It's Just Aphasia She's Going Through

It’s dark. My keyboard is barely visible but for the harsh light of my computer screen. The duct pushes clean air through a sterile vent at a droning and steady pace. Other dim light reflects off of all the shiny surfaces including the dry-erase board in front of me whose only word I can currently see is Aphasia. The reflection is that of a television set on the opposite wall which is cycling through some loop of advertisement or propaganda. The curtain is only half drawn so I can hear the bustle in the hallway just past, but I cannot see what is actually happening. Infrequently there is a buzz or a beep, but none of that concerns me because none of those noises are coming from within this room. Off to my right there is a shallow rumbling. It’s melodic and somehow brings me a comfort I don’t fully understand: It’s the light sound of snoring.

I’m in a hospital.

The snoring is coming from my grandmother who suffered a stroke just over 24 hours ago. I get security knowing that while she is sleeping, she is finding happiness that somehow makes sense to her fragile mind. She has suffered stroke aphasia which affects a person’s ability to express and understand written and spoken language, and during the last day I have seen that repeat itself too many times as she was tested every two hours with little to no success. When I say success I mean that she cannot say to us what she sees in something as simple as an illustration. She cannot read out loud. She cannot say my name.

I am not saying that she is dying. I am not saying that she can no longer function in any capacity. I am saying it is likely she will never be the person she was when she woke up yesterday.

Today is the day. Every day is the day you should be grateful for everything and everybody you have in life. I have much gratitude that I was able to spend the last two years getting to know my grandmother again. I can never get back the decade that I lost to my addiction (the second time) but I will always have the memories I have created since I came back.

Much of today was spent as it should have been, surrounded by family. We laughed, we cried, and we showed her the love she needed to feel. I didn’t like how the medical staff talked about her like she wasn’t there, but found that it was actually easier to communicate about her than with her. At this moment she is talking in her sleep and even these words are jumbled. I want to fix it somehow but I know I can’t.

There’s a feeling of helplessness that I’m sure she feels. I see her trying so hard to say things but that part of her brain won’t work. I want the doctors to give her a pill or a shot that will make it all function properly again, but those do not exist. Everybody is stranded in this situation. I feel frail. I am powerless. All we can do is continue to unite as a family and show love and support.

I need to be in the moment here, but I needed to get that out. Please send your thoughts and prayers her way.

He 4

This is the fourth in a series of posts written by She that starts here, and the eighth in a series of posts, the first four of which are written by me (He) that starts here.

Finding the courage to tell the man that I had been with for 8 years that I didn’t love him anymore was terrifying. I knew deep down in my heart this was something that I had been hopelessly waiting for for far too long. I had planned on telling him in person, but it didn’t exactly play out that way. He noticed I had been acting differently and that something was on my mind. The conversation ended up unraveling in a Coborn's parking lot. We were on the phone with one another and he was harassing me to tell him what was going on. I was choking on my words, but finally managed to blurt out “I don’t love you anymore.” There was only silence on the other end of the line, but I had never felt such relief as I did in that moment. I had finally said it.

We began talking more and soon learned a great deal about one another. Our coffee daytes added up and soon meeting Wednesday mornings at the Coffee Depot was regular. I didn’t expect to develop feelings as quickly as I did, but it happened. I even tried multiple times to end what was going on and remain only friends, but I couldn’t. He made me feel safe, worthy, and special. I was tired of fighting against a tide that kept pulling me back and dragging me down. It was time to stop fighting and see where the current would take me instead.

Surprisingly, my husband took the news well. He told me that all he wanted was for me to be happy and that he understood how the pain I went through affected my feelings. We went the next few days making a plan on what our steps would be moving forward. Who would stay in our apartment and who would move out, schedules for the girls, separating bills, etc. It seemed to all be going smooth; little did I know that was all about to change.

I had told my husband about he, not that I had developed feelings, but that I had a friend at work whom I had connected with through the subject of alcoholism. I told him about his blog and suggested that it would be beneficial for him to read as he continued his journey through sobriety. We kept our feelings low key and private. I had only told a few close friends. I don’t think I was ever afraid of what people would think, but more so I didn’t want the focus of my marriage ending to be because of another man. I had a past full of reasons and I didn’t want to drag him into it.   

Then one day, my husband came home and I could immediately tell he was acting off. He corned me in the kitchen and proceeded to ask me a number of questions and said that I have 3 chances to answer them correctly.  The questions were based around He and my feelings. The conversations grew uncomfortable very quickly and I could see another person emerging through his eyes. I found out then, that he had been reviewing my phone records and monitoring my calls and texts. He even had followed me an entire day when I was out and about to see who I was with. Things were escalating to a level I hadn’t seen before and it was scary. I started to question everything and thought that it would maybe be easier to take it all back and stay with him.

He kept my head above water.

Sometimes the smallest step in the right direction ends up being the biggest step of your life.

Tip toe if you must, but take the step.

To be continued…

 

 

 

WTF WF

I know I can’t control operations at a bank, and realistically, either can the tellers. So why would I get frustrated by a simple trip to Wells Fargo to cash in my change today? Here, I’ll tell you.

I walked in with my coin jar and waited in line while the tellers went about their routine. Every trip through the line is a sales pitch there, so I normally do everything I can to avoid a trip to my bank. I didn’t want to count out my change so this was a necessary trip.

My turn was up and I approached a nervous man. He stumbled over his words.

“Um, I’m sure you are aware that, uh, we don’t have a coin counter here anymore.” He pointed at a wall where there did, in fact, use to be a machine that counted coins. He continued, “Our new policy is that you can sit at one of our manager’s desks and count it and put it in these sleeves.” He grabbed a stack of random coin wrappers and showed them to me. Somebody wrote that policy.

You’re fucking kidding me, I thought.

He wasn’t fucking kidding me. He asked me to follow him to the waiting area where he told a manager that I needed to count and wrap my change. Now, I could only think of one other option at this point: go to Walmart and trade it all for a gift card. I decided to see what would happen next.

This is what happened next:

 

 

She sat me down at her desk and told me she had an hour before she had to do anything else and I should be done by then. I? What about we? So I literally sat there for 20 minutes and sorted out my own change, put it in the coin-tube things, and rolled them all out. At a bank.

 

It seems like every time I walk into a Wells Fargo, they do something that makes me want to try another bank. Usually it's the painfully slow line, or the agonizing bombardment of questions I am asked every time I'm there. If it weren't for the questions, the line would move so much quicker.

 

"Hi sir, my name is ----."

"Hi."

"What is your name?"

"Vince."

"What?"
"Vince."

"Hi Wince."

"Hi."

"How can I help you today?"

 

I look anxiously down at my pile of neatly rolled coins and stack of dollar coins. I point to it.

 

"Ok Wince. I would like to help you with that transaction. Do you have an account with us?"

"Yes."

"Can you slide your card please?"

 

Fuck. This is the worst part at any Wells Fargo. If you have to slide your card, you will automatically be standing there for at least five minutes because the system they use is from 1948. And this is when they hit you with exciting account opportunities like their new big time cash-back credit card. Fuck.

 

"I just want to get cash."

"OK, I can help you with that."

Great, you're a bank teller.

 

At this point he methodically and repeatedly counts all of the work I have done and comes up with $89.15. I tell him he has literally just counted out $99.15 and he thanks me for correcting his error. He asks me if I would like to deposit it or take cash which I thought we had already discussed because I will do anything, literally anything to not have to swipe my card at a Wells Fargo teller machine thing.

 

I have now been at my bank for 45 minutes which includes 15 minutes of standing in line, 20 minutes of coin counting and sorting, five minutes of setup and teardown of my coin-counting station, and five minutes of a 30-second transaction.

 

"Would you like to apply for a big time cash-back credit card thing?" OK, that may not have been verbatim, but he did ask me, and so did the giant signs everywhere in the building. I said no and I was finally done.

 

Wells Fargo gave me an account when I got out of prison. I had bad credit, little money, and they had no reason to trust me. So for that I am grateful. But I think it's time to move on as every trip seems to be an inconvenience to me and every other frustrated person I stand in line with.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 



He 3

This is the third in a series of posts that starts here.


For years I hid what I went through as a wife of an alcoholic. I hid it from my friends and my family. They could always tell when something was wrong, but I was good at convincing them that everything was okay, that I was okay. I would pray that one day I would find the strength and courage to leave, but I feared that I wouldn’t be able to do it for “life” by myself.

I learned how to walk on egg shells and choose my words wisely so conversations with my husband wouldn’t lead to a fight. Those moments were always the worst; before my eyes he would transform into a different person.  He would yell, swear, repeating himself over and over again. If I left the room he would follow, if I locked myself in the bathroom he would scream at me through the door. He knew what buttons to push and what words to say to hurt me the most. He wouldn’t stop until he grew tired. This was the same behavior with his drinking. He would hide it everywhere. I would find mini liquor bottles in the sock drawers, closets, jacket pockets; anywhere he thought he could hide it from me. He would drink until he fell asleep. I grew to have a lot of anger and resentment toward him. I knew that our girls deserved better and that I deserved better.

We worked opposite shifts from one another. He would work days and I would work nights. We would see each other for a few minutes and exchange a quick hello and goodbye before I would take off for work. I would call him every night on my way home and hold my breath until he answered. If he answered, I could tell by the sound of his voice how much he had been drinking. If he didn’t answer, I knew there was a good chance he was passed out and there was no way of knowing what to expect when I got home. The drive would seem like an eternity, even though I would speed most of the way home.

There was one night in particular that I will never forget... I called as I left work like usual, he didn’t answer. The whole way home I had an overwhelming feeling in my gut, I could tell something was not right. I unlocked the door and there he was on the couch. Passed out with a brown paper bag full of mini liquor bottles, empty ones scattered all over the coffee table and the floor. Next to him was our 3 month old daughter crying hysterically in her bassinet with a blanket over her face. Our 4 year old was next to her in a tired daze watching some stupid action movie. My heart completely sank and shattered that night. I bawled as I held my girls, thankful they were okay. I would never forgive myself if something happened to my children under his supervision.

So back to HE… I waited for you to respond. Watching those little Facebook messenger bubbles pop up and down to let me know you were typing. After what seemed like minutes, you responded “sure”. We planned to meet a few days later at a coffee shop half way between each of our places. A part of me felt wrong meeting with another man and not telling my husband, but there was also a part of me that knew you could help me better understand the mind and actions of an alcoholic. I needed to understand.

That morning when I arrived (late as per my usual) you were already there, sitting at a small table outside in the sun, coffee in hand. I was a bit nervous since this was the first time we had really communicated outside of work and our daily jokes. But I instantly felt calm once I sat down across from you. I explained a little bit about my situation, you shared with me your experiences, and we drank coffee. What seemed to feel like minutes was hours. Shortly after our coffee meeting you posted an entry on your blog. That entry would forever change my life. The title, Love Your Life and at the end of it you wrote a paragraph directed to she:

If everything in your life isn’t the best it possibly can be, if something or somebody is holding you back from being the happiest you have ever been, if you can’t be in the moment wherever you are because your thoughts are taken away to something darker, then something needs to change. And every time, deep down, we know what that change needs to be. YOU have the power within you to shake things up and even though stuffs might quiver awhile afterwards, eventually you will find happiness when the toxic thing is removed from your life. Every day you have one less day on this planet and you cannot afford to cry and worry when there is so much out there to experience. Never give up. Never stop trying to find what makes you live inside, because if you do then you truly die.


I knew immediately after reading this that I needed to make a change in my life. I could no longer wait for things to change and get better; I had to do something about it! I made the decision that moment to tell my husband I didn’t love him anymore.
To be continued…

Officer Down

I missed my exit. I wasn’t paying attention because I was on the phone. I always use my earpiece when I drive because I think it’s safer, but if I missed my exit to work, there must be some side effects. I knew there was another exit about a mile up the road on MN highway 12, so I would just loop around to get off at my exit which only lets onto highway 15 from the westbound side.

Now driving in the eastbound lanes, I noticed some debris on the side of the road, but I didn’t think much of it. I continued my conversation on the phone and found another exit that would allow me to finally get to work, still on time. I have never been late (in sobriety), and this (last) Friday would be no exception.

Now travelling in the westbound lanes again, I saw up ahead in the lanes I had just been travelling that there appeared to have been an accident, and the cops had already arrived on the scene. I thought to myself that it all must have happened very quickly and that the officer must have been behind the vehicle and saw it all happen, whatever it was.

I got closer and saw what looked like a van at an odd angle up on the grass and it had a huge spider web indent on the passenger side window. I thought that probably the van hit something and the passenger wasn’t wearing a seatbelt. I said a silent prayer for whoever might be injured.

I made my exit this time. As I wound my way through the million dollar houses that line the shores of Lake Minnetonka I had to pull over several times for emergency vehicles going the opposite direction at an alarming speed. I have never seen any vehicle travelling as fast as they were, and I knew they were probably doing to the accident I had just seen, but I was still surprised at the sense of urgency they portrayed. I would guess that even on those windy roads, they were going well over 120 on the straight-aways. Huh.

When I got to work, not five minutes in, I found out that an officer was involved in some sort of a crash on Highway 12, very close by. I stated that I had just seen it, but I didn’t really know what was going on. It looked like the officer was just parked on the side of the road, but I wasn’t paying much attention to it all as I needed to make my exit.

And a few hours later the news was everywhere. An officer had been struck and killed on the side of the road while clearing some debris. And I started wondering. I wondered if any part of my chain of events could possibly have had an effect on the outcome because I was so close to it all. Was the officer behind me in the distance? Probably, yes. Could I have known what was about to transpire behind me? Well, no. And I didn’t know what was going on from the other side of the road either, and if I had stopped to help, it wouldn’t have mattered anyhow. But I still wonder.

It also takes me back to the days where I would frequently pass out behind the wheel due to sleep deprivation. Four times, in four different cars I woke up backwards on a highway or speeding off into a ditch. Four times I was lucky to escape serious injury myself, and four times I cannot believe my actions did not affect anybody else with injury or death.

The driver of the car is said to have been texting and high on cocaine. That was true of me for years while I was behind the wheel, also with no license. I was no better than her, and I am so grateful that I am not in her shoes, and although she is pretty well fucked from a legal standpoint, I hope she finds the help she needs while she is away, and I hope the family of the victim can forgive her eventually, as hard as it may be.

He 2

This is the second in a series of posts--not written by me--that starts here.

I am a firm believer that everything in life happens for a reason.  Though the timing of an event or meeting someone in particular may seem inconvenient, God has a plan for everything. I hope that by sharing my story it can motivate or encourage someone in their own life. This is a story about she, meeting he, and him giving her the courage to find strength and break free.

So where did we leave off…oh yeah, you spoke to me in French. I’m not sure what you said at that exact moment, but I know that I smiled and it felt good to smile. The following day or somewhat close to that you asked if I’d like to hear a joke. I thought to myself, so this guy is cute and funny. I don’t quite remember what the joke was about, but I laughed because it was stupid. Something you would find on the back of a Laffy Taffy label. You told me that you would present me with a joke daily and in turn I was to do the same. Day after day we exchanged jokes, laughed, and that was our thing.

While lying in bed one night unable to fall asleep, I decided to stalk you on Facebook. I went through your pictures and explored your life like a creeper (or what I could, due to your privacy settings) and right then, up popped a friend request from you. My heart skipped a beat and I pressed accept.  

The situation with my husband during this time was at one of its better moments. He was on his 4^th try of sobriety and from what I knew of, was sober. He didn’t attend treatment, but said he was attending group AA meetings, therapy, and undergoing shock therapy treatments. Now, if he did any of these I don’t really know. I carried on with life and pretended I was happy. I think I made myself believe that this is what happy was. I told myself awhile back that if I ever did decide to escape my marriage and move on, I would have to find a person that met a long list of qualifications I had created. One- he had to be sober.  Two- he had to adore children. Three- he had to be an honest and trustworthy. Four-He had to make me smile. Okay, so I guess the list wasn’t too long, but all of these things were a must. 

I clicked the link to your blog post and soon found out that you had an extensive and colorful past. The first blog post that I read was titled 3 and had an opening quote by Ralph Waldo Emerson.

Cultivate the habit of being grateful for every good thing that comes to you, and give thanks constantly. And because all things contributed to your advancement, you should include all things in your gratitude.

 

I was relieved to find out that you had been sober for three years. You had overcome many of things that I was currently dealing with, just in a different form and I felt compelled to reach out to you. I knew that you could help me. I sent you a message over Facebook Messenger asking if you wanted to meet for coffee. My heart pounded as I waited for you to respond.

To be continued…

He

This is the first in a series of posts written by She.

It’s been over two months since we first started talking, but 3 since I noticed you. I first saw you as you were walking down the lounge porch with Chef. I was standing at the host stand and found it strange that I wanted to know more about you instantly. (I hadn’t had that feeling since meeting my “baby daddy.”)

I remember the moment that I saw you in the bar shortly after. I recall the situation a bit differently than you… You walked in dressed up and wanting a job. You never smiled or looked my way the few times I glanced over at you. Dozing off from whatever work I was pretending to do while listening to someone share with you the history of the club, I looked at you, but never caught you looking back.

I always wondered about you and your life outside of Club. I figured you were probably married, but no ring and if you weren’t married, you probably had a girlfriend. I wondered if you had kids, what kind of car you drove, where you lived, what your name was. All things anybody would want to know about someone if they were curious. And I was. Each day I would look to see if you were working and most days you were. Something about you, I was drawn to.

My life was a big mess. I had been struggling with a complicated marriage and a husband that abused alcohol, was a compulsive liar, and financially was digging us into a deep hole (that I had no knowledge of at the time.) I threatened to leave time and time again, but felt trapped. I  many nights crying myself to sleep, but held on because he blessed me with two beautiful children. I didn’t want to rip our family apart because I was the unhappy one. I didn’t want to put our children through that and swore that I would give everything I had before I gave up. I struggled with accepting the fact that being an alcoholic was a disease, when I blamed him for choosing to do it. I would ask over and over again how he could put liquor in front of his family and all he would answer was he didn’t know. This was his answer to many of the questions I asked. And soon enough I just stopped asking. My heart was scared and emotionally I checked out and lost a light inside of me. I settled with the fact that this would be my life. A life of fear, worry and anxiety every moment of what would happen next.

One day while in the midst of a friendly chat with a line cook, I asked him what your name was. He replied, "Vince."  That was it; I finally knew one small, and probably the most important detail about you. Days passed as we floated around one another. Not speaking to you, only secretly admiring and wondering. I didn’t even think that you noticed me or if you did by chance, you weren’t the slightest bit interested.

One day though it happened. We locked eyes for a moment, but to me the world slowed down and stopped, just for a second. And then you handed me a sweet potato fry and mumbled something silly to me in French.

To be continued…