First of all, thank you to everyone who replied with their own stories about conscious uncoupling, co-parenting and divorce. I have heard so many success stories, it has really made me feel confident in starting my new chapter.
Secondly, a few people asked the question, ''Do you think it was cancer that caused your divorce?''.
I haven't really addressed why I am getting divorced, because if my soon-to-be-ex-husband ever read it, he would think I was talking smack about him. The British are a very reserved people.
To that end, no, cancer did not cause my divorce. Cancer merely opened my eyes to problems that were already there, way before my diagnosis.
It is what my therapist likes to call a ''pattern of behavior''.
I won't go in to the nitty-gritty of it all, but for instance, six months before my diagnosis I gave birth to my third child. He was due on October 10, 2016, and early on October 11th I was having contractions. My husband had to go back to tweak something on a job site in the city, and gave me the choice of him going back that day or after the baby was born. He said it would only take an hour, so I said let's go ahead and get it done today. I would go with him, with my hospital bag, in case we needed to go straight to the hospital afterward.
I could have gone into the client's home, but I didn't want to labor in a stranger's house. I opted to wait in his truck, resting and checking email and listening to the radio. My contractions increased, and after nearly 2 hours I had big a one, shaking my bladder. I rang the bell to use the bathroom, and the client opened the door, with a look of horror on her face.
''You've been laboring out there this whole time? Oh my God! Are you okay? Come in, sit down, watch t.v. Let me make you some tea. Or do you want water? Are you hungry?''.
Wow, she was a nice lady. I accepted the water, but kindly declined the offer of sitting in her living room. I was worried my water would break all over her couch or something.
''At least go and swing out on the porch on the swing chair'', she suggested.
I did, it was a nice fall day and the rocking back and forth really helped with the pain.
I had been planning an unmedicated childbirth, and it is very important to keep your energy up. I was really hungry at this point, and getting nervous about my increasing contractions.
It was nearly 2.5 hours after we arrived that we finally left.
''I thought it would only take an hour'', I said. ''I am really hungry, and the pain is getting worse''.
''Well, it took longer than I thought. On the way there, I did ask if you wanted something from the gas station, and you said no.''
Where was the empathy? I received more concern from a stranger than my own my husband.
I am no princess, but when I am in active labor and about to give birth, call me crazy, but I expect to be treated like one. Is it too much to ask to be able to labor comfortably in my own home and eat a real meal like a human being before I naturally birth an 8+ pound baby?
Long story short, later that night our son was born. Totally unmedicated, except for two Tylenol after my lady bits were stitched back together. I gave birth standing up (I wanted gravity in my favor) and the pain my God, the pain. It was the worst of my life, but I did it.
Six months later, I was diagnosed with breast cancer.
I won't get into the details, but the ''pattern of behavior'' continued during my cancer treatment. I needed him there for me, and he wasn't. He worked hard, and supported our family, but aside from that he was absent. Completely absent.
I finished treatment in November, and on New Year's Eve I slipped, fell, and broke my wrist. Now that was pain. I could see it was mangled badly, the bones sticking out. I went to the E.R., and I begged for pain meds. I was never so happy to receive a giant needle of morphine in my ass cheek than I was then, let me tell you.
They knocked me out, and reset the main bone. ''The other two need to be reset by an Orthopedic Surgeon, and none of them will be around until January 2nd''.
I went home in a cast, still reeling in agony.
It was then, on Dec. 31st, that I stopped wearing my wedding
ring. I mean, I couldn't, my left hand was swollen and
casted. I haven't worn it since. I can't help but wonder if,
in some weird way, that was the universe giving me
a warning about what was to come in 2018.
January 2nd finally arrived, and I was able to get in with a surgeon over an hour away.
''Aren't you here with anyone?'', he asked. ''If you don't have pain meds, this is really going to hurt you. And I can't give you pain meds if you have to drive yourself home.''
''It's just me. How bad are we talking?''.
''I can give you a shot of lidocaine, but you'll still feel about 60% of it. I mean, people have it done like that every once in a while, but I am telling you, it's going to hurt.''
''Well, I guess I don't have a choice. Let's do it.''
If I could endure natural childbirth, eight rounds of grueling ''hard'' chemo, and a double mastectomy with micro abdominal surgery, I think I could handle resetting my broken wrist. Right?
Wrong. So wrong.
I asked the male nurse, an older Indian man, if he would hold my good hand for me during the ''surgery without incision''.
The pain, oh, it was horrific. Horrific. I screamed like I have never screamed before, so much so they had to close the door because you could hear me down the hall. I had hot tears streaming from my face. He twisted and pulled at my mangled wrist, manipulating it back into place as I screamed like a banshee, writhing in agony.
All the while, the male nurse gently stroked my hand and said in his lovely voice things like,
''You are doing great''.
''It's almost over''.
''I am so proud of you''.
''There, there, good girl.''
That last one really got me, I felt like Lassie or something. But I didn't care; I was just so relieved that someone was there with me. I really need to be comforted when I am in pain.
I drove myself home, and it took me nearly 2 hours in rush hour traffic. With one hand. And no pain meds.
I was literally shaking, that's how much pain I was in. I don't even know how I drove myself home on two interstates like that, but I did it. I arranged for our neighbor to watch the children, and my friend dropped off a rotisserie chicken, sides, and dessert on the doorstep. I made it is as easy as possible for my husband when he got home from work, he didn't have to cook dinner or anything.
I explained to him it was the worst pain of my life. Worse than childbirth, chemo, and a mastectomy.
"As soon as I get in, I am eating a bowl of cereal and taking my pain meds. I am exhausted'', I said.
I finally arrived home, and he said that he actually had a job on for tomorrow.
''When did you find out about this job?'', I asked.
''A few hours ago.''
''So, when I was at the clinic, and I told you they said it would be very painful if I didn't have someone to drive me home, the thought never occurred to you to say that you could take me tomorrow because you didn't have a job?''.
''It doesn't matter anyway, because I DO have a job tomorrow. What's your point?''.
I went up to bed to watch Netflix as I digested my cereal and let my pain meds take effect. My daughter woke up and screamed, and I had to console her back to sleep. My husband barged in like a bat out of hell; ''Will you shut her up? She is going to wake the baby!''.
''I AM. Get out, please. You're making it worse.''
That was the only time he came in. Not once did he come to check on me, see if I was okay. Nothing.
He came in over an hour later to brush his teeth, and I said, ''Why is it that you never checked on me? You didn't offer me tea, or water, or to pat my back, or anything. You didn't comfort me at all. Why not?''.
I genuinely wanted to know. I was baffled.
''Well, you came in and started complaining, so I figured it didn't hurt you that bad''.
When I heard that, I realized it was over. I realized that he does not possess the instinct to care for me, at least not the way I need him to. The house and the car and the other things he wonderfully provides ultimately mean nothing if at the end of the day I am crying myself to sleep in disbelief of his inattentiveness.
I thought about how I had received more comfort on the most painful day of my life from a stranger-a stranger-than my own husband. Just like how I received more comfort from a stranger when I was in labor.
''Pattern of behavior''.
I mean, I still tried after that, making marriage counseling appointments, buying him the book Breast Cancer Husband. He went to counseling once, and said that was enough, and barely even bothered to read Breast Cancer Husband.
He had apologized for his actions, or inactions, during my cancer treatment, and now here was his chance to make it up to me. I had a badly broken wrist and needed him, and once again he wasn't there. Not just physically, but emotionally. He just wasn't there.
It was about a month after that when I asked him flat-out if he was even still in love with me, to which he replied, ''Well, that isn't an easy question.'' He later retracted, citing his lack of articulation as an excuse. Either you are in love with someone, or you're not. It doesn't take a wordsmith to say you love someone.
I think when you are in love, you have the urge, the desire, the need, to care for your beloved, in whatever way you are able to.
Still, I would have shown more empathy and compassion for a stranger on the street than he showed me, his wife.
It reminded me of a passage from a book I absolutely love called, I Wrote This For You, that goes, ''When they cut you, I bleed.''
When they cut me, he didn't bleed. He didn't even flinch.
While cancer did not cause the break up of my marriage, it opened my eyes to truths which already existed. Truths which I could no longer ignore, or pretend didn't hurt me.
In some ways, while I am mourning the loss of my family life as I have known it, the loss of the house I so lovingly restored and envisioned growing old in with him, I am also thankful because having my eyes opened has been a gift.
The gift is a chance at a new life, one which has the potential to leave me feeling loved, cherished, adored one day. I couldn't ask for anything more.
''You don't want to hurt me. Let's see how deep the bullet lies.'' Link below to ''Running Up That Hill'' by Placebo.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=x5GuBa4Bbnw
Secondly, a few people asked the question, ''Do you think it was cancer that caused your divorce?''.
I haven't really addressed why I am getting divorced, because if my soon-to-be-ex-husband ever read it, he would think I was talking smack about him. The British are a very reserved people.
To that end, no, cancer did not cause my divorce. Cancer merely opened my eyes to problems that were already there, way before my diagnosis.
It is what my therapist likes to call a ''pattern of behavior''.
I won't go in to the nitty-gritty of it all, but for instance, six months before my diagnosis I gave birth to my third child. He was due on October 10, 2016, and early on October 11th I was having contractions. My husband had to go back to tweak something on a job site in the city, and gave me the choice of him going back that day or after the baby was born. He said it would only take an hour, so I said let's go ahead and get it done today. I would go with him, with my hospital bag, in case we needed to go straight to the hospital afterward.
I could have gone into the client's home, but I didn't want to labor in a stranger's house. I opted to wait in his truck, resting and checking email and listening to the radio. My contractions increased, and after nearly 2 hours I had big a one, shaking my bladder. I rang the bell to use the bathroom, and the client opened the door, with a look of horror on her face.
''You've been laboring out there this whole time? Oh my God! Are you okay? Come in, sit down, watch t.v. Let me make you some tea. Or do you want water? Are you hungry?''.
Wow, she was a nice lady. I accepted the water, but kindly declined the offer of sitting in her living room. I was worried my water would break all over her couch or something.
''At least go and swing out on the porch on the swing chair'', she suggested.
I did, it was a nice fall day and the rocking back and forth really helped with the pain.
I had been planning an unmedicated childbirth, and it is very important to keep your energy up. I was really hungry at this point, and getting nervous about my increasing contractions.
It was nearly 2.5 hours after we arrived that we finally left.
''I thought it would only take an hour'', I said. ''I am really hungry, and the pain is getting worse''.
''Well, it took longer than I thought. On the way there, I did ask if you wanted something from the gas station, and you said no.''
Where was the empathy? I received more concern from a stranger than my own my husband.
I am no princess, but when I am in active labor and about to give birth, call me crazy, but I expect to be treated like one. Is it too much to ask to be able to labor comfortably in my own home and eat a real meal like a human being before I naturally birth an 8+ pound baby?
Long story short, later that night our son was born. Totally unmedicated, except for two Tylenol after my lady bits were stitched back together. I gave birth standing up (I wanted gravity in my favor) and the pain my God, the pain. It was the worst of my life, but I did it.
I won't get into the details, but the ''pattern of behavior'' continued during my cancer treatment. I needed him there for me, and he wasn't. He worked hard, and supported our family, but aside from that he was absent. Completely absent.
 |
| I came across my birth plan recently. My color-coded, laminated birth plan. I made one because I knew I would reach a point where I would not be able to talk through my contractions, and I wanted everything in writing. In hindsight, I think subconsciously I knew that I would need the comfort of the nurses, because I wrote ''Please instead provide me with reassurance and redirection.'' It's kind of sad, actually. |
I finished treatment in November, and on New Year's Eve I slipped, fell, and broke my wrist. Now that was pain. I could see it was mangled badly, the bones sticking out. I went to the E.R., and I begged for pain meds. I was never so happy to receive a giant needle of morphine in my ass cheek than I was then, let me tell you.
They knocked me out, and reset the main bone. ''The other two need to be reset by an Orthopedic Surgeon, and none of them will be around until January 2nd''.
I went home in a cast, still reeling in agony.
It was then, on Dec. 31st, that I stopped wearing my wedding
ring. I mean, I couldn't, my left hand was swollen and
casted. I haven't worn it since. I can't help but wonder if,
in some weird way, that was the universe giving me
a warning about what was to come in 2018.
January 2nd finally arrived, and I was able to get in with a surgeon over an hour away.
''Aren't you here with anyone?'', he asked. ''If you don't have pain meds, this is really going to hurt you. And I can't give you pain meds if you have to drive yourself home.''
''It's just me. How bad are we talking?''.
''I can give you a shot of lidocaine, but you'll still feel about 60% of it. I mean, people have it done like that every once in a while, but I am telling you, it's going to hurt.''
''Well, I guess I don't have a choice. Let's do it.''
If I could endure natural childbirth, eight rounds of grueling ''hard'' chemo, and a double mastectomy with micro abdominal surgery, I think I could handle resetting my broken wrist. Right?
Wrong. So wrong.
I asked the male nurse, an older Indian man, if he would hold my good hand for me during the ''surgery without incision''.
The pain, oh, it was horrific. Horrific. I screamed like I have never screamed before, so much so they had to close the door because you could hear me down the hall. I had hot tears streaming from my face. He twisted and pulled at my mangled wrist, manipulating it back into place as I screamed like a banshee, writhing in agony.
All the while, the male nurse gently stroked my hand and said in his lovely voice things like,
''You are doing great''.
''It's almost over''.
''I am so proud of you''.
''There, there, good girl.''
That last one really got me, I felt like Lassie or something. But I didn't care; I was just so relieved that someone was there with me. I really need to be comforted when I am in pain.
I drove myself home, and it took me nearly 2 hours in rush hour traffic. With one hand. And no pain meds.
I was literally shaking, that's how much pain I was in. I don't even know how I drove myself home on two interstates like that, but I did it. I arranged for our neighbor to watch the children, and my friend dropped off a rotisserie chicken, sides, and dessert on the doorstep. I made it is as easy as possible for my husband when he got home from work, he didn't have to cook dinner or anything.
I explained to him it was the worst pain of my life. Worse than childbirth, chemo, and a mastectomy.
"As soon as I get in, I am eating a bowl of cereal and taking my pain meds. I am exhausted'', I said.
I finally arrived home, and he said that he actually had a job on for tomorrow.
''When did you find out about this job?'', I asked.
''A few hours ago.''
''So, when I was at the clinic, and I told you they said it would be very painful if I didn't have someone to drive me home, the thought never occurred to you to say that you could take me tomorrow because you didn't have a job?''.
''It doesn't matter anyway, because I DO have a job tomorrow. What's your point?''.
I went up to bed to watch Netflix as I digested my cereal and let my pain meds take effect. My daughter woke up and screamed, and I had to console her back to sleep. My husband barged in like a bat out of hell; ''Will you shut her up? She is going to wake the baby!''.
''I AM. Get out, please. You're making it worse.''
That was the only time he came in. Not once did he come to check on me, see if I was okay. Nothing.
He came in over an hour later to brush his teeth, and I said, ''Why is it that you never checked on me? You didn't offer me tea, or water, or to pat my back, or anything. You didn't comfort me at all. Why not?''.
I genuinely wanted to know. I was baffled.
''Well, you came in and started complaining, so I figured it didn't hurt you that bad''.
When I heard that, I realized it was over. I realized that he does not possess the instinct to care for me, at least not the way I need him to. The house and the car and the other things he wonderfully provides ultimately mean nothing if at the end of the day I am crying myself to sleep in disbelief of his inattentiveness.
I thought about how I had received more comfort on the most painful day of my life from a stranger-a stranger-than my own husband. Just like how I received more comfort from a stranger when I was in labor.
''Pattern of behavior''.
I mean, I still tried after that, making marriage counseling appointments, buying him the book Breast Cancer Husband. He went to counseling once, and said that was enough, and barely even bothered to read Breast Cancer Husband.
He had apologized for his actions, or inactions, during my cancer treatment, and now here was his chance to make it up to me. I had a badly broken wrist and needed him, and once again he wasn't there. Not just physically, but emotionally. He just wasn't there.
It was about a month after that when I asked him flat-out if he was even still in love with me, to which he replied, ''Well, that isn't an easy question.'' He later retracted, citing his lack of articulation as an excuse. Either you are in love with someone, or you're not. It doesn't take a wordsmith to say you love someone.
I think when you are in love, you have the urge, the desire, the need, to care for your beloved, in whatever way you are able to.
Still, I would have shown more empathy and compassion for a stranger on the street than he showed me, his wife.
It reminded me of a passage from a book I absolutely love called, I Wrote This For You, that goes, ''When they cut you, I bleed.''
When they cut me, he didn't bleed. He didn't even flinch.
While cancer did not cause the break up of my marriage, it opened my eyes to truths which already existed. Truths which I could no longer ignore, or pretend didn't hurt me.
In some ways, while I am mourning the loss of my family life as I have known it, the loss of the house I so lovingly restored and envisioned growing old in with him, I am also thankful because having my eyes opened has been a gift.
The gift is a chance at a new life, one which has the potential to leave me feeling loved, cherished, adored one day. I couldn't ask for anything more.
 |
| March 2018: Pretending to be a zombie after my cast came off. My arm was stuck in that position for two months. Everyone at the clinic laughed at my zombie impersonation, even Dr. Sadist, who wasn't exactly the laughing type. |
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=x5GuBa4Bbnw
Yes. This. My experience was similar, but for 30 years. Looking back, I can think of the time I sprained both my ankles after falling down a flight of stairs and he told me to "walk it off" and he meant it. He really meant it. He did not go out of his way to help me in any way whatsover. It was there for 30 years and I just soldiered on. The worst day after my first chemo I slept for about 20 hours. Not once did he check on me, offer me food or drink, or keep the kids out of my room so I could sleep well. It was because of that I became severely dehydrated and had a serious downward spiral. A week later, the doctors told me if I didn't come in for an infusion, I would not live through the weekend. In children this falls under "child maltreatment," and it's a serious form of neglect. What you experienced, and what I experienced, was neglect, which has long-term and substantial implications for brain development. As a strong and independent woman, I was always able to survive, and even thrive under these circumstances, but I choose not to any longer. I can be strong and indpendent and still be interdpendent and not allow myself to be neglected. I'm glad you've made the same choice.
ReplyDeleteThank you for sharing this with me. I didn't even realize that would be neglect. I chalked it up to being oblivious, until I saw that other breast cancer ladies would say how amazing their husbands were, how they really stepped up and were there for them. I couldn't help but wonder why mine wouldn't do the same. He justifies everything with the fact he works so hard, has a physical job, supports our family. As if that makes up for being emotionally absent and checked out... My therapist said that the ''absence of something does not mean the presence of something'', when I told her, ''Well, it's not like he abuses me or beats me or anything. Aside from being absent, he is actually really nice.''
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