Day Fifty-Nine
The children came home at 5:15 a.m.
I heard them in the kitchen and got up to see them. I was surprised they had not texted me to let them in but had come in a harder way. I welcomed them and hurried them off to bed. My daughter had summer school at 9:00.
One of them finally told me the truth about the missing hours. My ex had taken them to San Francisco after leaving the convocation, and driven them across the Golden Gate Bridge. It was not the first time in their lives they had been there. It was an unnecessary and selfish trip on his part. I am sure he knew that my allowing "a little more time" to attend the convocation and bring them back did not include a side trip, nor extend past dawn. I told this child that they would not be going back to see him tonight--he'd already had more extra hours than those. "He's not going to like that," was the response.
I quickly texted my ex--while he was still up--that I could see he had really abused my permission for a little more time, and that the children would definitely not be coming back tonight. "No judge in the world would think what you did was okay," I said. He had requested more time SO THAT he would not be driving with my children all night, and I had easily given it. He had taken that and then stolen more time on the other end, driving them all night. How, in the rational, adult world, did that make sense?
I went back to bed and thought about all of this. "He's not going to like that" should not be the children's north star. That is what narcissists do, is program the people around them to make decisions based on whether or not they will like it. It's not a healthy way to live. I realized their coming in without texting me may have been suggested by him to keep me from possibly knowing the exact time of their arrival. Or, if they had thought of it on their own, that was still not a great sign.
Where was their concern for whether I would like it? They all knew I was very sick. They all knew I would worry all night. They had no doubt felt compelled to collude with their father. I didn't blame them AT ALL for the side trip. They didn't have any choice. But I was concerned about some of their statements. One child in particular had said numerous things that I could tell were his father's justifications that had been programmed into him.
I tried to sleep, and planned to have a meeting with my children later in the morning, after we had all had sufficient rest to think straight. As thoughts came into my head, I wrote them in my notebook, so that I could feel assured I wouldn't lose them again in dreamland. When my husband woke briefly, I briefed him. He offered me comfort, and we both tried to sleep more.
I had set my timer to wake my daughter before summer school. But I was so angry about it all and so anxious that the children might be so brainwashed and in his camp that they would not understand the principles I would be trying to teach them that I was not able to drift off.
Where was her father's concern about her making it to summer school--her last chance to make up the credits her depression after the divorce had robbed her of? I went to her room and laid my hand against her beautiful, sweet face. It took a while to wake her. "Don't you need to go?" I asked. She told me she could miss once without being kicked out. "Are you sure?" She was way too sleepy to go, so I hoped she was right. I imagined her possibly having reassured her father that she could miss a day, and him then assuming that he could just take it.
I tried to call the school to excuse her, but, despite several attempts, I couldn't get anyone to pick up the phone.
Eventually, I slept. When I got up "for reals" and weighed myself, I found that, despite eating limitedly, being sick, and all that walking, I had not lost any weight on the trip. Not even a pound. That got me wondering again how much stress plays into my weight problem. I had had a boatload of stress, over the last few days, and over my life.
Throughout the day, there was a barrage of emails from my ex-husband. The first, sent before I went to try to wake my daughter, informed me that I was "so totally clueless about the whole weekend," and "next time I want the children to go somewhere, I should take them there myself." There would be "no more" favors. I reminded him that taking them there myself was the favor I had requested, and letting him take them had been my favor to him. I pointed out that I had been generous to him several times--in letting him take them, in giving him extra time, in extending information about the barbecue, in saving them seats, in agreeing they could stay for the convocation. I took his "Just stop" to mean that he did know, on some level, that I was right.
It didn't matter. He continued to sling mud at me into the evening, accusing me of having accused him of things last night. "We didn't talk last night," I reminded him, biting my texting thumbs on saying, "But you should have talked to me, to inform me you would be hours later than I supposed." I didn't confront him about the Golden Gate Bridge, because I didn't want to out my child. His having taken fifteen hours to make a ten-hour drive was evidence enough, and we all knew that had happened.
I started calling doctors in the morning, and got an appointment with my primary care for 3:45. I decided that, if my ENT's office did not get back to me, I would ask my primary care for antibiotics. I was on my fourth day of this illness, and coughing way more than I was supposed to. I needed to start getting help. However, in the afternoon, the ENT's office called and asked me to come in for a culture, at 3:45. I couldn't do both, so I canceled the first appointment, but begged them to call in the prescription cough medicine I am supposed to have handy. I had been prescribed a tiny bottle of it back in November. I still had some left, of course, but I had taken it with me to California, and it was almost gone. I thought still having some left after all those months would be a plus, but I was told that was too long ago for her to refill it, and I would have to come in.
I asked the PA at my ENT's office to prescribe it, and explained that I could not be in two places at once, and so I was forced to ask him for it, even though I know they do not usually do that. Throughout the exam, he gave the air of barely listening to me, even though he was a young guy, and though he confirmed that my ENT had left instructions in my chart to do the culture and prescribe antibiotics, he seemed reluctant to do it. He kept telling my I probably had a "bad virus." I agreed that part of it could have been a virus, but I haven't had a cold in thirty-two years that did not turn into a sinus infection--a gift from my first ex and all the stress he put me through for the ensuing years. I told him I had been washing copious amount of stuff out of my sinuses, had had a high fever, and was coughing green stuff up out of my lungs. When he sprayed my nose to deaden it for the scope and culture, the liquid ran down my swollen throat and burned it like acid. I sat there, suffering, as he contemplated what antibiotics I could still take.
When I got to the pharmacy, I found out he had deliberately excluded the cough medicine. I called my primary care doctor's office again, and spoke with her nurse. She said I could come in on Wednesday, two days away. I explained the urgency. She said I could go out to their other clinic, in Sandy. I explained how sick I was. She finally offered me a nine-thirty tomorrow morning. I took it. Then she said, "Oh. It looks like you owe our office nineteen dollars."
"Okay. What's that for? I always pay my copayment."
"I can't tell, but I can't make you an appointment until it's paid."
"I can't pay it tomorrow when I come in?"
"No. I'll transfer you to our business office."
The phone there rang many times, and then I was put on hold by a machine. I waited out fifteen minutes, but it was almost six o'clock by then. I hoped as I hung up that I was not going to be denied medical care over nineteen dollars.
Too ill to cook, I picked up a child and he took my debit card in to get pizza for us. I had two pieces when I probably should have had one, but, through all this, I am still off sugar. To what end, I don't know, but I am trying to stay alive. Staying off sugar, battling doctors and exes--all of it feels like a part of that. I found out today that another coworker has died.
I didn't like him at first, because he was loud and obnoxious, and teasy to women in a hostile environment way. In fact, I took secret notes on one of his encounters that I witnessed, thinking I might report him. But, as I avoided him, he grew to respect my sharp tongue and quick wit. He saw how I treated my clients, and he started telling me he admired me. And not in a sexual-harassment way. We got so we would banter. When I saw him stop midway to the elevator and pause on his walker for breath, I asked him if he was all right. "I'm just waiting for my heart rate to calm down," he said in his Southern drawl.
"Why? Who did you see?" I teased, and he would roar with laughter. "I love you!" he would proclaim.
I never told him I loved him, but I came to appreciate him, and then he took a medical retirement. And now he's gone.
And, at the end of today, I am down. I am so sick, and so weary. I am stressed out with the texting wars. In spite of all evidence to the contrary, my ex is behaving as though I am the problem. He lobs another assault, beginning his text with the words, "It's not worth engaging with you, but" and ending with the words, "Disengage now." He's the only one allowed to talk, and he really has nothing to say in his own defense. He didn't even try to explain the extra hours, only objected to my objecting to them. No apology, just character assassinations and threats of court. If only I wouldn't call him on his selfishness, I guess. I am struggling to keep my children's feet rooted in a healthy environment. I support their love for and time with their dad, but I want them to SEE the dysfunction. I know they will have to accommodate him, possibly for the rest of his life, but I don't want them to fall prey to his thinking errors or adopt them for themselves. I tell them I love them, I know they love him, that's fine and good, none of this is their fault, of course they have to navigate this river. But, please, keep seeing the shore.
Who knows how long I will live? Will this chronic illness eventually finish me off, one of these times? Will I cough hard and tear arteries again and have a stroke next time? Will my heart give out at a young age, like so many of my relatives' have? Will the stress force me to give up? Will I ever be able to lose the unhealthy weight I am carrying around my middle? I have eaten pretty carefully this week. I haven't been able to go to the gym since being sick, but I am doing what I can. Eggs for breakfast, chicken noodle soup for lunch. Water for drinks. No sugar.
I heard them in the kitchen and got up to see them. I was surprised they had not texted me to let them in but had come in a harder way. I welcomed them and hurried them off to bed. My daughter had summer school at 9:00.
One of them finally told me the truth about the missing hours. My ex had taken them to San Francisco after leaving the convocation, and driven them across the Golden Gate Bridge. It was not the first time in their lives they had been there. It was an unnecessary and selfish trip on his part. I am sure he knew that my allowing "a little more time" to attend the convocation and bring them back did not include a side trip, nor extend past dawn. I told this child that they would not be going back to see him tonight--he'd already had more extra hours than those. "He's not going to like that," was the response.
I quickly texted my ex--while he was still up--that I could see he had really abused my permission for a little more time, and that the children would definitely not be coming back tonight. "No judge in the world would think what you did was okay," I said. He had requested more time SO THAT he would not be driving with my children all night, and I had easily given it. He had taken that and then stolen more time on the other end, driving them all night. How, in the rational, adult world, did that make sense?
I went back to bed and thought about all of this. "He's not going to like that" should not be the children's north star. That is what narcissists do, is program the people around them to make decisions based on whether or not they will like it. It's not a healthy way to live. I realized their coming in without texting me may have been suggested by him to keep me from possibly knowing the exact time of their arrival. Or, if they had thought of it on their own, that was still not a great sign.
Where was their concern for whether I would like it? They all knew I was very sick. They all knew I would worry all night. They had no doubt felt compelled to collude with their father. I didn't blame them AT ALL for the side trip. They didn't have any choice. But I was concerned about some of their statements. One child in particular had said numerous things that I could tell were his father's justifications that had been programmed into him.
I tried to sleep, and planned to have a meeting with my children later in the morning, after we had all had sufficient rest to think straight. As thoughts came into my head, I wrote them in my notebook, so that I could feel assured I wouldn't lose them again in dreamland. When my husband woke briefly, I briefed him. He offered me comfort, and we both tried to sleep more.
I had set my timer to wake my daughter before summer school. But I was so angry about it all and so anxious that the children might be so brainwashed and in his camp that they would not understand the principles I would be trying to teach them that I was not able to drift off.
Where was her father's concern about her making it to summer school--her last chance to make up the credits her depression after the divorce had robbed her of? I went to her room and laid my hand against her beautiful, sweet face. It took a while to wake her. "Don't you need to go?" I asked. She told me she could miss once without being kicked out. "Are you sure?" She was way too sleepy to go, so I hoped she was right. I imagined her possibly having reassured her father that she could miss a day, and him then assuming that he could just take it.
I tried to call the school to excuse her, but, despite several attempts, I couldn't get anyone to pick up the phone.
Eventually, I slept. When I got up "for reals" and weighed myself, I found that, despite eating limitedly, being sick, and all that walking, I had not lost any weight on the trip. Not even a pound. That got me wondering again how much stress plays into my weight problem. I had had a boatload of stress, over the last few days, and over my life.
Throughout the day, there was a barrage of emails from my ex-husband. The first, sent before I went to try to wake my daughter, informed me that I was "so totally clueless about the whole weekend," and "next time I want the children to go somewhere, I should take them there myself." There would be "no more" favors. I reminded him that taking them there myself was the favor I had requested, and letting him take them had been my favor to him. I pointed out that I had been generous to him several times--in letting him take them, in giving him extra time, in extending information about the barbecue, in saving them seats, in agreeing they could stay for the convocation. I took his "Just stop" to mean that he did know, on some level, that I was right.
It didn't matter. He continued to sling mud at me into the evening, accusing me of having accused him of things last night. "We didn't talk last night," I reminded him, biting my texting thumbs on saying, "But you should have talked to me, to inform me you would be hours later than I supposed." I didn't confront him about the Golden Gate Bridge, because I didn't want to out my child. His having taken fifteen hours to make a ten-hour drive was evidence enough, and we all knew that had happened.
I started calling doctors in the morning, and got an appointment with my primary care for 3:45. I decided that, if my ENT's office did not get back to me, I would ask my primary care for antibiotics. I was on my fourth day of this illness, and coughing way more than I was supposed to. I needed to start getting help. However, in the afternoon, the ENT's office called and asked me to come in for a culture, at 3:45. I couldn't do both, so I canceled the first appointment, but begged them to call in the prescription cough medicine I am supposed to have handy. I had been prescribed a tiny bottle of it back in November. I still had some left, of course, but I had taken it with me to California, and it was almost gone. I thought still having some left after all those months would be a plus, but I was told that was too long ago for her to refill it, and I would have to come in.
I asked the PA at my ENT's office to prescribe it, and explained that I could not be in two places at once, and so I was forced to ask him for it, even though I know they do not usually do that. Throughout the exam, he gave the air of barely listening to me, even though he was a young guy, and though he confirmed that my ENT had left instructions in my chart to do the culture and prescribe antibiotics, he seemed reluctant to do it. He kept telling my I probably had a "bad virus." I agreed that part of it could have been a virus, but I haven't had a cold in thirty-two years that did not turn into a sinus infection--a gift from my first ex and all the stress he put me through for the ensuing years. I told him I had been washing copious amount of stuff out of my sinuses, had had a high fever, and was coughing green stuff up out of my lungs. When he sprayed my nose to deaden it for the scope and culture, the liquid ran down my swollen throat and burned it like acid. I sat there, suffering, as he contemplated what antibiotics I could still take.
When I got to the pharmacy, I found out he had deliberately excluded the cough medicine. I called my primary care doctor's office again, and spoke with her nurse. She said I could come in on Wednesday, two days away. I explained the urgency. She said I could go out to their other clinic, in Sandy. I explained how sick I was. She finally offered me a nine-thirty tomorrow morning. I took it. Then she said, "Oh. It looks like you owe our office nineteen dollars."
"Okay. What's that for? I always pay my copayment."
"I can't tell, but I can't make you an appointment until it's paid."
"I can't pay it tomorrow when I come in?"
"No. I'll transfer you to our business office."
The phone there rang many times, and then I was put on hold by a machine. I waited out fifteen minutes, but it was almost six o'clock by then. I hoped as I hung up that I was not going to be denied medical care over nineteen dollars.
Too ill to cook, I picked up a child and he took my debit card in to get pizza for us. I had two pieces when I probably should have had one, but, through all this, I am still off sugar. To what end, I don't know, but I am trying to stay alive. Staying off sugar, battling doctors and exes--all of it feels like a part of that. I found out today that another coworker has died.
I didn't like him at first, because he was loud and obnoxious, and teasy to women in a hostile environment way. In fact, I took secret notes on one of his encounters that I witnessed, thinking I might report him. But, as I avoided him, he grew to respect my sharp tongue and quick wit. He saw how I treated my clients, and he started telling me he admired me. And not in a sexual-harassment way. We got so we would banter. When I saw him stop midway to the elevator and pause on his walker for breath, I asked him if he was all right. "I'm just waiting for my heart rate to calm down," he said in his Southern drawl.
"Why? Who did you see?" I teased, and he would roar with laughter. "I love you!" he would proclaim.
I never told him I loved him, but I came to appreciate him, and then he took a medical retirement. And now he's gone.
And, at the end of today, I am down. I am so sick, and so weary. I am stressed out with the texting wars. In spite of all evidence to the contrary, my ex is behaving as though I am the problem. He lobs another assault, beginning his text with the words, "It's not worth engaging with you, but" and ending with the words, "Disengage now." He's the only one allowed to talk, and he really has nothing to say in his own defense. He didn't even try to explain the extra hours, only objected to my objecting to them. No apology, just character assassinations and threats of court. If only I wouldn't call him on his selfishness, I guess. I am struggling to keep my children's feet rooted in a healthy environment. I support their love for and time with their dad, but I want them to SEE the dysfunction. I know they will have to accommodate him, possibly for the rest of his life, but I don't want them to fall prey to his thinking errors or adopt them for themselves. I tell them I love them, I know they love him, that's fine and good, none of this is their fault, of course they have to navigate this river. But, please, keep seeing the shore.
Who knows how long I will live? Will this chronic illness eventually finish me off, one of these times? Will I cough hard and tear arteries again and have a stroke next time? Will my heart give out at a young age, like so many of my relatives' have? Will the stress force me to give up? Will I ever be able to lose the unhealthy weight I am carrying around my middle? I have eaten pretty carefully this week. I haven't been able to go to the gym since being sick, but I am doing what I can. Eggs for breakfast, chicken noodle soup for lunch. Water for drinks. No sugar.
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