This Christmas Story Proves I Should’ve Left My Husband Sooner

It took getting sick this week to recall this troubling memory

I should have left my husband a minimum of ten years sooner than I did. It took getting sick this Christmas to remember a story I had since forgotten.

“Colleen,” says my sister. “You’ve been sick a while now you need to get to a doctor.”

“I will,” I say.

I hang up the phone.

It’s Christmas Eve day so everyone is checking in.

“Wait,” says my other sister. “You’re still sick? You need to go to see someone today.”

“I will,” I say.

Before long my other sister calls.

“You need to go to a doctor,” she says. “I mean it.”

“I will,” I say.

Three sisters and three phone calls.

I’ve promised them all I will go to the doctor. But it’s Christmas Eve and I have a lot to do and dinner to prep. A few hours later there’s a knock at my front door.

Two of my sisters are on my front stoop.

“What are you doing here?” I ask.

“Get in the car,” they say. “We’re taking you to urgent care. It’s been nearly three weeks you need to be seen.”

My sisters know me.

They knew I wasn’t going to see a doctor until I had gotten through the holiday. Despite having told them otherwise because I was the only one who got everything together. My husband didn’t help.

When the doctor saw me he scolded me.

“What were you thinking?” he asked. “Why did you wait so long to come in? You are having trouble breathing.”

“I don’t know,” I said. “I just kept going and I didn’t realize how bad it was.”

When I return home my husband is on the couch.

He’s staring at his computer.

Our children are young enough that there is a lot to get done and I want to get Christmas Eve dinner ready. The only thing I’ve asked my husband to do is to pick my uncle up so he can spend the night with us.

I try and focus on cooking but my mind keeps drifting back to one thought.

“How is it possible?” I think. “Those three people who live outside of my home have noticed how long I have been sick but the man who lives in our home hasn’t?”

He hasn’t worried once about me.

Let alone my bad habit of not noticing myself and how I keep going despite being sick. To the point where I lose track of how long I’ve had something.

My sisters know me.

The man I’ve married does not.

It was a watershed moment.

I was well aware of who I was married to at this point. He lived in his world and didn’t like to be asked to do anything. He took that as a personal challenge, “No one tells me what to do.”

Still, despite his prior behaviors, I think this was the first time I had a litmus test.

Three family members love and worry about me.

The man I married doesn’t notice I’m struggling and he sees me daily.

I should have left then.

I had justified his ‘busy self-employed man’ excuses when I drove myself home under anesthesia from oral surgery. I indulged it again when he failed to come home when our boys and I were in a car accident. And again when he was a no-show at the hospital when I had surgery.

Just to name a few examples.

I told myself most of the time he was the nicest guy in the world. That is, until I needed something or my world somehow interrupted his. That’s when all hell broke loose.

It didn’t happen very often because I generally didn’t need anything.

My husband refused to pick my uncle the priest up from his assisted living that Christmas Eve as he had promised. By that point, even I was starting to feel worse. I’m guessing a doctor yelling at me made me realize I was very sick.

It’s a painful memory for me.

I loved my uncle like a father.

He was everything in my world.

I was only five when my dad left my day-to-day life. I lost the man who used to sing to me and with me, who held my hand while I skipped beside him, and who made me believe I was the most wonderful girl in the world.

But then another hand reached down for mine.

And he sang to me and with me, he held my hand while I skipped beside him, and he made me believe I was the most wonderful girl in the world.

Everyone should have an uncle like mine.

My sister went and picked up our uncle that night.

I honestly didn’t think my family would ever forgive my husband.

And you would think the good old Catholic schoolboy that he supposedly was should have thought nothing good could come from leaving a priest alone on Christmas Eve.

But he felt no guilt.

That urgent care visit was the beginning of my getting bronchitis or bronchial-induced asthma when I got a cold or flu. I had never had anything like it prior.

Over the years, I know the drill.

Whatever I get goes deeper into my lungs and I have difficulty breathing.

I still usually wait longer than I should but I’ve grown more careful. If I’m still struggling for ten days or two weeks (again too long) I go to a doctor. I feel like I’ve managed it.

Until this week.

I got a terrible flu.

I was so sick I wasn’t going to mess around. I was going to see a doctor within the week. But it was only day three. I was super sick and I could tell I was having breathing issues.

And then I knew I was in trouble.

I couldn’t breathe well, I was dizzy, and I thought I was going to pass out.

Most people think I’ve been on my own for the ten years since I attempted to and ultimately divorced my husband. The stories above illustrate I was on my own all the years I was married.

I took care of myself.

No one was taking care of me.

I’m not used to asking for help partially because I was raised by a single mom and partially because I never married a man I could rely on. But last night I thought I would pass out before anyone could get me to a doctor.

“I’m in trouble. I need help,” I said.

Even I couldn’t believe the words coming out of my mouth.

It was a scary moment.

My friend got to me ten minutes later and I finally felt like I could breathe again. My inhaler that didn’t seem to be working must have had enough to do something.

I’m not sure why it feels terrible to ask for help.

Or why we momentarily hesitate.

It shouldn’t.

I don’t regret it. I was in distress. I needed help. I just foolishly spent too many years not asking for it despite marriage being a partnership.

Last night was a wake-up call for me.

The only good news is I no longer sleep next to a man who wouldn’t have noticed.