Whores and Hurricanes

You get a bonus entry today because that first one was so short.

Let me tell you a little story.  Some of you may find it very funny.  Some of you may find it very sad.  Some of you may find it very infuriating on my behalf, and for that, I thank you!

Anyway, a little background.  The STBX can never just get sick.  I don’t know if it’s a male thing because I do have a brother who has been known to cry out, “Call the ambulance!  I can’t hold on any longer!” whenever he’s sick.  My niece, his daughter, is the same way though so maybe it’s not a male thing.  Nonetheless, the STBX never has a simple cold, the simple flu, a simple migraine, a simple anything.  It’s always A MAJOR DISASTER!  One of the last times I was in charge of caring he came down with the flu.  For two days he puked and shit.  Sorry if that’s TMI.  He would tell me how weak he was. He was dizzy and could hardly walk or stand. He could barely make it from the bed to the toilet and back.   So so so weak.  I was sympathetic at the time.  I played nursemaid.  I bought him popsicles and Gatorade and chicken broth and did the whole Florence Nightingale thing. I checked on him, asked him if he needed anything, brought him whatever he asked for, wiped his brow.  The whole nine yards.  On the third day it had not let up so I called his doctor and asked if I should bring him in or take him to the ER.  Did you get that?  I CALLED THE DOCTOR!  This is important information for later.  I ended up taking him in and we both hear the nurse in the hallway say, “He looks like he’s about to die!” I’m sure this sent the drama queen into overdrive. “OMG, I’m going to die!  The nurse even said so and I’m so sick I can’t tell the difference between fact and hyperbole!” FYI (if it even needs to be said):  I was very sympathetic at the time.  This is not the way I reacted when he was actually going through this.  I was, as always, the dutiful wife, offering my husband a shoulder to lean on (literally!) and soothing his frantic mind by telling him everything was going to be ok.  The doctor comes in, tells him it’s probably viral, gives him a shot to stop the nausea and a prescription to stop the diarrhea. He tells him if he wants to go ahead and go to the ER for fluids he can and if it was him he probably would but it’s up to him.  He tells him if he continues puking and shitting to definitely go to the ER for fluids.  We pick up the prescription and head home.

Fast forward a few hours. There has been no more puking or diarrhea but he has decided he is just too weak and he needs to go to the ER.  OK, fine.  I think he even made some comment about how I can just drop him off.  Yeah, right.  First, I would never do that.  I’m a nurturer.  I’ve taken care of him for 20+ years; I’m not going to drop him off in the ER parking lot and say, “So long, sucker!”  Second, even if I were to drop him off and go back home to TAKE CARE OF OUR KIDS I would never hear the end of it.  I’m not stupid.  So, I take him to the ER, leaving our two kids to fend for themselves while I take care of him.  The kids were 12 and 14 at the time so not babies, toddlers or any other type of small child; however, I had planned on taking them to dinner and CF decided he couldn’t hold on any longer moments before we were getting ready to leave.  So, when I say I left them to fend for themselves, I was not kidding.  Add in the fact that despite their ages I’m still not wild about leaving them alone in the house at night; I was at the ER with him until almost 2 in the morning.  With a dead cell phone.  Back to the story…

We wait for probably 2 hours out in the waiting room and he finally gets a room where they hook him up to an IV and pump some fluids into him.  After several more hours the doctor comes in and tells him that one of his levels is still low. This means they have cause to admit him IF HE WANTS or he can go home if he would be more comfortable in his own bed and come back if he is still feeling weak.  He is mulling this over, trying to figure out what to do when I interject and tell him that he should let them admit him because if he goes home he’s just going to worry himself to death (oops, probably wrong choice of words).  Stay here, let them continue to give you fluids, and you’ll come home tomorrow.  Did you get that?  I SUGGESTED HE STAY IN THE HOSPITAL!  Again, this is very important information for later.

Approximately two weeks later he is telling his sister that not only was he DYING during those events, but also I had written that he was annoying me and wasting my time. When I say he told her he was dying he was not intending to exaggerate; he really meant it.  He told her he was literally dying and had to be filled with liter after liter of fluid.  “And the human body can only hold xxx liters of fluid! Just ask your husband!” A low potassium level has suddenly devolved into a life or death situation.  I can hear it now:  Code Blue, Room 666, Code Blue.  We’ve got a low potassium level.  We’re losing him! I need more saline NOW, dammit!  To be very clear I NEVER SAID OR WROTE THAT- EVER!  He also managed to turn a 36 hour stay (if you include time spent in the ER) into a two and a half day stay. Not to mention that he managed to turn a bout with the flu into a near death experience.

Now what on earth does any of that have to do with whores and hurricanes, you may be asking yourself?  I will tell you.

We were recently under a hurricane watch/warning.  We were on the lookout for flash floods and high winds.  We were supposed to lose electricity.  In short it was a rainy, dreary mess.  Do you want to guess who wasn’t around for any of this?  Who thought it was more pertinent to go hang with his whore than to stick around for his children whom he loves so much?  If you guessed the STBX you would be correct!  Yes, the same person who was whining about what a cold, heartless bitch I was, complaining about what a waste of time he was and how he was annoying me, when he was DYING in the hospital, is the same person who left his kids behind to go fuck his whore and play Daddy of the Year to her kids.  During a state of emergency and hurricane watch.  Folks, I think we all know when a nurse talks candidly to the doctor and says, “He looks like he’s about to die!” she doesn’t really mean he’s about to die.  It means the patient looks bad and she’s exaggerating for effect.  However, when the governor of your state stands before the media and says, “I”m declaring a state of emergency,” he’s not bullshitting!  With that in mind, let’s re-examine the facts.  I call the doctor for him with no prompting from him and take him to his appointment.  I later take him to the ER, sit with him for hours, and encourage him to stay because he’ll worry himself to death if he goes home.  I even take our kids to go visit him the next day and buy him a damn gift.  What did we get in the face of a fucking hurricane? Not a single text to either of his kids asking if they were ok over the course of the weekend. Not even a, “Bye, Felicia!”

I know that his version of his near death experience and my reaction to it never happened, but even if I had been irritated with him AT LEAST I WAS THERE!  There was the potential for very serious fall out from this hurricane and he’s off fucking his whore instead of being there for his kids!  Maybe I should go around telling everyone:  OMG!  There was a hurricane headed RIGHT FOR US and WE ALMOST DIED and he DIDN’T GIVE A FUCK!  Can you believe that?  Let me repeat:  WE ALMOST DIED!!!!  Our whole town flooded and the stores were bare and he told me it was more important that he be with the love of his life and his brand new insta-family than with his bratty kids that only thought of him as a wallet.  His life was finally looking up and he wasn’t going to stay behind and die with us!

I mean, that story has a kernel of truth to it.  The governor did declare a state of emergency and there was the *possibility* of the hurricane hitting the coast.  So, yeah totally, let’s say the damn thing was headed right towards us!  We were issued a flash flood warning and 46, almost 47 years ago, I believe it was the aftermath of Hurricane Camille that decimated a town only an hour from us so sure, let’s go with the town flooded.  That’s how he does it.  And Walmart was out of 2% milk and most of the bread so I don’t think it’s too much of a stretch to say the shelves were completely bare.  I mean really, why stick to the truth when lies are so much more convenient, so much more dramatic and thrilling?

I was also thinking about his near death experience and how he felt I wasn’t properly paying homage to him when I realized that someone who actually could have died was ME years ago when I had an ectopic pregnancy. I began spotting early in the pregnancy.  They took blood to check HCG levels and did ultrasound after ultrasound.  Transvaginal. They looked for over a week, I believe, and couldn’t find it.  When they did finally find it I WASN’T ALLOWED TO LEAVE THE FUCKING OFFICE UNTIL I HAD MADE A DECISION!  That’s when you know it’s some serious shit.  They don’t say:  Oh, well, it’s up to you.  You can go to the ER to have them put some fluids in you.  I probably would if I were you, but it’s up to you.  And they don’t say, once you’re at the ER, if you’re dying or in a really bad situation:  We can admit you if you’d like.  But if you’d be more comfortable at home in your own bed you can go home and come back if you relapse.  No, if you go to the doctor’s and you’re in a life or death situation, like, oh, say an ectopic pregnancy, they say:  Sure, you can call your husband and discuss it with him.  But you’re not leaving this office until you’ve either scheduled surgery to have it removed or you pull your pants down, bend over and get the methotrexate shot.

Would you like to hear what happened in this life or death situation? I bet if you think really hard you can probably guess what happened. I called my dear husband and told him what was going on, told him what my choices were, asked him to come be with me.  This was our third pregnancy loss in about 16 months. His reply was that he was at work, a major client was in and there was no way he could leave.  I believe he did tell me he was sorry.

Let me get this straight.  He apparently had reason to cheat on me because, in his own mind, he was DYING and I was not fawning over him enough, I suppose.  I was actually IN a life or death situation and he couldn’t even bother to fucking be there with me!  Say what you will about my bedside manner (and again, I NEVER wrote or said those things) AT LEAST I WAS THERE!  That’s a hell of lot more than he can say. He can continue to manufacture the truth to make it seem like I was a cold, heartless bitch that didn’t love him but he can’t ever say I wasn’t there.  I was there time after time.  He was rarely there for me.  And when it came time to choose between the whore or the hurricane… well, I guess he figured the kids and I could just ride that hurricane out if it came down to it.  He was going to be riding his whore and no hurricane was going to get in the way of that!

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2 thoughts on “Whores and Hurricanes

  1. Me too. I was like a frog in a pot of water. The heat kept slowly being turned up and I never realized it. Looking back I think, “WTF? Why did you let him get away with that?” Live and learn.

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