Stephen Dixon - His Wife Leaves Him

Someone knocks on his classroom door. Come in, he says. Its his department secretary. Excuse me for interrupting your class, but you have an urgent phone call. My wife? No, a man. He say what it was? and she says no. Lets take a ten-minute break now, he tells the class. Youve heard; I got whats supposed to be an urgent phone call, so if Im not back in twenty minutes, lets say, or make it thirty, next weeks writing assignment and the readings from Short Shorts will be posted on my office door. Wheres your office again? a student says, and he says This building, room four-forty. Does that mean we wont be critiquing my story today? another student says. Because last week we also never got around to it, and he says I dont know; please, let me go, and he leaves with the secretary. The caller didnt even hint what it could be? he says, as they walk to the departments office. Maybe he meant important instead of urgent, and its good news; an award or nomination of some sort for my last book. Well, one can always dream, right? and she says No hint; nothing. He just said to get you. Its someone from a local hospital; his wife had a stroke while riding an exercise bicycle at a health club and was taken by ambulance to Emergency and is now in ICU. Took us a while to find out who she was, since nobody at the club knew which locker her belongings were in, and then to reach you, since shes unable to speak. Oh, geez; she only joined that all-womens club last week. Before, she was in mine. Ill be right over. Shes hooked up to tubes and monitors and something to help her breathing, seems to be awake. Darlingsweetheart, he says when he first sees her. Im here; you look fine; youre going to be okay, and takes her hand, but she doesnt give any sign she knows hes there. He sits by her bed for as long as they let him fifteen minutes an hour for about ten hours a day; sleeps on a recliner by her bed for a few nights after shes moved into a regular room. She gets stronger and more alert, goes through several weeks of in-patient rehabilitation, and comes home. Shes paralyzed on one side of her body but gets back most of her speech. Look at me, she says. Four months since my stroke. I still cant do a thing for myself or anyone else. I cant hold anything without dropping it. I try to walk with a walker, I get three feet before I feel Ill fall. Look, that was some blow you took. It takes time, sweetie, time, and you have to admit youre a hell of a lot better than you were a month or two ago. And from when you were discharged? We wont even mention what you were like when you first went in. I couldnt have hoped for anything so quick. But back to normal? The doctors say what? a year, year and a half from the time you had the stroke but Im sure, the way youre going, itll be much sooner. Im sorry Im such a burden on you, and he says What are you talking about? Im happy to do whatever I can for you. Really, its a privilege to help you, my darling. Oh, I know its not how could it be? And he says Have I ever complained once? You know me. I can be impatient and I get frustrated easily, but Ive never been angry at you concerning your condition or that its taxing me in any way or keeping me from my work. What can I do to make you believe me, get on my knees? and he does and hikes up her skirt and kisses her kneecaps, and she laughs and says All right, stop, I believe you; I just needed a bit of convincing. Thank you. So he can teach and hold office hours and do other things like write at home and shop and go to the Y to swim and work out a few times a week, he has caregivers looking after her every weekday afternoon. Weekends, if one of their daughters doesnt come down from New York, he takes care of her all day himself. Sometimes its hard getting her started in the morning, lifting her out of bed or into a chair, her incontinence a couple of times a day, cleaning up when she spills some drink or food or knocks a mug or plate off the table and he thinks, God, not again; I dont know how I can do this anymore, but whats the alternative? or looks at her and thinks Come on, youre a smart woman, so show some brains. If you know youre not going to be able to hold something, have me do it for you. Or If you know youre about to shit or piss, tell me, so I can get you on the toilet or a bedpan under you, because you just make things worse, but never says anything or makes any kind of face that shows how he really feels. All he says is something like Thats okay, thats okay, dont worry about it; this is what paper towels and those latex gloves are for. Complete recovery takes time, as Ive said, but youre definitely getting there. Each day theres a little improvement, I mean it. I wish I could see it. It takes a few more months for her to work herself up to walking from their bedroom to the living room with just a walker, and a couple more months, about the same distance with just a cane. You see? he says, what did I tell you? Although the truth is, which I didnt want to say a while back because I didnt want to discourage you, I never in a million years thought youd progress this fast, and she says I actually do now feel things are finally getting better for me. I cant wait till I no longer need anyones assistance, and then can walk without the cane. He always walks beside her in case she starts falling, which she sometimes does, and he always catches her. She also doesnt drop or spill things as much, and goes for days without being incontinent and weeks without an accident. When she does have one, she says things like Oh, dear, look at the trouble Im causing you; Im so sorry, and inside hes seething, thinking of all things he hates doing most piss, he can handle but this; its so goddamn messy and time-consuming. But after one accident, he says Damn you, cant you give some warning when its about to happen and then hold it in till I can get you over the potty? and she starts crying and he says Dont; stop it; just let me get the job done. And I didnt mean it. Ill never say anything like that again. But youd think it, and he says No, I wouldnt. It just came out, as if it wasnt even me saying it. It had nothing to do with my being on my best behavior and suddenly losing control. I know youre not responsible for what happened and you want to make things as easy for me as possible, and for a few seconds I was a total putz. Please forgive me. Okay, though I wouldnt blame you for thinking it. Just hearing it is what makes me feel so bad. She has another stroke, same side, a few months later, shortly after she began walking around the house with a cane without him having to stay beside her, but this one a lot worse. She recovers much more slowly than she did after the first stroke, goes through months of physical and occupational and speech therapy, first when shes in the hospital and then as an out-patient, but she still cant walk a step with a walker, even with his help, and spends most of the day in a wheelchair. Try pushing it yourself, he says, six months after she comes home he wanted to say it sooner but held back and she says I cant. I can barely feel the wheels when I try to grip them. I have no strength left for anything, and my speech is still so terrible that Im not even sure you understand a word I say. Oh, I understand; Im hearing everything you say clearly, and Im not being sarcastic. But just try, once, pushing. I have. Lots, when you werent looking. Maybe I need to exercise my arms and hands more, but I dont have the strength for that either. Shes depressed almost constantly. Getting up: What am I getting out of bed for? Eating: Whats the use of food? Just means more time on the toilet and all the problems that go along with that. Working on her voice-activated computer: I used to be a thinker, and now I cant think straight. And theres no project I once wanted to do that Ill ever be able to finish. Talking to their daughters or her friends on the phone: Tell them Im busy or sleeping or too tired to talk. I just have no desire for petty talk or conversation. Sex: No feeling: no interest. I know, though, how much of a deprivation it is for you. Going out for lunch or what he calls a walk: Why should I let myself be the object of other peoples stares and pity? Listening to books on tape: I cant keep up with the story or lecture anymore. Watching a DVD movie at home: They used to be enjoyable when I was healthy and had some hope of recovery. Now everything I do and see tells me how sick and feeble I am and that Im only going to be worse. When he says Come on, give me a smile, will ya? she says Would you be smiling if you were me, even one on demand? Sure, because, you know, it doesnt help either of us if youre always bitching about your condition and how weak you are and moping around all day with your all-suffering down-in-the-dumps face. Im sorry: that was mean. Shes already crying, and he says Okay, okay, I said Im sorry and I meant it. It was stupid of me. Oh, you apologize and you apologize and you apologize, but dont once more tell me you didnt mean what you said. As Ive already told you: Im a drag and a drudge and you should get rid of me, and he says And then what would I do with myself? Cant live without you, so shove that thought right out of your head. I dont believe you. But for now, just to make myself feel a little bit better and to show you I dont think of myself as utterly hopeless, Ill accept it not as a lie. He bends down shes in her wheelchair and hugs her and kisses the top of her head. She hugs him back around the waist and says Thanks. I feel better but Im not going to smile, even if what I just said could be construed as funny. But you really would be better off if I were gone and you were free to take up with another woman, one who wasnt in a wheelchair. What did I tell you? I dont want anyone else. And if anything, God forbid, did happen to you where you got much worse, theres no chance Id hook up with someone else. So get healthy, you hear? She can do less and less for herself over the next year. He has to feed her most of the time, hold the mug or straw to her mouth so she can drink, catheterize her four to five times a day because she has no control over her bladder and gets lots of urinary tract infections, turn her over on her side and back several times a night, force her out of bed at ten to ten-thirty in the morning, or else shed sleep till noon or one. Gwendolyn.