by Renee Dyer
Stomping up the stairs, I head for my bed, feeling a Chiari headache coming on. I still remember the first time I tried explaining the difference between a Chiari headache and a plain ol’ run of the mill one to Nick. He thought I was nuts. If you’ve never lived through it, it’s hard to make people understand the immense pain that throbs in the back of your head and travels through your neck. When I told Nick about it and he asked how that was different from a neck ache, I seriously wanted to junk punch him. The difference is the pain doesn’t stop in the neck. It radiates into your back and through your arms, making you feel incapacitated. It flows up your head and into your ears and eyes, it’s all encompassing.
I know better than to get this stressed out.
It never ends well.
I lay down on my left side and prop my head at just the right angle. It’s the only way I can get any kind of relief for my head and spine. People in my life think Chiari only affects my head, but they forget the cerebellar tonsils invade my spinal column, leaving me with constant backaches. I want to give up trying to explain this sometimes. There are some who still don’t understand why a second surgery was necessary. The first one should have cured me. I want to scream whenever I hear that.
There is NO cure for Chiari. These are the thoughts I have as I let my body relax, my eyes close, and allow myself to nap.
The bed dips beside me, startling me from sleep. I shoot to a sitting position, instantly regretting it as a wave of dizziness hits. Eyes clamped shut, hands gripping my head, I let it pass before turning to look into Nick’s forlorn eyes. I reach out to touch him, guilt eating away at me over screaming at him, but he pulls away.
“Was it all to impress Gabe?”
Huh? What the hell is he talking about?
“Did you have to show him you could be his superstar? Work harder than all his other patients? Make yourself stand out? What were you trying to prove, Brenna?”
The accusation in his voice brings all my anger back with a ferocity so strong I’m afraid for the first time, I may strike my husband. “Get out!” The words bellow through the room, echoing back at me.
His head whips back like I actually hit him. “Excuse me? You’re cozying up to your therapist and you tell me to get out?”
Silence, louder than any thunder storm thickens the air, warning of the impending damage. Seconds tick off as the air swirls dangerously. Eyes shifts, breaths heave, words hang in the air.
“If that’s what you really think, then I will leave.” Standing from the bed, I go for my dresser and waste no time pulling clothes out and throwing them at him, fury overriding thought. “Eight years, I have loved you with EVERYTHING I have. Eight goddamn years and you’re willing to throw it away because I drove my fucking car. You know what, Nick? Fuck you!”
In my heart, I know I should fight for him—for us—but I don’t have it in me right now. I’m exhausted. Trying to heal, being on point all the time for people visiting, showing them I’m getting better, is breaking me down. I am getting better, but they want me to be the person I was—now. I’m just not there yet. I may never be. No one wants to hear that.
Then, there’s Nick, and the ones like him who want me to stop moving forward. They can’t accept that I need to heal. Instead of congratulating my successes, they make me feel guilty for the pain they endured. It’s a constant battle on my emotions.
I’m done.
If he can’t let me heal, then I need to not be here. I need to go where I’m being supported.
“Fuck me. That’s funny, Bren, since you won’t let me touch you.”
His words stop me mid-throw, a handful of underwear in my clenched fingers. I didn’t think I could ever feel hatred toward Nick, but in this moment, a small corner of my heart shrivels up, and I don’t know if it will ever love him again.
“Why aren’t you touching me, Nick?”
“Because another man is”
I shake my head and turn my back, a tear slipping down my cheek. If he believes that about me, then we have nothing left. He knows I was cheated on by the last two men in my life and those scars left me bitter. Scars. Ironic since they are what brought us to this split.
“Can’t even deny it, can you?”
I don’t turn around when I answer. He doesn’t deserve that respect anymore. “I shouldn’t have to. The man I used to know, the man who loved me, knows who I really am.” I go back to pulling clothes out, but I no longer throw them at him.
“Don’t you turn this around on me, Brenna!” he hollers.
“Nope. Guess it’s all about me,” I answer sadly. And it is. I have Chiari. I had surgery. It went wrong and I got very sick. Everyone around me thought I was going to die, and they suffered. Now, no one can go back to normal. It is all about me. “My mom will come get my clothes,” I whisper. I can’t be here anymore. My heart is shattered and I need to be with the one person who will comfort me.
“You shouldn’t be driving,” he barks out.
“What the fuck do you care?” I explode, railing around on him. “You believe I’m fucking my physical therapist. You’re an asshole, Nick! You should know me! I was an emotional wreck when you met me because of cheating pricks—exactly what you’re accusing me of. I can’t believe you think I would be like that. Like them! I despise fuckfaces who choose to hurt people like that. What have I always told you? If you’re ever going to cheat on me, then leave first. Don’t add insult to injury. You know how I feel about this shit! How could you think I would do that?” I ask, my fight deflating on my last question as the meaning in those words finally sinks in.
Nick has lost his faith in me. This is no longer my home. My sanctuary. My hope in us finding each other dies as I start to walk out of the room.
“I never really thought you did,” he says softly from behind me, “but listening to you talk about another man helping you when I couldn’t…talk about how he has a daughter our son’s age…” His words make my steps falter. “All week, I hear about Gabe this and Gabe that. It got to be too much.”
“So you accuse me of sleeping with him? How the hell did you think this would play out, Nick?” I ask over my shoulder. I’m trying to understand what the hell is going through his mind, but I’ve got nothing. He’s usually so logical, but I can’t see where he thinks this is rational in any way.
“I don’t know. I just needed you to fight for me. I needed you to say you want me!”
“When have I ever not wanted you?” I reply, fully turning back to him.
“You haven’t wanted me in months.”
“All of this because we haven’t had sex? Are you kidding me?” I try not to be angry, but this is unbelievable. He’s putting this all on me. Does he not see what he’s done? The ways he’s made me feel unattractive.
“Sex is a big deal to guys, Bren. I could lie and say it isn’t, but I won’t. And it’s more than that. We barely kiss. You don’t even sit next to me on the couch. I needed to get through to you somehow.” His dark eyes apologize in a way his words can’t. I’m still mad, but I’ve lost my fight.
“This wasn’t the way.”
“I know.”
A car door closing stops anything else he would have said. His mouth starts to open, but I shake my head. “I don’t want to talk about anything else today. Our little boy needs us. He’s gone through enough. I can’t face your mom right now, though. Can you tell her I’m lying down?”
He nods, and as he walks by me, he kisses my cheek. I don’t stop him, but I don’t embrace him either. There’s too much turmoil in my heart to allow myself to let him in. When he’s gone, I head for our bed and try to get comfortable. Tears want to come, but I force them back. I’m tired of being weak. Somewhere in me is the tough woman I used to be. In the position I’ve become accustomed to lying in, when I need relief from pain, I listen to Nick tell Janice where I am. Hear as she says how much she hates what has happened to me. I’ve heard this too many times, from too many people. I try to listen to what else they’re
saying, but a little face pops up in front of me.
“Hi, Mommy. Are you sick?”
“No, peanut. I’m just resting.”
“Are you tired?”
“A little bit,” I say with a smile. I adore this kid. “Did you have fun with Memére?”
“Yeah. She took me to Booga King.”
I giggle at the joke between us. When I first started feeling better, Janice brought him to lunch there one day. He was excited to come home and tell me he had a cheeseburger, but he was mad Memére cut it in pieces. He wanted to hold it like the other big boys there. I told him she did that because she was looking for boogers. He giggled, but I said it was true. It wasn’t a pickle he was eating, it was really a giant booger. Ever since, he’s asked to go to ‘Booga King’ for lunch every couple days.
“Were the boogers yummy today?” I ask around a grin. His smile gets big and he climbs onto the bed with me. I blow a raspberry on his cheek and we both laugh. The worries of my day start to melt away, lost in the happiness brought on by a few minutes in Brady’s presence. If only all of life’s problems could disappear by joking about mucus with little boys.
Chapter Fifteen
Nick
For weeks, Brenna and I have tried to move beyond the tension in our relationship. She’s about to finish physical therapy. I should be ecstatic for her accomplishments, but I’m not. The stronger she gets, the more she pulls away. Every step she takes toward healing means she’s one more step toward regaining her freedom from me. In a couple weeks, she starts back at work. It’s just a part-time job, but I understand how hard she works at everything. If she wants out of our marriage, she’ll make it happen.
I have no one to blame but myself for her distance. What did I think would happen when I accused her of sleeping with her physical therapist? I wasn’t thinking. I’m not a man who acts on emotion, but it all got to be too much. When I called home and she was driving, the worry that she wasn’t ready made me insane. I lost my focus. Weeks of being scared for her life rushed back at me in seconds. The screen swam in front of me and I had to rush to the bathroom, barely making it there before I threw up my breakfast. All the bad decisions I made, the anger at myself, my failure to protect her, barreled down on me, and I had to leave work before I lost it in front of my co-workers.
My mom had no idea I was coming home. I startled her when I walked through the door. She could sense there was something wrong, but my mood must have stopped her from asking. Instead, she stayed sitting on the floor, building blocks with Brady. Even his smile and watching him play couldn’t bring me out of my funk. When he started asking when Mommy would be home, over and over, I felt my blood start to boil. I snapped at my mom, demanding she take him somewhere. She should have told me to go to hell, but she didn’t. She gave me a look that told me she understood and packed a bag for him. In a few minutes, they were headed out the door, leaving me alone with my turbulent thoughts.
I wasn’t pissed at Brenna, but I took it out on her. I didn’t mean anything I said. I don’t even know where the thoughts came from or why I got so insecure. I’ve never been jealous before. Brenna and I aren’t that kind of couple. We don’t do jealousy or yelling or telling each other to leave—nothing that’s happening with us…is us.
I’ve tried doing the romance thing, but I don’t have a romantic bone in my body. It’s not logical. I’ve researched what other people think is romantic online. I’ve sent flowers until our house looks like a florist shop. She had to ask me to stop because her allergies started acting up, but she said they were beautiful. I think she really did like them because she hugged me and held on a while each time. It’s the most contact we’ve had with each other in weeks. I bought chocolates and made her dinner. The earrings I bought, I had Brady give her with a note about how her smile sparkles brighter than any diamond. It seemed corny to me, but she kissed me that night.
These little things have just been that—little things. We haven’t reconnected. There’s still an ocean between us. We’re stranded on distant islands with no hope of rescue ships to bring us back together. Every time I think I see something in the horizon, it fades along with my hope that something else will come along. I’m not sure how much longer we can go on like this.
I’m on my way to Eli’s. Even though she’s been telling me to go for the last few weeks, it’s the first time I’m leaving Brenna alone. Guilt is a bitch. I don’t feel I deserve it. I’m not sure I ever will. Earlier, she kissed my cheek, reminded me she has girls’ night out next weekend, and told me to enjoy my time. I wanted to feel her joy, but we used to always go out together. It’s another reminder of how divided we are.
Eli opens the door, offers his hand, and asks me what kind of beer I want. We have a quick debate over whether to play Halo 3, Call of Duty 4, or Bio Shock. Halo wins and like that, our night of geeking out starts. Unlike women, there is no need to spend hours dressing up. I threw on jeans, my I’m tired of being my wife’s eye candy t-shirt, some kicks, and I was out the door. Why do ladies make it so complicated?
After a couple hours of us jumping and screaming, making louder noises than the shooting on the TV, we decide to stop and grill up some ribs. Eli had pre-cooked them for a couple hours in the oven earlier so they just needed to be heated. I’m salivating just thinking about how good they’ll taste. Those bad boys are going to fall off the bone.
Brenna was right. I did need this.
“Where’d ya go, man?” Eli asks. “You look like I kicked you in the nuts.”
“Sorry. Just thinking of Bren.”
“Shit. I thought she was doing better.” Concern crosses his face and I feel like an asshole.
“She is.”
“What’s with the puss face then?”
“It’s nothing,” I say, wanting this conversation over. For a few hours, I’d like not to think about the shit my life has turned into.
“Bullshit. What’s up, dickwad?”
“Nice, asshat. You’re so comforting. Makes me want to open up and expose my inner feelings.” I shake my head as he laughs.
“I never said I’d hold your hand. You’re not my type. But, seriously, are things alright with Brenna? Is her head okay?”
“Physically, she’s doing great. Getting better every day,” I answer, a little hostility in my tone. I’m sure he hears it, but I honestly don’t care anymore. “I’m pretty sure she’s going to leave me when she’s fully healed.”
“You’re fucking with me. Brenna adores you,” he says, slapping me on the shoulder. It’s meant to be reassuring, but he hasn’t seen what I have.
I shrug, not wanting to ruin our night. “Let’s hope you’re right.”
“I know I am. You two are the couple everyone hates to be around. You’re too damn cute for the rest of us.”
“You mean we’re too damn good looking,” I taunt, needing a reprieve from the seriousness of it all.
“She is, you ugly bastard. How the hell did you ever get her?”
“I ask myself that every day,” I answer as we both laugh and grab another beer.
He has no idea how true that is. The question now is, how do I keep her?
Chapter Sixteen
Brenna
“Why don’t you treat me like I’m broken?” Lunch with mom has been quiet, other than Brady smacking around in his high chair. He’s a welcome distraction to my chaotic thoughts.
“I don’t see you as broken, sweetheart. I see you as healing.”
Just like mom to say what I need to hear. I swallow loudly and look at my sandwich as I ask, “Why can’t everyone see me the way you do?”
She chuckles and I wish I could feel her humor, but I’m sad. It’s been months and people still follow me around with their hands out like I’m a toddler just learning to walk. I’m going back to work in a few days, only have two weeks of physical therapy left, and I freaking walk four miles a day while pushing a damn stroller with my kid in it. What more do I need to do to show them how well I’m doin
g?
“Life would be boring if we all thought alike.”
“I guess,” I sigh. “I just wish it didn’t bother me so much.”
“You can’t change how others think, but you can change how you react. Since you seem so bothered, why don’t you tell your mother what’s going on in that head of yours? You aren’t yourself today.”
“Want one, Memére?”
Brady’s timing is perfect as he holds out a strawberry slice to her. “Be the monster,” he squeals, scrunching his face in delight. He never gets tired of this game and no one can ever deny him. Who would be able to say no to those big brown eyes and his smile?
I’m certain my issues have been forgotten in playtime, but my mom peers over her shoulder, and says, “Spill.”
Appetite gone, I push my sandwich away and sit for a minute before I speak. “Nick wants me to sue.” I leave the sentence hanging there, unable to say anymore. What else is there to really say?
“How do you feel about this?”
“That’s all you want to know? You don’t want to hear how other family members are pushing for this, too? Friends, people who shouldn’t even be asking? Everyone seems to have a goddamn opinion. I’m actually surprised you haven’t asked. Why haven’t you, Mom?”
She looks at me, compassion flooding her hazel eyes. Eyes so like mine. “It isn’t my place. If this is a decision you and Nick make, it needs to be made because it’s right for you, not anyone else. So, why don’t you tell me how you feel.”
I breathe for a minute, hating that I got worked up so easily. It happens too often lately. It seems everything sets me off. “I don’t want to do it.”
“Have you told Nick that?”
“Yes.”