Was I Truly a Monster?

There is no sex in this story. It is about the breakdown of a marriage due to an unknown cause. Even when the cause is discovered the hurt, on both sides, is too much to contemplate any reconciliation. Can time heal them?

I felt like shit! No, that would be an improvement. My head was about to explode. YET AGAIN! My throat was dry. It took great willpower not to throw up. I knew I wouldn't make it to my office. I was close to home so I turned the car towards there. I vaguely remember drawing up on my drive and getting out. I left my belongings in the car.

I felt a lot of pressure on my chest. I could feel my stomach really begin to churn. The sweat was beginning to drip off my brow. The headaches had been building for months but I had never suffered this sweating or sick feeling before. They always built up and plateaued for five, ten minutes or so before waning. Whatever was happening, I hoped it wouldn't last long.

I staggered through the front door and almost fell. I was having a problem co-ordinating my legs. My vision was blurring. I was struggling to breathe, gulping air, trying to keep my stomach contents in place.

I saw a vision of an angel. It was my wife Pamela. She was all dolled up, war paint on, fuck me heels and a dress which said, "I'm out to fuck you!" I couldn't remember her ever wearing a dress that exposed so much flesh before.

She was surprised to see me, that I recognised. I managed a few choice words, "Who the fuck's that for?" before stumbling hurriedly to the downstairs toilet where I was violently sick. I don't know how long I embraced the porcelain but I wretched and wretched until I thought I was going to turn inside out.

When I managed to leave the toilet; Pamela wasn't there.

My watch was bleeping at me. I felt like someone was crushing my chest and stabbing me in the back. My jaw ached. I managed to call 999 for an ambulance.

I don't recall anything after that for almost two days.

I came too in the ICU. I had tubes attached to my throat and out my chest. I felt like I had been run over by a tank. My brain didn't function well. I lapsed in and out of consciousness. It was the second day before I stayed alert in any sense for more than just a few minutes. The nurse would lightly wet my mouth. I recognised the thing in my throat was no longer there. My voice was hoarse.

"Where am I? What's happened?" I asked quietly. That effort drained me.

She smiled, "You're in the ICU. You had us worried a few times. The doctor will come and explain everything shortly. Do you have someone we can contact for you?"

For some reason I knew there was no one to contact but I couldn't recall why. I knew Pamela wouldn't be at home. My parents and I weren't talking.

I answered, "There's no one. I've driven everyone away!" Those words shocked me. I didn't know where they came from.

The doctor came. What she said scared the shit out of me.

"Mr Deans, the paramedics found you within your home having a heart attack. You had to be resuscitated enroute here and again on the operating table. You're very lucky. You're not out of the woods yet. I'll explain more when you are able to understand more. Do you have a family history of heart disease?"

I was shocked by what she said. Resuscitated - probably explained my bloody sore chest.

"No. My dad's very fit, walks everywhere, hill walks fifteen to twenty miles without getting out of breath. Mum is seldom ill."

"Do you know your dad's blood group?"

"He's O negative."

The doctor looked worried, "Em! Is he your stepfather?"

"No. What's wrong?"

"I'm sorry to say, he can't be your biological father. Your blood type is A positive. The reason I asked was because of how your heart presented. It has a genetic look to it. Any siblings may have the same potential problem. I'll let the Cardiac surgeons tell you more."

I asked, "What is my prognosis?"

She smiled, "You'll have to take things easy for a while, build your body back up but you should be fine. We'll only know the extent of any long-lasting damage to your heart when we do further tests. You won't be running a marathon this year. Get all the rest you can. Tomorrow if everything remains stable, we'll transfer you to the HDU. There you'll begin a careful mobilisation."

After she left my head began pounding. Whenever I felt stressed, it would pound. It was getting worse. I was thinking I would have to try and get an appointment with my GP's practice to get some help with it. Somewhere in my mind, I recognised I became vile when the head screamed at me.

The nurse came back and checked me out. My blood pressure was up.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

"Just another massive bloody headache. I've been having them for months but they are getting worse. I apologise now for I can say some vile things when the rock drill is going off in my head. That's why I've driven everyone away."

She noted what I said and I saw her speaking to the doctor. The doctor came back.

"I said you had a genetic look to your heart attack. These headaches may well be connected. When you are fit enough, we'll do a Cerebral Arteriogram to establish if this is linked. It may be a week or more before you are able. I'll prescribe something to reduce your blood pressure in the meantime."

The following day, I was transferred to the HDU where I spent a further two days. The highlight -- not -- was getting the two chest drains out and stitched. They ensured I got out of bed and took a few steps. Just a few steps took all my concentration and energy. I never thought a man in support stockings was sexy. I certainly didn't turn myself on. I felt wiped out.

When I went to the ward, the physiotherapists took me for walks, all off about fifty metres and back. I think a marathon wouldn't have tired me out so much. (I've never been serious about running one so thankfully I'll never find out)

I was surprised by the lack of pain until a doctor said, "Pain doesn't aid healing."

I won't bore you with toilet and showering where I needed help.

Eight days after my collapse, I felt quite well in comparison to the way I had been feeling before. I had more energy, short term variety but I could see my complexion wasn't so grey looking. I still felt like death warmed up. The feeling was more like I'd been hit by a van rather than a tank.

The Cardiac Surgeon explained everything to me. There was also a Vascular Surgeon there as well.

"Mr Deans, you tried to give me a heart attack while you were on the table. Your condition was so serious we had to operate immediately so we went in fairly blind. We knew from the ECG you had blocked arteries but we came across an Arteriovenous Malformation which had infiltrated the arteries around and in your heart. We had to clip or remove them. We used a vein from your leg to graft five new arteries bypassing blocked or damaged areas.

"You told us about the headaches and how they are getting worse. AVM can often occur in the brain as well. We'll get a scan in the next couple of days to see the extent of any. From what you describe I believe we will need to operate or rather my colleague here who's the expert on them."

His colleague explained. It didn't sound good, but the choice wasn't good either. Do nothing the headaches keep getting worse until they rupture and I'm gone at best (my view) or severely impaired.

I had to tell him, I believed I had blacked out on a few occasions but had told no one. My mood changed so much. I knew I became an extremely vile person, a monster but I couldn't tell you what I did. I had no recollection.

He wasn't surprised. He thought he knew why but the scan would confirm. The operation would restore me but I would need counselling due to the way I acted and how I felt about myself.

I spent another four days on the ward before the scan. No minimalistic invasive surgery for me. I needed my head opened and examined. Many had said I needed my head examined! At least, I thought I would be able to confound all those I had totally pissed off by having concrete proof with witnesses that I had a heart and a brain.

The time I spent lying on my bed, I ran through everything I could remember about Pamela and me. There were big blanks. I knew somehow I couldn't blame her for wanting someone nice in her life the way I treated her. I was very sad. I still loved her but I was a monster.

Hospital provided pyjamas aren't the best, very much a hit or a miss. A nurse persuaded me to allow her to call my home and see if Pamela was there and ask her to bring some clothing and other toiletries in for me. There was no reply as I suspected would be the case. I knew there was a little clothing outlet in the hospital and a small M&S food shop. I could buy some stuff there. I had been wearing my jacket so my wallet was in my belongings. A porter took me along and helped me.

Fourteen days after my cardiac surgery I underwent the AVM surgery. I'd had no scars worthy of any note before but now I had an eight-inch mid chest and two half inch drain scars, twenty-nine-inch map of a long-lost river on my left leg and now what turned out to be five-inch round on my scalp. I was glad I wasn't bald like dad as I hoped my hair would cover it. The Cardiac guy used dissolving stitches which in my view are better than staples for coming out.

To say I felt lightheaded and shaky afterwards would be an understatement. It was four days before I could turn my head without feeling sick.

It was another ten days before I was released from hospital. Arrangements had been made for home carers to assist me for the first week and possibly beyond.

At home, I could sense no one had been there for some time. I was glad whoever had been had cleaned the bathroom. I couldn't manage the stairs but was happy sleeping on the sofa bed and using the downstairs facilities. I ordered a food delivery. The carer left me a flask of hot water for coffee. I was able to microwave ready meals for ease.

I was still easily tired but I knew I had a few things which needed done. The first was to call a long-time friend who may still be speaking to me or he would have to unless he wanted to lose my business. Declan was a solicitor. I needed to update my will and discuss divorcing Pamela.

I called his office. Norma, his secretary, was very curt to me. Obviously, I had offended her at some time as well.

Declan came on the phone, he was a bit brusque, "What's up Andy? I haven't heard from you since you told me to fuck off or you would shove an oar up my arse, broadside first."

"Declan, I can only apologise. I have offended Norma as well as everyone else I know. I can explain but that doesn't take away the vile things I did. I'm truly sorry.

"Can you come to my home and see me? I have just got out of hospital after four weeks. I'll be able to explain my behaviour to you, - not condone it. I need a new will and to divorce Pamela. She deserves someone far better than me to make her happy. I can't come to you. I can't drive for at least another two months and I'm not able to walk to the bus or from the front of your building to your office."

I heard him gasp at that. "What's wrong with you?" he asked.

"I'd rather explain it face to face. You know me I never do anything by halves," I laughed.

He agreed to come the next afternoon.

I had been going to call my boss but I was knackered, so I left it to the next day. He wasn't pleased, didn't ask about my health, only stopped screaming abuse once to tell me I was fired. He would send someone to collect the company car.

I was glad Declan was there when they came. They demanded the keys and weren't for giving me my personal belongings. It seemed payback for what I had put them through.

Declan told them, "If you take the car and Andy's belongings, I guarantee the Police will stop you before you reach your office. He'll press charges of theft against you both."

They reluctantly agreed. Declan removed everything of mine from the car and found a tracker in it. I had no knowledge.

Declan was smiling as he told them, "Tell your boss, I'll be in touch. This is illegal without Andy's permission."

I explained everything to Declan. He was shocked at my revelations especially that my dad wasn't my biological father. The AVM was over the part of my brain dealing with emotion and reason. The swelling in the veins caused the pain but also disturbed the electrical signals which meant that I had no control over what I did or said. It interfered with all the normal boundaries we have. I would have counselling to help me deal with how I feel about what I did. The biggest problem is that my mind is almost blank. I know I did and said many vile things but not what, to whom. It's like I never had film in my camera.

For my will, I explained that I would undergo more tests in a few weeks to determine the extent of damage to the heart. Being resuscitated twice probably means some function will be lost.

I wanted to be fair to Pamela. She didn't deserve any of the vile things I did and said to her. The house was mine prior to our marriage but she had made it a home. She should have it if I died. Any money should be split between her and a children's hospital charity. I would be cremated but no funeral service. I had no family or friends anymore. I had destroyed everything.

When I mentioned divorce, Declan stopped me, "Pamela's solicitor had papers sent to me on the assumption I would represent you. She had apparently given you two weeks to contact her and you didn't. She had left you a letter."

I was confused, "I just got out of hospital yesterday. I went in the day I last saw her. I haven't seen a letter downstairs. I was going to ask the evening carer to go upstairs and bring down some clothing for the next few days. I hope to be able to manage them by the end of the week."

Declan came downstairs with a letter with my name on it. It had been lying on my pillow. He handed it to me.

I opened it and began reading. As I did the tears just came. I couldn't control them.

It read,

"Andy,

Where has the Andy I fell in love with gone? The one who put others first, always willing to help. The one whose sense of humour often left you exasperated or with sore ribs from laughing so much. The one who cared for me, held me close and supported my dreams or me when I was down. The lover who made love to me and drove me to so many peaks of ecstasy. The one who was so proud to have me on his arm, who told people I was his soulmate, who wanted to have children with me.

I don't know who you have become. I've more and more reluctantly put up with your shit for the last year. It was impossible to know who you were. Normal, lovely Andy who flicked a switch to become an abusive, despicable person, almost instantaneously. You have alienated everybody, your family, friends and work colleagues.

We used to speak about everything but now you never want to hear about my day, my plans. Your verbal abuse, gaslighting of me was bad enough but in recent weeks I have begun to really fear for my safety as you have been so out of control verging on violence.

When good Andy was there, we would make love like usual. All too often our lovemaking changed to what I can only describe as rape, you only thought of your needs, including very brutal needs. Only Andy existed in your world.

After every incident, you partially apologised, you didn't know what you were doing. If I asked later, you never faced the truth. You could never remember what you did yet you agreed it was bad.

Last night, I decided to make an effort as it was your birthday. The person I had glammed up for, the person I was looking to fuck was you. All the time since, I have asked myself Why! This was your fantasy look, what you wanted.

I was nervous as fuck as I waited for you. What would you say? Who would arrive? The lovely Andy or the Fucking Bastard Andy!

I never expected a fucking drunken Andy. You've never drunk and drove. You were staggering. I was shocked but then the pure venom spewed forth from your mouth, "Who the fuck's that for!"

Those words drove what little remained of my love for you out of me. I watched you stagger to the toilet and begin throwing up. I packed an overnight case and left you to it. I was very close to calling the Police and telling them about you. Have your licence taken away to protect others. I should have done!

When I came back today to collect my belongings you hadn't cleaned up. Obviously too pissed to care! I cleaned it up to stop the house smelling. It was almost as nasty as you have been!

You are always saying you don't remember what you do. I took to record those episodes for you to watch. You will find around fifty on the computer under the file name, "Fucking Bastard Andy." See if they tell you anything you don't already know. In case you're wondering, I believe you knew exactly what you were doing.

I don't know who you are any more. The Andy I loved has gone. I'll give you two weeks to decide what you want to do. A hint, nothing is not an option. I cannot live with a person who can go from charming and funny to a fucking monster within moments. Who has no care about what he says or one who looks like violence is his next step!

If you can convince me you are serious in looking for help, I'll stay close but not with you until my Andy returns if that's even possible. If you don't seek help, we are fucking done and I will start divorce proceedings immediately.

Get help Andy, if only to save yourself!

Pamela."

I handed the letter to Declan. He read it carefully.

"Well, you have had help but not quite what she was hoping for. I'll speak with her solicitor and explain the delay. What do you want me to do?"

I answered sadly, "I don't want to contest the divorce. She deserves better than me. I would like to meet with her at a place where she would be comfortable when I can manage to attend. I can only walk 100 metres and need to rest afterwards. I need to apologise and explain everything. To let her know none of this has any blame attached to her, it's all mine."

Declan nodded, "What about those recordings?"

I looked around trying to decide what to do, "I'll watch them and note what I did, to whom. I'll contact them and apologise. I know it won't undo the hurt caused or rebuild the friendships lost but I have to let them know this was all on me."

After Declan left, I was so knackered I fell asleep in my recliner. When my carer came in to get me ready for bed, I found my sense of humour was returning. She had helped me shower. I was struggling to get the support stockings attached to the suspender belt. She offered to help.

I laughed as I told her, "I would suggest my wife wear stockings and she complained about how difficult she found working the clips. How can I tell her she was right? She'd never wear them for me again!"

Then it dawned on me; Pamela never would.

Over the next two weeks I improved. I managed to walk up to half a mile, very slowly in comparison to how I walked before. Okay, I rested at the turning point for five/ten minutes. Declan came in a couple of times a week. Pamela did not wish to speak with me.

Apart from him and the carers no one else came. After then the carers stopped.

I viewed the recordings and made my list of people to call to apologise. My call to my mother did not go well. I explained what had happened and all she said was "Karma!" and put the phone down. Like I said I didn't expect the relationships to be rebuilt. Some took the opportunity to give me some of my own medicine which I accepted. No one was looking to be friendly again. Having viewed the recordings, I couldn't blame them.

On my walks around the houses, I apologised in person to neighbours. I was still ignored afterwards. I couldn't persuade a neighbour's teenage son to help with my garden despite saying at the beginning I would pay him well. I couldn't do it. The street wouldn't win any garden awards this year.