While I was in the psych ward, I started spotting. Not a lot, but enough that I noticed. At first I thought maybe I had another kidney stone. I had no pain, just this annoyance of bleeding. I’ve had an IUD since my child was born a million years ago (19 at this point) obviously changed a few times. I haven’t had periods in years, a lovely perk of the IUD. One of the many reasons I have it, if we are being honest. A huge reason I have it is because of the MS meds I am on, I can’t, or shouldn’t, get pregnant. Or, if I were to get pregnant with a whoops baby, I would have to know I could be pregnant with a mutant. So, I chose to not get pregnant. My husband had a vasectomy long before I came into the picture. When we first starting dating, we had many long talks about was I really sure I didn’t want kids because he had made his choice up after his two kids were born with his first wife. If I felt strongly, he would reverse his vasectomy. I strongly felt I did not need or want more children. I was getting two bonus kids with getting him, in addition to the one I had, and frankly, I had trouble taking care of myself sometimes. I told him that if I changed my mind, we could always adopt. We could get a cat if we needed our family to grow. He told me no. Guess what we eventually got? I know you know the answer. A cat.
Shortly after we started dating, I found out my husband was cheating on me. In the same way I found out about this one. From texts on his phone. It was about 6 months after we had started seeing each other. He gave me some line about how he didn’t know if we were serious or exclusive. I think I knew then that it was a bunch of crap, but I was already head over heels for him so I let myself believe him. Then I kept on living my life like it hadn’t happened. About a year later it happened again with the same woman, same miscreant. I lost it. I was devastated.
I left the apartment, with nowhere in mind to go. We didn’t live together yet. I didn’t have to go back there, but I did. I couldn’t bear the thought of not going back to him. I was head over heels in love with him. Much like I am now. He lay in front of the door to the apartment and cried and carried on. Begged me. I cried too. I am sure I yelled. I felt betrayed. My perfect husband was being broken into disrepair. Yet, I knew that I still wanted to be with him. I felt that this wasn’t something we couldn’t work through, but I knew it had to be on my terms; I just didn’t know how or what those terms were.
I refused to sleep in the same bed that he had been in with her. We had to get a new one. I wouldn’t use the same sheets, the same blankets. I imagine I made him get me a new pillow. He wouldn’t get rid of the comforter. We still have it. I don’t know why, it’s in a pile with other blankets. Always on the bottom. The sheets don’t get used. I tried to forgive him as best I could, but I couldn’t ever quite forgive myself, for letting it happen, again. What was I lacking? Why wasn’t I good enough for him? Where was I damaged? He told me he loved me and didn’t want to live without me, so why did he keep doing this to me?
As it turned out, the second time wasn’t as easy to forgive him. I ended up with a STD. That was a knife through my heart. Did I mention I go to the OB/GYN where I work? That one was hard to explain. My OB/GYN loved my husband. So, I did what ever dutiful wife did. I gave some half assed excuse about how I hadn’t gotten tested before and it was my fault. She asked if I wanted and antibiotic for him. I refused her. I made him get tested though. I wouldn’t help him out of that hole. He had to go to planned parenthood to get it done. His was negative. Of course it was. Of course I got the STD, when I was the loyal one.
So, when I got out of the psych ward, I was thinking about these things that had happened in the past and all the things they had “taught me”. How I needed to practice better self care. I was 38 years old. Staying in my mother’s condo. My husband had kicked my out. The majority of my 3 kids wouldn’t really talk to me because I wasn’t myself. I didn’t know what I was. Who I was. Everything seemed contingent on my heart. Which was malfunctioning. No shit. It was obliterated by my husband. On a different level though. So what could I control?
Why was I spotting? Did I get another STD? Who knew where she had been, or if he was being honest that he had only been with her. I started to freak out a little. I looked online at planned parenthood’s appointments, it would be weeks before I could get in with one. My OB/GYN had moved and with covid, I knew appointments were scarce. I called OB/GYN and they got me in within a day. I think they heard the desperation in my voice.
They set me up with someone who had a male medical student with them. I tearfully told the story of what had happened with my husband and my concerns. I interjected in my story telling to the student to treat whomever he chose to love better than my husband chose to treat me. I made eye contact with him through my tears. He nodded uncomfortably and said he would. She said that my IUD was near “end of life” so we should swap it out anyway, if I was up for and test for everything. She asked if the medical student could stay for the exam and procedure. I consented he could.
I regaled that poor student with stories of how vasectomies were better to watch and assist with than tubal ligations while I was examined and my IUD changed. I flinched once during the process. He wanted to go into radiology? I can’t remember anymore. OB/GYN wasn’t it though. He looked pale and somewhat relieved that he didn’t have to be watching what was going on. I didn’t blame him; I didn’t want to be either.
Once it was done, I had to get blood work to test for whatever couldn’t be tested for through the exam. And who should walk through the lab area while I waited in line. My husband. It was the first time I had seen him since I had been out of the hospital. I felt like all the oxygen in that big room was taken out, and I couldn’t breathe. Someone who just minutes before I was saying had broken everything about me… there I was, publicly, tears streaming down my face just because I had seen him.
I’d like to say it was just that first time. But it’s also been every time since. My heart skips a beat. My stomach does a flip flop. I wanted to run up to him and hug him and have hug me back and whisper “I love you,” while I stand on my tip toes. In those moments, in my head, I know, and I feel everything will be alright. They’re fleeting because they’re not real. As much as I want them to be. I want him to hug me tight, to make it alright.
Instead, I waited in that line to give my name, address, DOB and emergency contact and what test was ordered. For what he had done to me. Or could have done to me. Again. With tears in my eyes and a lump in my throat. I fought the urge to not make a scene and chase him down the hall.
Never had a white picket fence 