So yesterday was the first day I wasn’t on prednisone, and I nearly didn’t make it home.
Started getting light-headed on the subway which, if you’ve never feared fainting on NYC’s subways at rush hour, is a treat not to be missed. Nothing like fearing for your life if you pass out instead of just being embarrassed about the fuss. Made it back home without actually blacking out, and immediately collapsed on the bed. Boy ran out of the room, and I heard him yelling on the phone but simply couldn’t go find him to see what was wrong.
At that point, I wasn’t even thinking prednisone withdrawal, was more thinking massive infection. But there was no fever, and no cramping and so nothing to really worry me; so I just waited it out. This morning, I’m a bit better, though I feel like I truly understand the meaning of the word ‘wan’ for the first time now. I feel wan. I look wan, too, according to the boy. Actually, I think his exact words were, “Holy shit, I’ve never seen you look so white before. Are you dead?” No, I just play a dead person on tv, but thanks for asking.
So this morning, when I got up and didn’t immediately fall over, I went to the computer to check prednisone withdrawal symptoms. Sure enough. Low blood pressure, light-headedness, chills, trembling extremities. Fun times, but not life threatening. Most likely. A bit worse reaction than we could have expected, given that I tapered off an already low dose over the course of a week, but nothing too scary. I guess now we know I’m sensitive to steroids. Good to know.
And this morning I’m better, not worse, at least physically. Mentally is another matter.
Because, see, the other thing that happened last night, the thing that all the yelling on the phone was about, is that the boy chose to tell his youngest daughters about our marriage/baby plans last night. And all fucking hell broke loose. His youngest daughter has given him an ultimatum – she’ll move out the moment I announce a pregnancy. His middle daughter apparently hung up on him, then called him back so she could practice her cursing for a while. Hysterical doesn’t really begin to cover it. She’s an excitable girl. And the boy is upset, and I’m upset – beyond upset, really. Because how can I ask him to make a choice between his daughters and me? It’s not in me to enjoy what I want, if it means that other people are miserable. And how could this not make him miserable? So I’m angsting over this, and then he announces that he thinks we should wait until October or November to try again. This knocked me back a bit. We’ve already waited, er, far too long.
So it turns out he doesn’t want to have me due (as if that’s a given!) during the same general time frame that his daughter’s due to graduate from high school. So I should just wait until winter to start this process again.
I did not take this suggestion well at all. I mean, I’ve been awfully damned patient with his kids and their crappy attitudes, their rudeness, their unbearable rudeness. I’ve put up with the expectation that I should put off my life so as not to impact theirs too much. I’ve put my life on hold, put my own feelings aside, and pushed my emotional well-being to the back-burner in an attempt to make this all easier on them.
And I should put off something that cannot be put off any longer? They hate me already, and I should jeopardize the rest of my fucking life because of hs graduation conflicts? To hell with that.
Because no matter what I do, or try to do, or don’t do – it doesn’t work. Now they’re whining that they don’t know me well enough for their father to marry me. Not that they’ve ever shown the slightest inclination to get to know me. What they mean is that we are dissimilar. We’re from dissimilar cultures, educational backgrounds, socioeconomic backgrounds. We have very different values, different experiences, different ways of relating to the world. In short, I’m nothing like their mother, or like them, for that matter. And I think it freaks them out a little bit that their dad fell for someone so very different from anyone they’ve ever met in New York.
And I simply don’t know what to do about it, or if I can do anything about it. And at the moment, I’m not even feeling that inclined to try.
Because, you see, I keep trying to become involved in their lives and I keep getting rebuffed. When daughters are at dinner, the only topic of conversation (literally) is celebrity news, and reality shows. The boy wants to know why I don’t join in these conversations – well, that would be mostly because I have nothing to add that wouldn’t be insulting. I don’t know – or care – who most of these folks are, and I’m not about to start watching TV at this point in my life in order to be able to stay current with an entertainment trend I find repulsive. “Just be yourself,” he pleads. Well, I am being myself. Myself happens to be introverted and shy. Myself dislikes conflict and the vicious behavior these kids tend to exhibit at the dinner table. Myself could not give a shit about celebrity gossip, and finally, myself thinks it’s more polite not to say anything in such a situation, than to join in with what I actually think about the lame-ass, waste-of-time subject of the conversation.
I’m just heartsick, and I feel like I’m being asked to do, and give, and accept too much. I want to go away for a while. I want a vacation from my life. I woke up crying last night. Sad dreams, because, you know, I didn’t get enough sobbing done last night.
I’m cried out, I’m exhausted, I’m sick, and I’m still waiting to get rid of this dead baby.
I’d be glad it’s Friday, except that means I have to go home tonight. And right now, that sounds like a worse deal than being at work all day.
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