Crumbling

I got sick.
Sort of sick.
And with it came all the crumbling hopelessness of sickness. I'm such a terrible patient.
Just a 24 hour thing people always say. But when you're in the middle of it, it's terrible. I went home early from work, which is the first time I've ever done that. But after throwing up 4 times, once in a patient's room, I decided not to be an idiot machita and just call it a day. My poor orientee. Abandoned. I lurched back to Jay's house, crawled into bed and shivered for the rest of the night. As a final coup de grace, at 3am, I shat myself. I made it to the bathroom almost in time, but my underpants were a mess. Fortunately it was all lovely watery mucousy stuff. I hid my underpants like a little kid. I'm not sure how hardy Jay is in the face of some of the grosser realities of life. Maybe I'm underestimating him. How horrible. I hope my patients aren't aware when they do this. I hope they don't feel this terrible sense of shame. My patient yesterday had alzheimers, and he did the same thing to himself while we were standing him up to transfer him to the wheelchair. I didn't feel very patient with him, and when he pooped, I vomited. I couldn't make it to the trash can, because I was holding him up, so I just kept it in my mouth. My orientee, a beautiful african american woman my age, hailing, of all places, from South Beach, chose that moment to ask me a question.
"Mmph mmmph mmmh" I reply
"Oh, no."
We got him back onto the bed, I quickly let loose into the trash can. Then we cleaned him up.
"You need to go home."
"I know."
"do you think that he saw that?" My orientee, Lela asks.
"I hope not, but since he's been mistaking you for Sharon all day, I think we're safe in thinking he won't take it to heart." Sharon is a white, 300 pound nurse on our staff about a foot shorter and a decade older than Lela.
"that's true. "
At Jay's, we watched Family Man. Jay cried, and I wondered if he would love me more if I looked like Tea Leoni. Then I threw up.
My fever broke in the morning and I woke up drenched in sweat, but feeling a lot better. Jay took off in the morning to go down to visit his kids. They live about 3 hours south of us. They're older--20 and 21--and things are a little strange and sad. Jay's daughter tried to kill herself last year. She was hospitalized for awhile, and now she's out and living on her own. But her behavior is still erratic and contact with her is always iffy. I've met his son, but not his daughter.
To be fair, he was really nice to me last night.
And then, after he left, I did something really stupid. I went through his photo album. It's not like it's hidden. But it got me upset. There are all these pictures of his ex--I guess it makes sense--I mean, they were together 15 years. Of course the photo album contains lots of pictures of her. But there was a card tucked in it with a picture of him with her new daughter and it said "I couldn't do it without you--and I wouldn't want to. Love, Us."
Fuck you.
And I just sat in that dirty bleak little house out there in the middle of the fields and I looked out at the grey november day and thought, why am I here? why am I giving time to this? I'm a ghost in this place, in this relationship. I don't get three dimensions. He doesn't even have any pictures of me in the house. He finally took down her picture in the bedroom last year. I'm a replacement. I'm as close a replacement to this woman as he could possibly find--with a few little improvements: I'm younger, truer, better educated, have family money and stable employment. We even have the same first name, for heavens sake. He's even making me into a climber. I just cried and cried.
Then I flipped a coin. Call him and yell? Heads yes, tails no. Heads.
Called him.
"Hey, baby, what's wrong."
"Nothing."
"Are you okay?"
"I'm a ghost," I wheeze incoherently,"I'm just a ghost,"
"Oh, baby, is this anything we can't leave til Sunday night to deal with?"
Asshole.
Well, obviously I can't tell him I've been snooping through his photo album and have decided that he doesn't really love me.
"I miss my kids." Which is true. The little bastards didn't even call me. "It's lonely out here."
"Don't I know it. It's terrible out there alone. They'll be back soon, honey, I know the holidays are hard on you, but remember you get their lives. You're just feeling bad, sweetie. It'll get better."
I got off the phone quickly hoping I hadn't dumped too much psycho energy on him. As most women go, I am not of the psycho variety. I am only rarely emotional. Usually after something like labor, or being up all night with a fever and throwing up for 24 hours and shitting on myself. So, you know.
Man. How did I get here? Choice by choice.
That's my 1/2 hour.
I'm sorry. Forgive me. I love you. Thank you.