Our Love Saga

I sighed and told him to go ahead. He removed my right shoe and sock, then cut the leg of my jeans along the seam so that I was exposed from my foot to my knee. While he was examining the swelling around my foot and ankle, he asked me what had happened. I explained about falling into a hole that I had dug myself and received a sympathetic chuckle.

"That's going to be a fun story to tell," he said. Then he asked, "What's that pink spot on your shin? Did that happen when you fell into the hole?"

I looked to where he was pointing. "No, that a patch of psoriasis or something. I saw a dermatologist about it and he gave me some cortisone to put on it."

"How long ago was that?"

"Oh, about six months ago," I said.

"Interesting. You've been putting cortisone on it for six months and it hasn't cleared up? Maybe it's not psoriasis, but some other type of dermatitis."

I shrugged and said, "Well, I only put the cortisone on it when it itches."

He nodded and said, "Even so, cortisone should have cleared it up."

"What do you suggest?" I asked as he prepared to start wrapping my foot and leg.

"If you want, I could take a biopsy of the spot, then we could find out exactly what it is and treat it with the right medication."

"Go for it," I said.

It was after eleven in the morning by the time that I got back to our house. I had stopped at the local Rexall pharmacy to get a prescription for pain pills filled and to buy a pair of crutches. Positioning myself into my office chair so that my splinted leg and foot would not hit the side of my desk, I reached for the phone to call Samantha.

I knew that she would be upset that I hadn't called her sooner, but there wasn't anything that her rushing home from work would have accomplished, which is exactly what I knew she would do once she learned that I had been injured. My call to her phone went to voicemail, so I simply left her a message to call me when she had a chance.

I sent a few e-mails to cancel appointments for the rest of the day, and then decide to take a pain pill. Dr. Currier had recommended that I try to keep my foot elevated to help the swelling go down faster, so I placed a couple of pillows on the living room couch, set the cordless phone handset onto the coffee table, and laid down. I must have fallen asleep within minutes.

Samantha's voice as she entered the mudroom from the garage woke me. She was asking why my coffee cup was lying in the front yard next to the hole. I believe that she was expecting me to be in my office while she was saying this, because when she saw that I wasn't where she expected, she called, "AJ, where are you?"

"I'm in the living room," I replied.

I heard her approaching as her heels clicked on the hardwood floor. I knew the instant that she entered the living room.

"Holy fuck! What did you do?" she screamed as she dropped her purse and ran to me.

"I fell into that damn hole this morning and broke my heel bone."

"Why didn't you call me?" she demanded.

"I did."

"When?"

"It was probably around eleven-thirty," I said. "I left you a message to call me back, but I guess you never got it."

She nudged me so that I would slide over enough for her to sit beside me before answering, "I'm sorry, I got tied up with customer calls all afternoon and never even checked my messages. So, explain to me what happened."

I described how the side of the hole had collapsed, my trek to the clinic, then to the hospital and back, and finally the diagnosis and instructions from Dr. Currier. I forgot to mention the biopsy.

Samantha sobbed, "Oh, Sweetie, I am so sorry that I wasn't here to help you, but I'm here now. What can I get for you? Do you want some ice to help with the swelling or anything? Maybe another pain pill?"

I pulled her down to hug her and said, "There's not much that you could have done besides holding my hand. It wasn't worth you missing work over, especially now when you have so much going on. Now that your home though, maybe you could change your clothes and then fix us something to eat. I never had lunch."

Chapter Twelve

Samantha tried pampering me beyond measure whenever she was home, but I convinced her that I was fine at home by myself during the day and that her missing work to care for me would only create more challenges for us both. She reluctantly agreed to go to work each day, but spent fewer hours there, opting to work more from home as much as she could.

She came into my office one afternoon as soon as she had arrived home and I could tell from her expression that she was upset about something. She leaned against my desk and asked, "Do you remember Monica Palmer from the Christmas party?"

"Of course. Why?"

"We learned today that she has stage four pancreatic cancer. Scott is naturally devastated."

"Wow, that's awful," I said. "How long have they known that she had cancer? It never came up at the Christmas party."

Samantha shrugged and said, "Apparently, it's not uncommon for there to be no symptoms of pancreatic cancer until it is in stage three or four when there is virtually no hope of curing it. Monica is declining any chemotherapy that will only extend her life a few months at best. Scott has taken an extended leave of absence so that he and the kids can spend as much time as possible with her."

"That's got to be tough," I said. "If I remember right, neither Scott nor Monica had any family left either."

"No, they were both the only child and neither one's parents are still alive. They are all the family that each other and their kids have."

"Not much of a support network for them then," I said. "That can't make it easier."

"No, it can't," Samantha agreed. "How did your appointment go today with the orthopedist?"

I had been contemplating what I would tell Samantha about my doctor visit today. She had enough on her plate with work, and now the news about Monica Palmer likely dying of cancer. Did I want to give her something else to worry about until all the facts were available? I decided that if the roles were reversed, I would want to know.

"I didn't go to the orthopedist today. It was Dr. Currier who wanted to see me."

Samantha has a questioning expression on her face as she asked, "Isn't he the GP who referred you to the orthopedist? Why would he need to see you now?"

I described what Dr. Currier noticed when he was preparing to splint my foot and leg and then said, "He wanted to discuss the results of the biopsy with me."

Samantha stood straighter and said, "I assume that the results were not completely negative or he wouldn't have wasted his time asking you to come in. What did he say?"

"He started by saying that he wanted to send the biopsy off to Duke University. He feels that they are the best place to clarify the initial test results and doesn't want to take any further action until he gets their report."

"Why? What did the initial results indicate?"

"Something about abnormal T-cell formation suggesting possible mycosis fungoides."

Samantha's impatience was evident in her voice, "I understand T-Cells from researching HIV and AIDS, but what in the hell is a mycosis fungoid?"

I pulled Samantha onto my lap and said, "Mycosis fungoides is the most common form of a type of blood cancer called cutaneous T-cell lymphoma."

"No!" she gasped.

I placed my arms around her and pulled her tight against my body. I said, "There's nothing to worry about yet. Even if Duke University confirms the biopsy results, Dr. Currier did a complete body exam of me today and found no other spots of concern. According to him, that means that I would be in the earliest stage if I had mycosis fungoides and it would be easily curable. He would refer me to a dermatologist and probably an oncologist so that the two of them could decide on my treatment."

"Why didn't you mention that you had the biopsy done?" Samantha asked with tears in her eyes. "Didn't you think that I would want to know?"

"To be honest, I simply forgot about it. With the pain from the broken foot, the minor pain at the biopsy site was easy for me to dismiss. Then, with my leg wrapped in the splint, followed by being in the cast, the spot was covered and I didn't even think about it until I got the call from Dr. Currier to come in to discuss the results. Originally, Dr. Currier and I were treating the spot as just some insignificant dermatitis; nothing worth mentioning."

"I suppose that I can understand that," Samantha said. "How long before we can expect to hear back from Duke University?"

"Dr. Currier estimates a couple of weeks at the most, but definitely before my cast is due to come off in four weeks. The spot will inaccessible until then anyway."

"Well, I guess all we can do wait," Samantha said. "I'm going to go change and then start dinner..."

I interrupted her and said, "Go change, but dinner is already taken care of. I made a pot roast this afternoon so all we need to do is heat things up."

Samantha did not seem overjoyed with my announcement. She stood and said, "AJ, you shouldn't be on your feet that much. I'm still capable of fixing our dinner when I get home."

"I just sat on one of the barstools to prepare everything," I told her. "Plus, I wanted to give you more time for the work I know that you brought home. I'm hoping that without you having to worry about fixing dinner, you'll finish your work early enough for us to spend some time together in bed before you fall asleep."

Samantha had a frown on her face when she said, "I'll see what I can do. I'll change and meet you in the kitchen, but don't even try to do the dishes or anything after we eat."

My reply of, "Yes, Ma'am," was not received as the conciliatory message I had intended it to be.

~~~

Samantha's focus on her job seemed to increase over the next several months as additional customer advocates were hired and trained. During this time, the cast had come off my leg and foot. I curtailed my travels so that I could attend both physical therapy to restrengthen my ankle and to undergo ten radiation treatments to cure the confirmed case of mycosis fungoides.

I tried to remain as supportive of my wife as I could, making sure that her burdens at home were as minimal as possible. Dusting, cleaning the kitchen and bathrooms, mopping the floors; nothing was left for her to worry about. Although I had always done the laundry, I added ironing of hers and my clothes to my list of tasks. I even made certain that any of her dry-cleaning got taken to the cleaners and picked up so that she wouldn't have to take the time to do it.

While I never denied her the opportunity to accompany me to either my physical therapy sessions or any of my medical appointments, I discouraged her from taking time off work to join me because I knew that she would feel obligated to make that time up by working later in the office or by bringing more work home.

It seemed that no matter what I did to provide Samantha with as much leisure time at home as possible, she would use that time for other purposes. We were spending little time together anymore other than when we were asleep in bed. Most of our communication took place through e-mail, which is how I learned that Monica Palmer has succumbed to her cancer just before Easter.

One Friday evening in May, Samantha started peeling potatoes right after dinner. I asked, "What are the potatoes for?"

"I'm making potato salad," was her reply.

"For any particular reason?"

"I'm going to take it to a small event that a few of the women from work are holding tomorrow. Everyone agreed to bring a side dish."

"I didn't know that we had anything on the calendar for tomorrow," I told her.

"Sometimes my calendar and yours have different entries," Samantha said. "It's like all of your doctor appointments. They're on your calendar, but never seem to make it to mine."

I stared at her across the kitchen counter for a few minutes, just watching her peel and then cut up the potatoes. I finally said, "Let's cut to the chase. Do you want me to accompany you tomorrow or not?"

Samantha kept her eyes on her task rather than looking at me. She said, "I think your time tomorrow would be better spent getting a haircut. When you're done with that, maybe you can start filling in that hole in our front yard."

The comment about the haircut was an obvious zinger, but I chose to ignore it. "Now that my foot and leg have healed, I had planned to lay the liner in the hole tomorrow and then place the stones around the edge as we had discussed. The water garden should be ready to fill with water on Sunday."

Turning her back on me to place the pan of water with the potatoes onto the stove, she said, "I don't think we should continue with the water garden. It might look good when standing right in front of it, but with it being in the ground, it won't provide the curb appeal from the street that I envisioned. Just fill the hole and I'll think of something else."

"Where am I suppose to get the dirt to fill in the hole that you insisted that I dig?" I asked with thinly disguised irritation.

"Don't know and I don't care. Oh, before I forget, I'm going to be in Chicago for three days next week. I'll e-mail you my itinerary on Monday."

"I appreciate your consideration," I said as I stood. I went to my office to get the latest Tom Clancy novel and took it to our bedroom. I was through the first two chapters before Samantha finally joined me. She didn't say a word as she performed her nightly rituals. When she climbed into bed, she picked up the David Morrell novel that she had been reading, found her bookmark, and resumed the story. If she kissed me goodnight, I slept through it.

~~~

"Can you book me a flight to Islip, New York on Friday using the miles in your account?"

Samantha usually stopped by my office before she left for work since she had to walk right past it to go through the mudroom into the garage. I looked up from the report that I was reviewing at my desk and asked my wife, "What's in Islip?"

"Other than an airport, I have no idea," Samantha said. "I was just told that it was the most convenient airport, but if tickets weren't available, LaGuardia airport would be the next best option."

"Do you need me to arrange a hotel and rental car?" I asked.

Without the slightest hesitation, Samantha said, "No. Scott will pick me up from the airport and I'll stay with him. Try to get me a return flight as late as possible on Sunday."

"Scott?" I asked. "Scott Palmer?"

Samantha simply nodded.

"Let me make sure that I understand your request," I said. "You're asking me to use frequent flyer miles to book you a flight so that you can spend next weekend with another man at his house. Do I have things right?"

"That's correct," Samantha said. "I told him that I would come out and help him sort through some of Monica's things, helping him decide what to keep for their daughter, what to donate to charity, what to toss, and so on. He needs the help, so I offered. I sacrificed not being with you while you earned most of the miles in the account, so I consider them community property."

I picked up a pad of Post-It notes and wrote on it. I pulled off the note and handed it to Samantha. "Here is the URL for the website you will need, along with my user name and password. If you want to use 'our' miles to betray me by spending a weekend with some man rather than with me, you can do it yourself."

Samantha took the note and said, "Quit being so dramatic. I'm just going to help a grieving husband and father sort out a few of his dead wife's things. There is nothing going on between me and Scott but friendship."

I ignored Samantha and went back to reviewing the report. Once she had left my office, I closed the door behind her. Of course, nothing in the report registered with me. My mind was too wrapped up trying to understand the disintegration of my marriage. I questioned whether understanding would ever be possible, but I knew that I wouldn't, and couldn't accept Samantha's betrayal and disrespect. Our marriage, our whole relationship had always felt essential and necessary. Now it was feeling like a burden that I needed to shed.

There was not much solace in my belief that Samantha had been honest with me, at least as far as I could tell. She could have lied about her plans for the weekend, and maybe she was lying about her intentions, but it would be tough for me to know unless I knew what she and Scott did behind closed doors at his house. Even if my trust in Samantha wasn't as fragile as her announcement had made it, I knew with certainty that I couldn't trust Scott Palmer to be alone with her.

It was only Tuesday, and fortunately, I didn't have a lot on my plate. It took me less than half an hour to move my clothes from the dresser in the master bedroom to the one in the guest bedroom and my toiletries into the guest bath. Once nine AM rolled around, I called and made an appointment with the County Attorney.

Russell Walker was the County Attorney for Wilson County, but he also had his own general law practice. We had become acquainted through various civic and political events in the county, so he knew who I was and was more than happy to meet me for lunch. I spent the remainder of the morning gathering the financial details that I knew Russell would need.

There isn't a great deal for the County Attorney in a small county like Wilson to do, so Russell was able to dedicate the required time to have a divorce petition ready for me by Thursday afternoon. I picked up two copies from him and headed home.

Samantha had just shaken her head in annoyance when she realized that I had decided to move into the guest bedroom. She came home from work earlier on Thursday than she had in months, and I knew that she did so in order to pack for her trip. She would go directly from her office to the San Antonio airport Friday afternoon.

I walked into the master bedroom as she was packing and placed the manila envelope containing her copy of the divorce petition on top of the clothes that she had already placed in her suitcase.

"What's that?" she asked.

I turned and headed out of the room. Stopping at the door, I turned and said, "Something that you need to review over the weekend. Get back to me on Monday with any changes that you would like to discuss."

I was emptying the dishwasher when Samantha found me. She had the paperwork from the manila envelope in her hand. "You are being an ass," she said. "Me going to help a friend and coworker in his time of need has nothing to do with our marriage."

Samantha opened a drawer and removed a lighter that we use to light the fire pit in the backyard. She lit it and then moved the flame to a corner of the documents and watched as they started burning. Turning the pages to keep the flames moving up, she dropped the burning papers into the sink and stomped back to the master bedroom.

~~~

When I arrived home Monday evening, I saw that Samantha's car was in the garage. I got out of my truck, retrieved my duffle bag and briefcase, then walked through the mudroom to drop the briefcase in my office. I had just set the duffle bag onto the bed in the guest bedroom when Samantha appeared at the door.

"Where were you all weekend? I tried calling both the home phone and your cell dozens of times from when I landed in Islip until I arrived back in San Antonio."

I ignored her and started unpacking. She stepped into the room and said, "I want you to know what happened over the weekend. You need to know..."

"I don't need to know. I don't want to know. You went away to spend time with another man rather than me. That's all I need to know, and nothing that you tell me will alter that fact."