) life anew.
After walking about 20 miles (and wearing big blisters in my feet) I
caught a ride instead over toward the lumber-yard where I worked,
borrowed their shower (they don't close until 4:00 in the morning) and
borrowed a scrap sheet of plastic from the trash to use as protection
from the coming storm (like a summer water-proof sleeping bag) and spent
the night in a windbreak of trees; planning on working one last day,
since I figured I owed the guy a day's work, since I hadn't told HIM I
was leaving ... and also to give the wife one last chance to change her
mind. (No, I wasn't too sane myself right then.)
During the night I realized, what with the blood-blisters all over my
feet, and other reminders, that I wasn't the young kid who *could* just
take off and start a new life. Rent these days takes more for *one day*
than I *earn* in a day. Add that I *need* my own medication, for
Thyroid and other problems, and cannot *afford* medication, along with
rent, food, transportation, etc., these days ... And I realized I was
facing a slow painful death in a few weeks to a few months at most,
instead of just a painful existence without the wife.
I was seriously contemplating going back home, leaving a (long) good-bye
note (much longer than this one) to people here and in the
sex-newsgroups I frequent, along with whatever unpublished stories
remained being put on my stories-website ... and then taking the car and
driving full-speed into the nearest bridge-abutment. Not that I
*wanted* to commit suicide; but that I don't want a long and painful
death either.
My kid called work while I was there that afternoon; telling me, "Mom's
gone crazy." Well ... I kind of expected that; figuring if she was mad
enough to throw me out ....
So, the kid came and picked me up at work and drove me home; where I
actually started that suicide note ... a *long* note, the story of my
life, which would likely have taken about a day and a half to finish
writing. I wanted people to know *why* I was resorting to such a
desperate measure. I didn't want to die: I wanted to *live*. But
living in pain from Diabetes, feet unable to walk, and the (rather
horrible) description I read about from hypo-thyroidism ... No, I wasn't
ready to face *that* or starving to death either.
OK: So I *was* a bit crazy too.
Wouldn't YOU be, if the person you had dedicated your life to suddenly
threw you out like an old shoe ... and seemed to think she was doing you
a favor?
Only: The wife didn't *act* like she hated me or despised me ... she
was just getting rid of my "stuff"; simply accepting that by doing-so
she was getting rid of me too. She seemed to be under the crazy
misapprehension that by doing-so she would drive me to religion and
Christ, and I'd be "saved". Even pointing out to her that if I went, an
hour later I'd be *DEAD* from suicide ... and go straight to HELL by her
standards, didn't phase her. She told me to go.
Well ... By then I'd promised the kid I wouldn't leave until I finished
the story-of-my-life I was writing, and that it would take at least a
day to write. The kid (of course, and quite properly) thought *I* was
as nuts as my wife is/was.
Late that night, I got too tired to type any more; with only about 1/4
of what I wanted to write finished. So ... I asked the wife where she
wanted me to sleep: In the computer-room on the floor, on the couch,
downstairs in the kid's room (since the kid was off to work, working
12-hour shifts at night) or in our usual bed?
Surprisingly, she wanted me to use our regular bed ... and shortly she
came and joined me! THIS is the woman who wanted me out of the house?
I asked, and she did/didn't. Couldn't get a clear answer from her; but
it was pellucidly clear she didn't hate me, despise me, or any other
stuff: "God told her to throw my stuff."
Uh ... Right.
Something clicked in my mind then.
On three previous occasions, when God told her things (Like the Rapture
was HERE, and I was supposedly the only person on Earth who didn't know
it ... Only I was the only person who *did* understand what she was
talking about) or the time she went catatonic, or another time; all
THREE time she turned out to have a *massive* urinary infection ... and
after getting treated (and sometimes getting her depression medication
changed) she got better fast.
The next morning (This is now Friday) I listened closer to her, *tried*
talking to her, and found out: She wouldn't listen. Any time I would
challenger her to *think*, it was like trying to get a kid to do
something painful. Instead of answering, she'd say something like, "I
need to take a pee," or, "I need a drink of water. The doctor says I
need lots of water," or, "I need to take a walk. I need more exercise,"
and she'd go for another walk for about 45 minutes around the block
(about a mile) ... and come back with another pronouncement that God had
told her things were going to be fine.
So ... While acting strange and not thinking, she *did* follow
instructions if given firmly. So, I told her we were going to see the
doctor: Me to see if something could be done about the horrible
blisters on my feet; and her to see if she had a urinary infection.
The doctor popped the blood-blister (about 1" around) on the sole of my
left foot; and left the others alone. Felt *much* better; though the
one on the side of my foot gave me hell until this afternoon.
The wife *did* have a urinary infection.
They gave her "Cipro" or something like that.
(Ciprofloxacin, from the bottle.)
Only ... She didn't get better; instead she got *worse*.
I figured that Tuesday, after the Fourth, I'd have to take the wife back
to see the doctor, or down to see her shrink, if she didn't get better.
Sunday morning I dropped her off at church ... and 2 1/2 hours later I
finally had to go inside to find her sitting in the corner just staring
into space. If I took her to see the doctor or even "Urgent Care",
they'd just send me down to the ER ... So I figured I'd have to take her
myself.
Only: THIS time, I was smart. Every other time one of us went to the
Emergency Room, especially if we spent the night, we starved for HOURS,
usually well over half a day, and sometimes for over 24 hours before
somebody saw to it that we got food. So ... I took her out for
breakfast. She, even in the worst state, still followed orders. She
even expressed an interest in what to eat; so she got Strawberry Pie, a
side-salad, and OJ ... and some meat off my breakfast plate.
At the ER, she got even worse. She couldn't identify the date, where
she was ... or even ME ... and went downhill from there. But she still
followed orders. Twice, she was incontinent ... which wasn't her at
ALL!
OK ... At about this time I'm feeling *GUILTY*!!!!
I almost abandoned her when she needed me most.
Ah well.
So, they admitted her ... but stopped the Cipro, because the doctor said
it might be contributing to her problem. Still, she had completed all
but one pill of it; so maybe ....
Like I do (when I can), if She's in the hospital, I stay there *with*
her, as long as I can ... overnight too, even if I sleep on the floor.
This time they gave me a "recliner" that pretty much reclined into a bed
... far more comfortable than sleeping out under the trees on Wednesday
night.
At about 5:00AM, I woke up, had to pee, realized it was my wife's usual
time to pee ... and called over to her.
She was back! Her voice sounded normal, she DID need to go pee, so I
buttoned the nurse and things looked wonderful. The doctor came in
later to examine her, she was lucid ... and my WIFE looked back out at
me from inside her head instead of a robot. Everything looked rosy;
they were planning on giving her some extra meds for the infection in
case it wasn't completely gone (They said her urine tested negative for
white-cells, but still had some RED cells in it.) and the plan was that
I could take my wife home after lunch, and MAYBE we could have a nice
Fourth-Of-July with the kid after-all.
Only:
About 11:00 she started singing religious songs (Not bad singing, mind;
and not overly loud; just continuous and repeating). This wasn't so
bad, except it was compulsive, she wouldn't stop, couldn't seem to
speak, but could nod or shake her head ... no more. Then she got worse:
Slipping off into a sleep that seemed more hiding from the world than
rest. Then she came back a bit and watched TV (which is "normal" for
her) and then she dropped out again.
They're now keeping her there "for observation" and for specialists to
see her Tuesday. My disappointment cannot be described.
Finally, at about 3:00 in the afternoon, I left, feeling *terribly*
guilty for doing so, but I needed to get some things done before bedtime
tonight, if I was going to go to work Tuesday morning. I'd already
begged off one day for this ... Another day, and they'd have to replace
me.
Oh ... And I wanted to get this message out to those who care.
While *I* don't believe in God (or at least the kind that cares much
about individuals), my wife does. And also, knowing that people care,
does help ... even for me.
Yeah, I'm looking for sympathy.
I know I don't deserve a lot after I *almost* left my wife to a horrible
fate. (How would SHE feel if she got "cured", knowing I'd gone
permanently, because I gave her what I *thought* she wanted?)
It's the old, "They'll be SORRY they treated me this way!" syndrome ...
Only, unlike in many cases, she WOULD be sorry, because what was said
was NOT what she meant.
And damn, I feel guilty about that.
So, this is kind of a confession, too.
(BTW: The kid pointed out a *much* more sensible solution than suicide
... Which I'm *not* going to tell ... even if the wife *had* wanted to
get rid of me. Now I feel *doubly* guilty, for not seeing such an
obvious solution. I'd be alive, if not exactly happy. But I didn't
want to DIE, just not die horribly. Example: I'd probably commit
suicide if I knew I was going to die *painfully* of cancer, but not if I
was going to just die of cancer. The moment the pain started getting
severe, I'd go.)
OK ... So I'm not completely sane myself.
Never have been, when the wife was concerned.
I've always put her before my own life and happiness.
Strange that I'd contemplate killing myself, NOT because of her loss,
but because without the life we've built together I'm too old and
decrepit to survive long out there in the "real world". That was
another rude awakening: My internal vision of myself is STILL the young
guy at about 25 or 30 years old who could go off anywhere and somehow
survive and make a living. At 60+ years old, I cannot do that any more
... and it's kind of devastating to have my viewpoint of myself
corrected that drastically.
I'm *really* grateful to my kid for pointing out to me that there *are*
other ways to survive than just slowly dying of deficiencies and
starvation ... even for an old fart who cannot get decent work, like me.
Sometimes I feel like such an idiot ... Me, who has always claimed to
see many possible ways to solve almost any problem. Geesh! For it
wasn't depression at losing the wife that made me contemplate suicide,
but the fear of a long and painful death from not having enough money to
survive, eat, sleep, and get my needed medication. Funny that: In
about another year and 1/4 I'll be eligible for Social Security ...
which *might* be enough to make the difference.
However, the next time the wife asks me to go, I'll be *damned* sure she
*wants* me to go, and it's not her being off meds, having an infection,
or being out of her head in some other way, before I accept it. Like I
might have mentioned above, it just didn't make SENSE to me.
But, I *had* promised ... And I *always* have kept every promise I ever
made to her. However, *this* promise I just modified. She's got to be
SANE when she tells me to go, and in full possession of her wits. And,
even if she does, at least I now have alternatives to killing myself or
dying otherwise.
Damn, do I feel guilty
A little absolution, please?
The wife is in the hospital again ... Fading in and out of being there.
This likely started several weeks ago, when she started acting a little
"off" from her usual self. She's been a little more amorous than usual,
which I guess should have been a tip-off too.
Then, last Wednesday, she sent me off to work (at the lumber-yard, where
I've been working as cleanup-man for the last month or two) with hugs,
kisses, and an, "I love you, Honey-Bunch," which in-itself was a bit
unusual.
I came home that night (it was Garbage Day) and looked in what *should*
have been the empty garbage can (Luckily, the Garbage was picked up
about a half-hour *before* I left.) and found it full ... of my books
and other stuff. Mostly books ... Some porn, of course, but mostly my
Science-Fiction. Stuff I've had for years, since 10-15 years *before* I
met her, let alone married her. Nothing secret or new or anything she
didn't know I had when we married.
I asked her if she was throwing *me* out, by throwing my stuff out ...
And, while I couldn't get a completely straight answer, the answer
seemed to be: Yes.
Years ago, I'd told her I'd leave if she ever wanted me to go. So,
tears in my eyes, I took off down the road, on foot, leaving everything
I'd worked for, for the last 35 years behind, with nothing but the
clothes on my back and the money in my wallet. I figured I'd take off
for the West Coast, and start some kind of (miserable) life anew.
After walking about 20 miles (and wearing big blisters in my feet) I
caught a ride instead over toward the lumber-yard where I worked,
borrowed their shower (they don't close until 4:00 in the morning) and
borrowed a scrap sheet of plastic from the trash to use as protection
from the coming storm (like a summer water-proof sleeping bag) and spent
the night in a windbreak of trees; planning on working one last day,
since I figured I owed the guy a day's work, since I hadn't told HIM I
was leaving ... and also to give the wife one last chance to change her
mind. (No, I wasn't too sane myself right then.)
During the night I realized, what with the blood-blisters all over my
feet, and other reminders, that I wasn't the young kid who *could* just
take off and start a new life. Rent these days takes more for *one day*
than I *earn* in a day. Add that I *need* my own medication, for
Thyroid and other problems, and cannot *afford* medication, along with
rent, food, transportation, etc., these days ... And I realized I was
facing a slow painful death in a few weeks to a few months at most,
instead of just a painful existence without the wife.
I was seriously contemplating going back home, leaving a (long) good-bye
note (much longer than this one) to people here and in the
sex-newsgroups I frequent, along with whatever unpublished stories
remained being put on my stories-website ... and then taking the car and
driving full-speed into the nearest bridge-abutment. Not that I
*wanted* to commit suicide; but that I don't want a long and painful
death either.
My kid called work while I was there that afternoon; telling me, "Mom's
gone crazy." Well ... I kind of expected that; figuring if she was mad
enough to throw me out ....
So, the kid came and picked me up at work and drove me home; where I
actually started that suicide note ... a *long* note, the story of my
life, which would likely have taken about a day and a half to finish
writing. I wanted people to know *why* I was resorting to such a
desperate measure. I didn't want to die: I wanted to *live*. But
living in pain from Diabetes, feet unable to walk, and the (rather
horrible) description I read about from hypo-thyroidism ... No, I wasn't
ready to face *that* or starving to death either.
OK: So I *was* a bit crazy too.
Wouldn't YOU be, if the person you had dedicated your life to suddenly
threw you out like an old shoe ... and seemed to think she was doing you
a favor?
Only: The wife didn't *act* like she hated me or despised me ... she
was just getting rid of my "stuff"; simply accepting that by doing-so
she was getting rid of me too. She seemed to be under the crazy
misapprehension that by doing-so she would drive me to religion and
Christ, and I'd be "saved". Even pointing out to her that if I went, an
hour later I'd be *DEAD* from suicide ... and go straight to HELL by her
standards, didn't phase her. She told me to go.
Well ... By then I'd promised the kid I wouldn't leave until I finished
the story-of-my-life I was writing, and that it would take at least a
day to write. The kid (of course, and quite properly) thought *I* was
as nuts as my wife is/was.
Late that night, I got too tired to type any more; with only about 1/4
of what I wanted to write finished. So ... I asked the wife where she
wanted me to sleep: In the computer-room on the floor, on the couch,
downstairs in the kid's room (since the kid was off to work, working
12-hour shifts at night) or in our usual bed?
Surprisingly, she wanted me to use our regular bed ... and shortly she
came and joined me! THIS is the woman who wanted me out of the house?
I asked, and she did/didn't. Couldn't get a clear answer from her; but
it was pellucidly clear she didn't hate me, despise me, or any other
stuff: "God told her to throw my stuff."
Uh ... Right.
Something clicked in my mind then.
On three previous occasions, when God told her things (Like the Rapture
was HERE, and I was supposedly the only person on Earth who didn't know
it ... Only I was the only person who *did* understand what she was
talking about) or the time she went catatonic, or another time; all
THREE time she turned out to have a *massive* urinary infection ... and
after getting treated (and sometimes getting her depression medication
changed) she got better fast.
The next morning (This is now Friday) I listened closer to her, *tried*
talking to her, and found out: She wouldn't listen. Any time I would
challenger her to *think*, it was like trying to get a kid to do
something painful. Instead of answering, she'd say something like, "I
need to take a pee," or, "I need a drink of water. The doctor says I
need lots of water," or, "I need to take a walk. I need more exercise,"
and she'd go for another walk for about 45 minutes around the block
(about a mile) ... and come back with another pronouncement that God had
told her things were going to be fine.
So ... While acting strange and not thinking, she *did* follow
instructions if given firmly. So, I told her we were going to see the
doctor: Me to see if something could be done about the horrible
blisters on my feet; and her to see if she had a urinary infection.
The doctor popped the blood-blister (about 1" around) on the sole of my
left foot; and left the others alone. Felt *much* better; though the
one on the side of my foot gave me hell until this afternoon.
The wife *did* have a urinary infection.
They gave her "Cipro" or something like that.
(Ciprofloxacin, from the bottle.)
Only ... She didn't get better; instead she got *worse*.
I figured that Tuesday, after the Fourth, I'd have to take the wife back
to see the doctor, or down to see her shrink, if she didn't get better.
Sunday morning I dropped her off at church ... and 2 1/2 hours later I
finally had to go inside to find her sitting in the corner just staring
into space. If I took her to see the doctor or even "Urgent Care",
they'd just send me down to the ER ... So I figured I'd have to take her
myself.
Only: THIS time, I was smart. Every other time one of us went to the
Emergency Room, especially if we spent the night, we starved for HOURS,
usually well over half a day, and sometimes for over 24 hours before
somebody saw to it that we got food. So ... I took her out for
breakfast. She, even in the worst state, still followed orders. She
even expressed an interest in what to eat; so she got Strawberry Pie, a
side-salad, and OJ ... and some meat off my breakfast plate.
At the ER, she got even worse. She couldn't identify the date, where
she was ... or even ME ... and went downhill from there. But she still
followed orders. Twice, she was incontinent ... which wasn't her at
ALL!
OK ... At about this time I'm feeling *GUILTY*!!!!
I almost abandoned her when she needed me most.
Ah well.
So, they admitted her ... but stopped the Cipro, because the doctor said
it might be contributing to her problem. Still, she had completed all
but one pill of it; so maybe ....
Like I do (when I can), if She's in the hospital, I stay there *with*
her, as long as I can ... overnight too, even if I sleep on the floor.
This time they gave me a "recliner" that pretty much reclined into a bed
... far more comfortable than sleeping out under the trees on Wednesday
night.
At about 5:00AM, I woke up, had to pee, realized it was my wife's usual
time to pee ... and called over to her.
She was back! Her voice sounded normal, she DID need to go pee, so I
buttoned the nurse and things looked wonderful. The doctor came in
later to examine her, she was lucid ... and my WIFE looked back out at
me from inside her head instead of a robot. Everything looked rosy;
they were planning on giving her some extra meds for the infection in
case it wasn't completely gone (They said her urine tested negative for
white-cells, but still had some RED cells in it.) and the plan was that
I could take my wife home after lunch, and MAYBE we could have a nice
Fourth-Of-July with the kid after-all.
Only:
About 11:00 she started singing religious songs (Not bad singing, mind;
and not overly loud; just continuous and repeating). This wasn't so
bad, except it was compulsive, she wouldn't stop, couldn't seem to
speak, but could nod or shake her head ... no more. Then she got worse:
Slipping off into a sleep that seemed more hiding from the world than
rest. Then she came back a bit and watched TV (which is "normal" for
her) and then she dropped out again.
They're now keeping her there "for observation" and for specialists to
see her Tuesday. My disappointment cannot be described.
Finally, at about 3:00 in the afternoon, I left, feeling *terribly*
guilty for doing so, but I needed to get some things done before bedtime
tonight, if I was going to go to work Tuesday morning. I'd already
begged off one day for this ... Another day, and they'd have to replace
me.
Oh ... And I wanted to get this message out to those who care.
While *I* don't believe in God (or at least the kind that cares much
about individuals), my wife does. And also, knowing that people care,
does help ... even for me.
Yeah, I'm looking for sympathy.
I know I don't deserve a lot after I *almost* left my wife to a horrible
fate. (How would SHE feel if she got "cured", knowing I'd gone
permanently, because I gave her what I *thought* she wanted?)
It's the old, "They'll be SORRY they treated me this way!" syndrome ...
Only, unlike in many cases, she WOULD be sorry, because what was said
was NOT what she meant.
And damn, I feel guilty about that.
So, this is kind of a confession, too.
(BTW: The kid pointed out a *much* more sensible solution than suicide
... Which I'm *not* going to tell ... even if the wife *had* wanted to
get rid of me. Now I feel *doubly* guilty, for not seeing such an
obvious solution. I'd be alive, if not exactly happy. But I didn't
want to DIE, just not die horribly. Example: I'd probably commit
suicide if I knew I was going to die *painfully* of cancer, but not if I
was going to just die of cancer. The moment the pain started getting
severe, I'd go.)
OK ... So I'm not completely sane myself.
Never have been, when the wife was concerned.
I've always put her before my own life and happiness.
Strange that I'd contemplate killing myself, NOT because of her loss,
but because without the life we've built together I'm too old and
decrepit to survive long out there in the "real world". That was
another rude awakening: My internal vision of myself is STILL the young
guy at about 25 or 30 years old who could go off anywhere and somehow
survive and make a living. At 60+ years old, I cannot do that any more
... and it's kind of devastating to have my viewpoint of myself
corrected that drastically.
I'm *really* grateful to my kid for pointing out to me that there *are*
other ways to survive than just slowly dying of deficiencies and
starvation ... even for an old fart who cannot get decent work, like me.
Sometimes I feel like such an idiot ... Me, who has always claimed to
see many possible ways to solve almost any problem. Geesh! For it
wasn't depression at losing the wife that made me contemplate suicide,
but the fear of a long and painful death from not having enough money to
survive, eat, sleep, and get my needed medication. Funny that: In
about another year and 1/4 I'll be eligible for Social Security ...
which *might* be enough to make the difference.
However, the next time the wife asks me to go, I'll be *damned* sure she
*wants* me to go, and it's not her being off meds, having an infection,
or being out of her head in some other way, before I accept it. Like I
might have mentioned above, it just didn't make SENSE to me.
But, I *had* promised ... And I *always* have kept every promise I ever
made to her. However, *this* promise I just modified. She's got to be
SANE when she tells me to go, and in full possession of her wits. And,
even if she does, at least I now have alternatives to killing myself or
dying otherwise.
Damn, do I feel guilty
A little absolution, please?
--
_____
/ ' / ™
,-/-, __ __. ____ /_
(_/ / (_(_/|_/ / <_/ <_
_____
/ ' / ™
,-/-, __ __. ____ /_
(_/ / (_(_/|_/ / <_/ <_