The Morning After: Feeling Like You Want To Die And Making Sure You Don't 

When last we talked, the date was July 6, 2006, and my beloved Hubby had just moved out, left a "Dear Jane" note on the door, and was off with his bimbo lover who had just deserted her spouse as well.  As we continue the narrative, it's still July 6, 2006, and I'm still in shock from suddenly being left alone just 9 days before our 12th anniversary.

***

I didn't sleep at all that night.  Not one wink.  I instead spent it staring at the old cell phone he'd left on the table, the cell phone I gave him last year as an anniversary present, the cell phone he'd used to carry on a phone affair and a text affair with the bimbo.

I spent it in tearful prayer, laying myself bare at Jesus' feet, begging him for help and comfort, vowing to surrender my life to him once more.  I can honestly say my prayers were heard, because I was given the physical strength to get up off the floor where I'd literally collapsed in pain and horror, given the strength to drag myself up to my bedroom where I could at least lay down and take my evening painkillers to keep my body from seizing and my heart from stopping.

I spent it staring at the TV, unable to even bring myself to say the words to anyone else that night.

And finally, I spent it burying my faces into my stuffed animals and crying uncontrollably for hours on end.

The morning of July 7th took forever to arrive.  But arrive it did.  The sun was up and I was still alive.  This, I deduced, was a positive sign that I was meant to at least survive the initial blow.

I called the doctor's office that morning and asked to see my doctor to check and see if all the shingles lesions were gone.  I was given a 10 AM appointment.  I thanked them, forced myself to crawl out of bed, got dressed, and headed for the GP's office.

My GP is the world's greatest doctor.  I call him "Dr. AwesomelyWonderful" or "Dr. AW" for short. He has been there for me every step of the way through my horrible health, my battle with chronic pain, and more.  Dr. AwesomelyWonderful was Hubby's GP when we married, and I soon came to depend on him as much as I depended on anyone in my life.  Dr. AwesomelyWonderful used to be in the Navy.  He was not quite 10 years my senior.  He's a devout Catholic with 10 kids; his eldest was one of the priests at our parish church.  When Dr. AwesomelyWonderful was in the Navy, he was the Chief Medical Officer on a submarine, meaning he was pretty literally a jack-of-all-(medical-)trades:  GP, GYN, Radiologist, ER/Trauma Doc, Neurologist, Orthopedist, more.  I could tell him anything, I could ask anything, and he'd do it.  More to the point, because I come from a medical background (Mom's family is stocked full of nurses, while Dad's family was EMT/Physician's Assistant/Medical School Professors), I actually understand a lot of the technical terms and medical terms relating to illnesses, so Dr. AW and I talk on a level slightly above the traditional Doctor/Patient dynamic; he doesn't dumb anything down, and I don't accept anything less than full disclosure about my illnesses.  This makes a lot of specialists I deal with mad.  Too bad for them.

Dr. AW comes into the room to check my lesions.  "So, how are you doing today?" he asks brightly.

"[Hubby] left me last night," I respond.

His jaw literally dropped.  "What?"

I repeat the announcment.

"No way."

I confirm the facts.

"You've got to be kidding."

I assure him it's no joke.

Pause.  "Wow, what an idiot."

That, friends, was actually one of the few printable reactions I got from anyone receiving the news.

Dr. AW takes a minute to process the information, then goes into a spiel about how he can't believe people today and their complete lack of committment to their families, spouses, lives.  About how he can't believe an otherwise intelligent, socially conscious, supposedly spiritual man like Hubby could even think about abandoning his spouse in the midst of a life-threatening illness.

I then drop the bombshell that Hubby confessed to a year-long affair in his Dear Jane letter.

Dr. AW looks at me with a completely horrified expression on his face.  At that point, his reaction becomes unprintable, but the gist of it is that a man with supposely deep spiritual balance like Hubby was always describing (Hubby was deep into Zen, meditation, and other practices but also proclaimed himself a Jesus-loving Christian who followed The Lord's examples throughout his life) could even consider having an affair.  He then says that he had no idea Hubby was taking that kind of risks with his own life and mine by coming home to me after sleeping with another woman.

We finally get to the medical visit (he checks the shingles lesions, pronounces them no longer active, and tells me to finish out the last course of Valtrex), he refills several medications and ups my painkiller prescriptions because that much emotional pain almost always translates itself into physical pain, then asks if I'd like to schedule an appointment with his son to discuss the state of my marriage.  I thank him for the offer but decline for now.  He tells me to call him again on Monday and let him know how I am feeling.

We part ways.

My physical health has never been good, but in 2006, it was accelerating toward fatality.  And with my emotional state now crumbling, my health was not managing to keep me strong.  A good relationship with my GP is what saved my life in the first month post-separation.  Had I not had a physician who had a jack-of-all-trades background, who understood that emotional pain translates to physical pain and physical pain can kill a person with a metabolic disease worsened by stress, I might not have made it through the first weekend, much less surviving 18 months post-separation.

Dr. AwesomelyWonderful earned his sobriquet that first month more than ever.