I walked into the extra bedroom where my then-husband was "sleeping" and found him in a state that no human should ever have to experience, either as a condition themselves or as a witness to such condition. He had a fever of 107, was yellow-ish green, his neck was swelled out to his shoulders, he could not open his crusty, puffed up eyes and when he tried to answer my question, "can you stand up?" he just blew sheets of the inside lining of his mouth out in large bubbles.
That's as much as I will graphically describe - except to say that when he finally did answer me, he reached in and pulled his lip off, taking his earlobe with it as he tried to move his hand from his face.
This was a catastrophic, toxic response to a prescription medication that years later a court would find both the prescribing doctor and the drug company NOT RESPONSIBLE for. I am attempting to write a book about the whole experience, but as one can imagine, I do get stalled out and stare at the wall for hours at a time without realizing time has passed at all.
But for this post I'm going to stick to what happened to me. This was my life three years ago this week: I was a wife and mother living in a home that we had just paid top dollar for in a great neighborhood. Our combined income was up to a couple hundred thousand a year and rising. We had two luxury cars, 3 401k's, a substantial savings, even moreso because my mother had left me a small inheritance. I had a career that I loved - other than being a writer myself, I managed the 3rd largest grossing Barnes & Noble in the country, and had for about 8-9 years. I was up for promotion. My then-husband's career was skyrocketing, selling land to builders and buildings from the land. Our daughter was a straight-A student who was one belt away from a black belt in karate, something she had worked toward for about 6 years. We had just bought a French bulldog and she was a little tiny expensive bundle of energy. I was clean and sober 20+ years.
David was in the hospital in a coma for almost four months. Despite the odds he lived. But one must remember that there are states that are worse than death, and he was definitely in one of those for a long, long, long time. Sometimes I don't think he's passed through it completely even now.
Our marriage was precarious to say the least – hence the aforestated finding him in the EXTRA bedroom, i.e. HIS bedroom. But I would have stayed that way indefinitely I think rather than face change because: we had a child together; we made a lot of money together; nobody has a perfect marriage, so said my mother (yeah, a future post on the Relationship Theories of Marge to come); I was too lazy to do anything about my unhappiness and; blah, blah, blah fear of the unknown.
As one can imagine, and I will not go into it here, our already broken marriage could not withstand the rigors of the attempts to heal from a state worse than death and we split.
So – over the last three years I have basically lost everything that I could possibly use to naturally describe myself – except that I am still a recovering alcoholic and a mother. I can’t even say that I’m still blonde, because stress turned me grey and I pay a high price for that blonde now.
I lost my marriage, I lost my job and my career, I lost the income from my husband’s lost career, I lost my mortgage, I lost my healthcare coverage, I sold my cars, I cashed in the 401k’s, I spent the inheritance and the savings. I lost belief in a god of my then-choosing, I lost quite a few friends (future post on Are People Afraid That Tragedy Is Contagious?), I lost my dog to my ex-husband, I lost my concentration, I lost my mind. But not really, because when you’re a mother you don’t have the luxury of insanity.
No more wife of an rising star, no more wife, no more manager, no more future district manager, no more homeowner, no more free-to-get-sick person, no more safe driver, no more financial security, no more credit rating, no more writing person, no more Scary-Ass God believer.
Three years now I’ve been a single, sober, unemployed welfare mom.
Whatever It Is That Runs The Universe has seen fit to make me an empty vessel.
And that includes ridding me of the voice of that Scary-Ass God.
You live through enough, and there's not much left to be scared of. And for that I'm grateful.
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