Flipping the Bird


Follow the story. 
Read the previous entry here.
Just to recap: 

In the wake of canceled yoga and Divine intervention, I had caught Mr. Scabs red-handed.  I make an appointment with our shrink, Bill, for advice.  With a sad heart, Bill agrees that divorce is the only choice for a woman who loves herself.  And, I do, I do love myself.  It's the most impossible decision, but I draw the divorce papers.  I separate our lives and quantify our contributions.  More than all the infidelity wrapped up into one terrible gut punch, I hate the fact that our divorce will be the crux, the turning point, the stinking needle.  That this moment, this decision will play out heavily in our children's lives.  I understand that they will pay the greatest price for our decisions.  That guilt burns the tears out of me each night as I lie awake instead of sleeping.


November 2011

His incredible selfishness, apathy, addictive nature and attitude of immunity has changed everything.  everything.

I like the way my middle finger can stick straight up, so when I flip the bird it feels like an exclamation point!  A big old "F" you exclamation point.  I'm not usually an F-word kind of girl, but like my therapist says, there's no other word to describe what's happened.

Anxiety seems to be knotting off the opening to my stomach.  I can't eat, sleep or breath.  Before submitting the Dissolution papers to the court, I need to get away.  I need to be alone.  Clear my mind and unknot all my anxiety.   I need to eat again, and sleep, and breath and welcome my new life as single mother, divorcee. 

Before I walk toward airport security and TSA, Mr. Scabs accuses me of leaving town for a sultry affair.

Raising my middle finger, I flip a perfectly straight bird.  An exclamation point!

I'm healthy.  I exercise.   I eat broccoli.   I floss my teeth.
I boarded that plane in compete health.
The flight home was terribly different.

That first morning, while the hot water showered my skin I felt a deep heavy cramping in my right thigh.  Had I pulled a muscle?  I couldn't massage it away.  Stumbling from the steamy shower, I reached for Ibuprofen, then the Icy Hot, nothing worked.  The cramping crescendoed like a million wild mustangs running across my thigh.  Their hooves denting my damp skin and crushing the muscle beneath.  I cried out loud as the unrelenting pain brought me to my knees.  Forcing myself to stand, I clench the edge of the dresser.  Walk it off, I tell myself, walk it off.  bewildered at why the pain wouldn't subside i fling myself to the bed and manage to climb under the covers soaking wet and naked.  Shampoo still in my hair from the shower.

The pain was almost intolerable, my thigh and calf crushing into charlie horse spasms that suck the breath from my lungs.  Just like I wanted, my mind was clear and the anxiety unknotted.  NOTHING could co-exist with this pain.

By the third morning, a sheer outburst of adrenalin pushed me to throw my bags together and get to the airport and back on the plane to Arizona.  Tears in my eyes as I ferociously hobble myself through the front door.  Like a maimed wild animal, I howl down the hallway and with one muscular contraction my good leg flings my entire body across the room and onto my bed where I curl up in agony.  Whimpering through my pain.  My plans to submit the divorce papers, forgotten.

Doctors poked me, prodded me asked me every question under the sun.  All tests came back inconclusive.  My right leg was crippled.  Besides the intense pain, I couldn't walk and it was getting worse with each day.   They issued me enormous amounts of narcotics and sent me to specialists and physical therapists.  I needed full time care.

I am blessed with the most beautiful, loving, gracious, kind friends who fed me, cleaned my house, brought me books, car-pooled my children and even helped wash my hair.  I am forever taken by the sweetness of their generosity.

But, there was the hopeful Mr. Scabs waiting silently in the wings.  And, it was his beautiful, loving, gracious kindness that changed everything.  everything.