Idiot Ex Husband .com

Happy, happy, joy, joy!

(The following is not for the squeamish. Mom, that means you! Please close the browser right now!)

During last month’s cancer scare, I received phone calls from several people, including my soon to be ex-husband, Encdicott.

He called days before I received my test results. I didn’t answer the phone when I saw his name on my caller id. Though I was tense and worried about my health, that didn’t stop my cringing when I realized he was on the line. I listened to his message, then thought, “That was nice. It’s too bad he’s still a jackass.” Even a thoughtful call full of good wishes can’t make up for the anger I feel towards him.

These days, I feel so mixed up and upset, I can’t tell if that’s a rational reaction, or if I need to settle down!

All kidding aside, I have had a tough time recently. I was constantly stressed out and anxious, overly emotional, crying everyday (I’m not normally a crier). Leaning on my friends only helped so much. It was time to get professional help. I made an appointment to see a psychiatrist.

During the first hour, we had five pages, front and back, of my medical history to cover. Medical and personal history — a little too personal! She asked me things I never want to hear again. I answered her when I could, then reached for the tissue and held onto it tight.

After all of the formal paperwork was finished, she asked me why I made the appointment. I gave her the abbreviated version of my suck-ass life that I discuss here at IXH all the time.

I separted from my husband seventeen months ago. I’ve had my ups and downs that entire time. Last October, it got a lot worse when several stupid things happened at the same time. I haven’t been able to bounce back since then.

financial -

two people didn’t pay me for jobs (they probably never will) to the tune of two grand; at the same time, I sank four grand into my car repair and a car rental, so I could work three jobs, and only get paid on one. That’s a six thousand dollar loss on top of my regular expenses like rent, utilities, food, medical expenses. That six week period ate up all of my savings, right before Christmas. Nice.

medical -

my arthritis flared up causing me a lot of discomfort from continuous joint and muscle pain; my last round of x-rays showed joint erosion over the last several years. My doctor suggested we begin a new drug, remicade, which had been very successful in suppressing rheumathoid arthritis in a lot of her patients. It bombed on several levels!

First, it didn’t stop my disease activity, though it did slow it down. Second, I had breakouts everywhere. It sounds silly, but I was hideous! Even as a teenager, I didn’t have that much acne. I started to feel like the elephant man! Third, my health insurance didn’t cover the entire cost of remicade — to the tune of three grand! Endicott was kind enough to pay that for me. Later, he said he negotiated the price down to $500, but still! He didn’t tell me about the bill until after he paid it off.

In January 2006, I switched medications again, this time to Enbrel and Methotrexate. My inflammation immediately spiked up; so much so, that a nine day steroid pack couldn’t bring it back down. My arthritis activity eventually slowed down by April 2006, but it feels like I’m back where I started (in October 2005)!

personal -

Fall was the time of year I left my soon to be ex-husband, Endicott. I struggled with the decision for months before I finally did it. To recall that painful period again was just not fun.

This is a silly point, but there’s also the matter of my non-existant love life. Last August, with my introduction to a funny, charming man, it looked like that might finally turn around. But that didn’t work out either.

“So, yeah,” I said, “October sucked!”

My doctor was compassionate, non-judgmental. Maybe that’s why I said this out of nowhere:

“You know, people ask me all the time, ‘What happened?’ I really think we were just incompatable. From the moment we were engaged, I knew it wouldn’t work out. I knew what he was like. I knew what I was like. I was sure that after several years together we wouldn’t be able to work these differences out. It would probably end in divorce. Even though I knew that, I married him anyway. I wanted to be with him as long as I could, even if that was just a few more years…I really wanted to be wrong about this. I didn’t think I would be, but I sure wanted to be wrong…” My voice cracked, I reached for another tissue.

“It sounds like you really loved him.”

I sniffled and nodded. “Yeah, I do. Did! Did.”

She left the room, then returned minutes later with her attending physician. The three of us went over the low points. Each time, he asked me, “When did this begin?…When did that begin?…When do you think the depression began?” The answer was always October. “When did you begin this drug, remicade?” October.

In that moment, I understood where these hormonal changes began, and why I experienced these physical and emotional pains over the last several months. The flare-ups, the elephant man sized acne, the memory loss, the depression — all came from that funky drug. Sure, October would have been a bad month with or without it. But the following seven months, November, December, January, February, March, April and May didn’t have to be miserable. Imagine how bad it would be if I didn’t stop taking it in January! I’d probably be suicidal in a month!

Sweet Jeebus, I hadn’t felt this bad since I lived with Endicott. Truthfully, this experience was worse than living with him, but not by much.

My doctors and I decided on a new medication to get me through this period. It’s been a week now — so far, so good. (Except Saturday afternoon, when I felt vertigo while waiting at the left turn signal. It cleared up after four seconds, just in time for me to turn left. After the turn, it happened again. Yes, I phoned the doctor. I promise to do whatever she advises.) Everyday was less stressful, less tearful, less painful. It’s getting better all the time.

I told my best bud, Jean Luc, “Dude, it really feels like I’m coming out of a fog. I think I’m going to be okay.”

Happy pills or not, I’m almost certain my struggles with my soon to be ex-husband, Endicott, will remain the same. He will continue to infuriate, frustrate, aggitate, and just plain get on my nerves. Then, he’ll do something sweet, thoughful and heartfelt that touches me; only to f*ck it up by returning to his usual jackass ways.

I guess some things never change.

Adios,
Flo