:: Dictated But Not Read ::
Musings from the ''Miracle Girl''| [::..archive..::] |
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| Things That Have Been Said About Me |
| You are the Minx. |
| She plays taller than her height. |
| You have a refreshing attitude. |
| You're such a renaissance woman. |
| She's not much of a biller. |
| You are very angry. |
| You are so self aware. |
| You need a more sophisticated haircut. |
| You are not afraid of anything. |
| You have a great attitude. |
| Your life is like a Seinfeld episode. |
| You are winsome. |
| You look great in hats. |
| Miracle girl. |
| I am belligerently conciliatory. |
| You've got it big time. |
Wednesday, October 15, 2003
I Can See Clearly NowIn December of 1999, I almost died. I was married then, not living alone like I am now, where I could slip and fall and not be found for days. I had, in theory, a partner, another adult whose fate was supposed to be tied to mine and who should have taken care of me. He did not and I almost died. I would have been better off alone I think. I might have called an ambulance, but he did not. I got a strain of pneumonia that was never identified but which was clearly harsher than the average strain. My husband did not take me to a doctor or hospital although I ran a high fever for several days. I was delirious for much of that time but do recall asking him, several times whether he thought I should get medical care. He finally took me in when I passed out sitting on the toilet and could not be roused for several minutes.
It was one of many moments from my marriage that I can now look back on and say “I should have known when he…” I should have known when he told me to go back to sleep when I told him I felt like vomiting on the first night of our honeymoon. I should have known when he failed to show up at the finish line of the New York Marathon knowing full well what an accomplishment finishing was for me. (He was shopping at Saks for sweaters.) I think I deserve more than the average ribbing for not getting it sooner because I am a divorce lawyer. I really should have known better.
The story I have been unwilling to tell so far is the one about what happened on the day I was transferred from the I.C.U. to the intermediate care floor. I thought my husband had gone back to work that day. He had not been to work much while I was in the hospital, though he was not keeping a vigil at my bed side either. Actually I am not certain what he did during all of those days but I do know he hated his job and got himself fired shortly thereafter. In any event, he showed up in my intermediate care room that afternoon with a stack of glasses cases. I propped myself up in bed to see what he had with him. He explained that he had gone across the street to the optometrist’s office to pick out some new frames and they had allowed him to take the frames with him so that I could help him choose. That was so nice of the optometrist’s office. Now, it is true that I was on the mend and it seemed likely I would live but my diagnosis and prognosis were both still uncertain. I was breathing well but only with oxygen. My arms and hands were bruised from the many blood tests that I had been given in an attempt to arrive at a definitive diagnosis. I had an I.V. pumping a vicious cocktail of antibiotics into me and I was supposed to help pick out glasses for him. I remember that during the process the infectious disease doctor who was assigned to me came into my room to check on me. She looked stupefied and asked what we were doing. She was not a warm, fuzzy person. She was smart and efficient and to the point but you could tell she cared. My husband explained that we were picking out glasses for him and we all laughed.
The thing that is considerably more incredible than his asking me to pick out the frames is that I did it and I never said a word. I said nothing at the time and I said nothing during the agonizing 9 months that followed when I tried to make our marriage work against all odds and with little or no help from him I said nothing during joint counseling. I said nothing about it when I told him to get out of the house. I said nothing because I forgot. In the scheme of things that he had done to me it seemed minor. I remembered it for the first time last month while I was visiting my sister and she was recalling how he failed to show up at the marathon finish line (she was there), and every time I remember again I am dumbfounded. I am also entertained and amused. He thought he was being efficient, after all I was right there, not going anywhere, he had a new prescription and he needed some new glasses. There was no irony for him. On a positive note I have no doubt that the experience makes me a much better divorce lawyer. I understand completely the capacity that the heart has to make an otherwise bright person a complete fool and I empathize with the fools since I have been one too.
D.B.N.R.
