Day Fifty-Six

The only thing that got me through last night, when so much of my time and energy had to go to meeting the needs of people and things outside of my weight-loss goal, was the expectation that I could have a very good, long, slimming workout this morning.

I checked the reminders I had made on my phone to check in for my flights.  I had made them while I was on my last trip to California, and I was amazed to see that they were one hour off.  Apparently, the computer in my phone counted ahead the hours instead of looking at date and time, and since I was in California then, would have reminded me too late, now, to check in.  I reset the times and kept the phone beside me throughout the night.

In the middle of the night, when I realized that my ex-husband had not even told me what hotel he would be taking my children to (and this is clear in the law, it's not a favor to me), let alone discussed the sleeping arrangements (there are important reasons for this that I won't go into here), I went out to the couch to increase my chances that I would sleep some more.  When I woke, it seemed awful light, and, though it is June, this worried me that I might have missed out on my long workout.  And, I realized a split second later, my airline check-in!

I grabbed my phone and looked, half asleep, at the time.  Seven minutes had passed since I should have checked in, which meant I had slept through the reminder twelve minutes ago.  I hurriedly opened my email, but the email I had so carefully kept there, with its "check-in" button handy and waiting, had disappeared, and it would not reload.  I quickly memorized my confirmation code and looked up the airline's website, checking in that way.  We ended up at the top of the B list.  I felt bad, because I had messed this up not only for myself, but for my husband and daughter.  

I wanted to text my ex, "You aren't planning to share a bed with any of my children, are you?" but I softened it vastly to, "You haven't told me what hotel you will be at."  No response.  This happens a lot.  And it not only means, "No," it means, "I don't see what is in this for me, and so of course I won't consider it, and why should I even discuss it with you, you lowly life-ruining pig?"  This is what had happened when I had asked him nicely, months ago, if I could take the minor children with me to California to see their oldest brother get his PhD.  For being an Ivy League university, Stanford seemed to me to have picked an unfathomably stupid choice for its graduation date--Father's Day.  It did fall on my weekend, but, legally, the father can get time with the children from nine a.m. to seven p.m.  I had told him I would bring them back to spend the evening with him.  The no response I received had meant no.  

If I couldn't bring the children with me to California, but had them for half the weekend, that would mean I wouldn't be able to go, either.  So I had proposed something else that I thought he might like better: why didn't we trade Mother's Day weekend, which was going to fall on his time, for Father's Day weekend, which was going to fall on my time, and he could take the children to California if he wanted to.  "I might do that," was his entire reply, and the matter, between us, at least, had been closed.

Nine minutes into the no response this morning, I sighed and upped the ante.  I was planning to bring the children to him before I left for work, to prevent his coming here to pick them up.  You see, I do all the favors, but I do them either for my children's sake, or my own comfort, not for him.  I'm done with orbiting him.  "I'm not going to have to withhold the children because you won't answer me, will I?" I asked.

And just like magic, immediately, here came the reply. "Sorry--just an oversight."  And a picture of the hotel.  "Perfect.  Thank you.  Just one more thing."  It seemed extremely likely to me that the hotel room he had booked would have two queen beds.  That's pretty standard, and there would be four of them.  I texted a suggestion that he could have a cot brought in for him if that were the case.  I really would never bring this up if I didn't have to.  He replied with mock shocked denials and reassurances, and I was as satisfied as I would get to be.  I thanked him and continued on my way to the gym.  

I was almost there when I got this text, "I see you and I know you," which, honestly made me giggle.  Such a silly turning of the truth onto its head.  For almost twenty years, I told him everything I experienced, everything I thought, what I read and what I thought about it.  I was completely transparent, but he was so self-absorbed that he still has no idea who I am and attributes things to me that are the opposite of my character and intentions.  At a red light, I typed back, "Ditto."

But my querying about this safety issue had, it seemed, made him feel I'd gotten the better of him, and so he had to flip that over.  (Abusers don't understand equal partnerships--they are on top, or you are on top, and they can't let you be on top.)  So here came one more text from him, accusing me of "having to get 'MY' poison in."  I am not the one who introduced poison into the family dynamic.

I paused in the gym entryway to explain that it is not about that at all, it is about the children's safety, which he could hardly expect me to ignore, and, after a sleepless night, had to address, along with the reminder that HE could reassure me upfront, but he never talks to me, and so this kind of thing happens, blah blah blah, and things he should do to improve his relationships with his children and make things go smoother, and a recap of our history, and so forth and so on.  He is so good at getting me to waste time and energy on pointless engagements with him.  Then I remembered that my children would be with him in a few minutes and I didn't want him to take out his anger at me (really at himself) onto them, so I erased most of that and sent the more pithy, "Your projection does not assure me of substantial change."

I looked up at the clock and felt more anger flash through me.  I had a whole twelve minutes left to do the elliptical, and no time for anything else.  Not at all what I wanted for this morning.  I know it's irrational to think one good workout could make me thinner for the trip, but I wanted to be MUCH thinner by the time of this trip, and it would help me to feel I had at least done what I could.  So, I did as much calorie-burning as I could for twelve minutes and went home to get ready for work and get my children to their father's apartment.

We were just kneeling down for a family prayer before our weekend separation, when a loud knock sounded at the front door, just feet from us.  My impulsive son jumped up and glanced out of the window.  "It's Dad!" he announced.

"Really?"  I could hardly believe it--it was a whole thirty to ninety minutes before he had said he wanted them, yet I could.  He's not good at seeing boundary lines, and doesn't accept that he is not welcome on my porch.  "Did you see his face?" I asked my son.  He said yes.  

I had no desire to see his face, myself, and no desire to have him peer into my house at the sight of us praying, or any sight inside my house whatsoever, so I picked up my phone and madly texted, "Get off my porch.  I'll bring the children to you as soon as we have a prayer."  

We had the prayer and I opened the door.  No one was there.  No sign of their dad having been there.  An employee of the lawn company was spraying our lawn, however, and I quickly realized that he was who had pounded on the door.  "I thought you said you'd seen his face," I blurted out.  We were all embarrassed and annoyed about this, and had a laugh together.  My daughter assured me she would tell her dad there really had been cause, but I knew that I had to text him an apology and explanation as soon as I could.

So, that stressful part of the morning ended with me apologizing to their father, who had basically accused me of being the cause of the deep-seated, lifelong problems he had brought into our marriage and smashed it with.

I managed to get to work on time, and I knew that I was on the schedule to cover up front while the team who usually does that (God bless them) had their staff meeting, but my supervisor had told me that I didn't need to come in early for that, even though their meeting starts a half hour before I do.  She periodically gives me grief about that, and she did again this morning, emailing me that, from now on, she would like to reverse her policy on that.  I took a deep breath and explained that, from now on, I can come in earlier, because my youngest child is no longer attending the school that starts at 8:45, and, in fact, once school starts again, I would like to change my schedule to come in at that time every day.  I explained that I had not been able to come in early this morning because of family problems, but I had been on time. She accepted this.

So, it was not a very stressful moment when, about an hour into my shift up front, a strange sensation came over me.  It started with my upper arm feeling like it was being squeezed tightly, and flooded into my torso.  I had never felt anything like this, and my mind grasped futilely at disappearing bubbles blown into the air for the words to describe it.  Yes, squeezed seemed like an accurate word, and I noted that it was my left arm.  Beyond that, I could find no words.  I wasn't dizzy, yet I felt convinced that if I got down off my high chair at that desk, and tried to walk, I would likely fall.  The feeling was peculiar--not painful, but alarming.  Not explainable, but not deniable.  I was at a loss.  I wanted to just pretend it never happened, and, in a few minutes, it did go away.

But I know facts, and here are some of them: both of my parents died suddenly from their very first heart attacks.  They were older than I am by quite a bit, but still too young to have died, I think.  My sister, too, and she was only a few years older than I am now, I realized with a shock.  She had been unwell for a long time, and I regularly work out my heart at the gym.  But still, I should not ignore my family history.  My grandmother, too, slipped away quietly in her living room chair, giving no indication of what was happening other than the blue lips she left behind.  And a great-grandmother slipped sideways off her breakfast chair one summer morning, and HER father had walked off a train--in California of all places--and collapsed, never to get up again.

So, after my shift up front was over, I explained what had happened to my supervisor.  She did not give me grief about it.  She offered to let me get it checked out. I had a few appointments and things I had to do, but maybe I would leave after that.  I appreciated having the option.

A coworker said it was just stress, and it was true that I had had a stressful morning.  I hoped that was it.  But what if it happened again at the airport?  Or on the airplane?  Or in a hotel far from home?  Or at the graduation ceremony?  I knew I didn't want to find myself reevaluating my decision from heaven.

And, I deluded myself, maybe if I left work early, after my EKG, I could go back to the gym and finish my workout before I went home to pack.

So, somewhat early in the afternoon, I sent my supervisor the email that I was, indeed, leaving, and went up to the hospital ER.  I had tried to call my husband throughout the morning, but he was distracted by yardwork and away from his phone, so I couldn't reach him.  On my way, I called the urgent care facility to ask them if they could do an EKG, because that would be much cheaper, and spoke to a nurse who concluded, just as I reached the hospital, that that would be a better place for me to go, anyway, as they could do blood work that would show markers of whether or not I had had a heart event.  I was then able to reach my husband, who agreed to meet me there.

I don't generally have great luck in my life.  It goes along sort of like the misunderstanding with the pounding on my door this morning--worst timing possible.  And this afternoon was no exception.  The hospital ER was having its busiest afternoon in some time.  I endured numerous small annoyances and constantly reassessed whether I should be there.  Couldn't someone just read my EKG for me? I asked a few times.  

They had done the EKG right away, but had no room for me, so I spent hours waiting in the waiting room.  Once I was taken back, though, they seemed to take me more seriously.  I was shocked when someone came in to take me for a chest X-ray, and questioned it.  Suddenly, two doctors and a nurse came in with a lab technician, and, while my blood was drawn, we agreed on a plan that could get me out of there sooner to pack.  I would have my blood drawn for tests, and I would have the chest X-ray, because they had learned about my arterial tears and wanted to make sure my aorta looked normal, and then they would call me when they knew something. I could go home right after those and pack, and, if it was warranted, I would return to the hospital.

My daughter was coming down to sleep over before we had to leave for the airport at 4:30 a.m., and I had planned to cook dinner for the three of us, but I lost the time to do that in, and she also texted that her roommate was making dinner, so I subsisted on snacks.  About the time she came, I had finished packing what I could, and we talked some but all tried to go to bed early.  

By the time the doctor called me, I had almost forgotten about that, and didn't pick up the strange phone number. Then she called my husband, then me again.  By now, I understood, and tried to minimize the seriousness of the phone call for my daughter's sake.  No heart event markers were in my blood.  My X-ray was normal.  I could take my trip and follow up with my primary care doctor later for a stress test.

I had been developing a cough throughout the day.  It was feathery and watery-feeling. At the hospital, I only brought it up incidentally, but I should have really addressed it there, because I have a history of chronic sinusitis and bronchitis.  I don't have to have a cold for ten days before slipping into that state.  One sleepless night or one day of shocking stress can do it.  And I have a history of having coughed so hard I tore arteries in my neck, resulting in my being a "stroke candidate" on blood thinners and shots in the stomach and so many CT scans and MRIs that I lost count.  I should have had them give me an antibiotic, but no one, including me, was really paying attention to my cough, which was the real harbinger of trouble.