October 4th (yesterday) was the 1 year anniversary of Mr. MLACS’s sudden cardiac arrest (SCA).
In the weeks leading up to this anniversary, I have been suffering from PTSD. A feeling something bad is about to happen would creep up on me–anxiety–around the time he was due to be home from work (which is when the SCA happened–as he was leaving work). Things trigger me…like when I hear the creepy twilight zone-esque “hold” music that I had to listen to while on the line when Mr. MLACS was in the hospital–my PCP doc and BG’s Pediatrician are part of that network and I have to listen to it when I call to make appointments. Seeing an ambulance with their lights/sirens on. Seeing a fire truck. Driving the route I took to the hospital he was transferred to, thinking he wasn’t going to make it because he looked and smelled like a corpse.
I remember how heartbroken BG and our labrador were, when he wasn’t coming home and they knew something was wrong–it tore me apart.
I was already debilitated and awaiting my total colectomy surgery. I was *desperately* ill. And I had no choice but to suck it up, pop more prednisone to stay alive, and guzzle gallons of pedialyte because I couldn’t eat and I just had to stay hydrated enough to avoid being admitted. There’s so much more but I just can’t so I’ll leave it at this…
It was surreal. It was terrifying. I remember EVERY MINUTE of it, seared into my soul.
Mr. MLACS remembers NOTHING!
He is blissfully ignorant.
While he was the one in the hospital bed, I was the one living this nightmare.
I am the one living with PTSD.
I am the one living in fear of it happening again.
I’ve done EFT tapping. And yesterday morning I established care with a new therapist. I’m trying to take care of myself and work through it. It’s HARD work. It’s time consuming. It’s draining.
But lucky Mr. MLACS doesn’t have any of this baggage.
In an effort to mark the occassion, I called up the local fire department that is largely credited with saving his life through impassioned CPR to arrange to bring them dinner and celebrate on the anniversary (Mr. MLACS is 6’6″ and at the time weighed every bit of 500lbs so CPR on him was no small feat). I cooked 3 big pots of chili and 2 large pans of cornbread, and brought store-bought cookies (I intended to bake cookies but I’m not super woman so something had to give).
And apparently, Mr. MLACS’s work bought him a cake and celebrated with him there, too.
And I’m resentful…
Because Mr. MLACS didn’t suffer the way I did.
He has a scar on his chest from the pacemaker and has been tasked with losing weight–which I likewise have been very invested and supportive of his weightloss. I go to every Cardiologist appointment. I hooked him up with a coach. I check on him to make sure he’s using his C-pap mask.
I. WORRY. ALL. THE. TIME.
Every morning lately I wake up before him and wonder if he’s still alive.
And he DOESN’T worry about me. And even when I was REALLY sick he never worried about me the way I worry about him.
I have BATTLED chronic illness for FOURTEEN f*cking years. I have always FOUGHT to stay healthy and worked really hard and sacrificed to be as well as I could be.
Mr. MLACS was glutton–he was morbidly obese and wouldn’t DO ANYTHING about it. He was belligerent and fought me tooth-and-nail when I tried to help him. And just before his cardiac arrest he was LYING to me and smoking cigarrettes at work behind my back and guzzling energy drinks–as a HEART PATIENT who also has VEINOUS INSUFFICIENCY. He Goddamn well knew better and he didn’t CARE enough about our family to DO BETTER at that time.
But I forgave him. I supported him. His ass couldn’t drive for A YEAR so I picked him up from work every day and even now I always drive our family places–which is fine…
WHERE IS MY F*CKING CAKE???
My 1 year “stomaversary” is coming up (Oct. 17th I had my colectomy) and I 100% guarantee Mr. MLACS hasn’t done SH*T about it.
And I really wasn’t trippin’ until last night when I was at the fire station and all these guys were celebrating him with the dinner I planned and made and I felt sort of…invisible.
And it hurt.
Because I’m the one who was crying over him and fighting to keep sh*t together while lay peacefully in that hospital bed.
I’m the one who’s been fighting chronic illness and trying my best for 14 years, and through no fault of my own I ended up with an ostomy.
He did everything wrong, had a cardiac arrest, and by the grace of God he survived. For the past year–ONE year–he has been taking his meds and eating better. Getting “atta boys” for every pound he’s lost.
I’ve been doing that for FOURTEEN YEARS. With nobody cheering me on.
So where is MY cake???????
I have a feeling that if I want a cake, I’m gonna have to bake my own cake. Just like every-f*cking-thing else.
And mostly, I don’t mind. I do what I want. I want something, I do it.
But it’s been a hard f*cking year.
I dealt with Mr. MLACS collapsingo pplppl/rehabbing.
I dealt with my colectomy and struggled to regain my health.
My dad died.
I have been fighting with my sister over the estate.
My Grandma died.
And now I’m pregnant, and it has been difficult.
And I’m lonely.
And…I’d like someone to recognize what I’ve been through. How hard I’ve fought–for Mr. MLACS and for the sake of our family. And how little I’ve asked of anyone.
He hasn’t brought me flowers (except for anniversary). Taken me shopping. Ordered me anything off amazon. Planned a date (he could hire a sitter). I would love some kind of chivalrous surprise. He used to do that stuff every once in a while. Now I buy my own presents. When I mentioned I want an iRobot vacum for all the stupid pet hair, he actually asked if I wanted it as an anniversary gift. I thought he knew better than to give a woman a vacum for a gift.
I know he loves me but I’m feeling neglected. I’m feeling tapped-out. I need more attention and TLC. And he is not listening when I try to tell him (not that I say much because you’re not SUPPOSED to have to ask).
He doesn’t read my blog anymore either. He used to.