Kate... uncensored

Shifting

It's been a year now since I really felt things change.  There had been a gradual shift inside me since the November before, when the cancer was discovered and diagnosed.  There had been another shift as I started chemo.  I felt as if my life was on tectonic plates, and I felt anything from a little movement to the earth shaking depending on what I was going through.

But last November 2nd, as I sat in a cold ER, I felt absolutely defeated.  This was no slight shift.  The world felt like it had been pulled out from under my feet.

I was unaware my husband was arriving back home after a successful interview here in Nashville.  Even if he had been local, he could not have picked me up.  It wasn't the first time I cursed the fact that he couldn't drive, but it was one of the more major ones.

The cop told me I was lucky.  After all, he only tried to rape me.  I laughed inside, somewhere dark, when I realized my attacker could have been plagued with the same impotence as my husband. 

There wasn't anyone I wanted to turn to, to confide in, to seek comfort from. 

I was lucky that the idiot cop's partner, a lieutenant in the department, was so understanding, and that he knew of my family.  He went out of his way to help me, to arrange a ride home the next morning, to take me to my car and follow me home from there.

At 6:30 a.m. when I got to my car and got to notice and skim / listen to 17 voicemails - I realized I was going to feel worse.

Because what could be worse than feeling violated?  Being beaten up and raped without (just loved my friendly cop's terms) any "real" penetration?  Feeling betrayed.  Having your husband call your parents out of worry and having your husband and father go through private things together - trying to gauge your whereabouts.

My father, in trying to help, went through letters, email, papers filed in my desk, my dresser drawers, and god only knows where else.  He called and emailed people in my address books.  He took my husband to the bank and they got the teller to print out my last few transactions. 

While he did not find incriminating evidence of my extracurricular activities, I'm almost certain he found my porn stash; he was also privy to business and financial statements I would have preferred to keep private.

Because of the circumstances, I forgave them both, but I became much more careful (and I was already pretty cautious before that) of how I left things every time I exited the house.

When you're violated by a stranger, then the subsequent process of documenting an attack, then again by those you love,  in the course of twelve hours, you find it hard to trust anyone.  You feel remarkably alone.  You notice you feel no sense of relief in the arms of the man you're married to. 

When he shocks you hours later, telling you he got the job and asking you to go to Nashville, you cry.  For all the things you feel and cannot voice, because the urge to speak is gone, replaced by pain and tears.

All Saints Day

I'm not a saint.

I've been called one dozens of times; as recently as Saturday actually.

People assume it takes a saint to be married to someone with a disability.  Sure there are times it absolutely sucked, but I always scoffed at the idea.  "Oh, you're husband is blind? You must be a saint!"

(Although, in truth, there should totally be a patron saint for those married to the blind)

I didn't marry my husband for noble reasons.

I didn't care for my grandmother, my father or my siblings to be seen as "good".

I didn't help my friends and their children to be saintly.

I like the feeling I get when I can do something random to make someone smile.  People I know and care about have received everything from flowers to groceries, diapers to cakes, dinners to tires, a massage appointment or a lawn mowed - because I care.  The majority of the time, they never know I have anything to do with it, because I don't want or need thank yous or misplaced worries of having to repay the favor.

If it beats out all the wrong I've done and my saintly moves get me into heaven - so be it.  If I knew it wouldn't help, I'd still do it.

For each person I've done something for, I'd like to think they've done something for someone else, which inside my heart, helps me. 

Eating cake

I read. I ask.  I think to this nerd at heart, it makes me feel better informed.  When I went through all the infertility nonsense, I think I read any book I could find on the topic.  I amassed a collection and read whatever applied to my set of circumstances.  I joined support groups and advocated, eventually becoming so passionate about the subject that it took my ass to congress. When the cancer struck, same thing.  I was grateful to have had access to medical journals.  I probed every connection I had to find new oncologists, better treatment.  I've done this with any big thing I had to conquer, with any fascination I've had.

Makes perfect sense that my marriage would be no different.  I've devoured books on the subject.  Originally perusing through how to improve and working my way into the books meant to help you decide if divorce is the better option. But, it dawns on me, that not many marriages are like mine.  Not that I'm special, but often the case studies just don't reflect enough of my situation and I become frustrated.

I've been told by more than one helpful reader lately that I'm seeking permission to go.  I think that's very accurate.  I listen to my instincts, but they seem clouded, so I read.  Expecting to find the answer there that I'm not getting from my husband, I keep waiting.  But after searching, I discover something.  When I think about what I really want - I want to have my cake and eat it too.  One of the more annoying cliches - here it fits. 

For a good portion of last year, things were tense but pleasant.  I had enough of a marriage and enough of a sexual outlet.  I got all the things I needed, albeit from more than one place.  I realize eventually things would have run their course, but I wonder,  would staying with a lover be such a terrible thing?

(Ducking from whatever might be thrown my way)

If having an affair can make someone happier at home, should they do it?  Probably not.  They should of course explore options, etc.  I know I'm not trapped by anything but my own volition, but I feel sometimes as if I must stay.  

Just think though, that through all carefulness, you can fly below the radar.  You can avoid emotional entanglements.  My husband is not the type to grant me an open marriage.  In the conversations we've had, I'm told that if sex is that important to me, I should leave, since I won't get it here.  Essentially, in saying "sex or me" he's made the ultimate ultimatum.  But could we manage a don't ask, don't tell existence?

Until we moved here, he never asked me where I was.  Never felt the need to question who I was with or what I was doing.  I wonder if we could get there again. Could the pleasure and the knowledge of having sex accessible make this marriage good enough for now?

Could sneaking out for cake sustain me?