To start from the beginning of the #111 story, see (in this order) Could it Be?, It's Not Him, It's Me, The Recovery, We're Just Not That Into Each Other, The Continuation, The Curse is Broken, Unfortunately, The Make-Up Date, The Phone Call, The Negotiation, Dates 9 Through 12, Dates 13 Through 15, The Public Sex Talk, Bridging the Chasm, The Shut Down, All Kinds of Good, Meeting the Friends, Part 2, Hamptons Getaway, Day 1, Day 2, Day 3, Day 4, Happy Birthday to Me, The Drunken Text, Jeckyl and Hyde, The Layoff, One-Man Show, A Boy in Man's Clothing, The Doctors Visit, Giving Him the News, The Appointment and The Sad Ultrasound for the background on this one.
My State of Mind: Allow me to briefly describe the kind of state I was in during the period between when I saw #111 for appointments: I was barely functioning. Unable to put things away or clean, my apartment was in tatters. Going outside was painful. Being at home was painful. I didn't even have the attention span to watch a movie, and certainly not to read a book. If I did attempt to watch a movie, I could only watch it on my laptop with it directly in front of me. Even then, my mind wandered, or I'd start to cry, or I'd desperately want to cry but be unable to. I was alternatingly numb and distraught, completely dried up with misery and unable to understand how he could just walk away. As I said several times during the breakup: "You didn't even give it a chance."
The Between Time: The day after the ultrasound, I was so unhinged I went to see my old therapist. I hadn't been there since January, so I had to quickly catch her up. The short of it, as I yelled then cried then yelled again: I didn't want to be done with him. She suggested that I tell him I want us to be friends as we go through this and that I was concerned about him and how he was because he was going through this, too. I have to admit: Up until this point, I and everyone I talked to was so concerned about whether or not he was treating me right (which he was and wasn't) that it never even occurred to me to see how he was doing with this accidental pregnancy thing.
My shrink asked if there was anything that I could ask him to. I mentioned the New Yorker Festival and then texted him, composing it in her office, asking him if he still wanted to go and saying I'd like it if he would come because I thought he would enjoy it. He texted me a few hours later, guardedly declining. I said I wanted to be there for him as he had been for me. He wrote back sounding a little softer but said that he wouldn't have been able to go anyway because he had taken a later shift at Housing Works. That made me feel a little calmer but I was still desperate to clear my conscience (had I been selfish?), so I asked if I could take him out for lunch to see how he was doing. He said we could talk later about that. I knew it was unlikely I would hear from him but felt better for trying.
The next night I had a horrible, admittedly twisted, realization. Lying in bed, going over the details of the breakup and subsequent pregnancy for the twelve-zillionth time, it suddenly occurred to me: Would he have stayed and tried to work on things if I'd said I wanted to have the child? I met Allison out for breakfast the next morning. "Probably," she said. Even though that would have been horribly manipulative and not at all what I really wanted, all I felt was anguish that I hadn't thought of it earlier--or, perhaps some subconscious wisdom prevailed. Either way, I had completely lost my mind. Nora had to talk me down. "I think you dodged a bullet," she said. "This is who he is. He's not capable of an adult relationship. He's not evolved."
That night, overcome with massive abdominal pain and all of its bloody details, the reality of the situation hit. I had never felt a maternal urge, but an unfamiliar regret was bubbling to the surface. I felt awful. Curled up in bed in physical agony (welcome relief from the relentless emotional kind), I was glad that the pregnancy was never viable because if ending it had been my decision, I may have regretted it.
I felt like he should know what was going on and emailed from my phone, underneath my covers, to tell him. He called me about an hour later to ask if I was OK. At that point, I was delirious but said I was OK (Heidi later told me they usually give out prescription painkillers for this sort of thing).
"I think it's getting better," I said. Then I asked him how he was.
"I'm OK," he said. "Just doing laundry."
"Strong" #111 was back. He asked when my next appointment was and I said maybe I could take him out for breakfast after. He said we could talk about it later. I knew that for him--being "strong" and all--not saying "no" meant "yes."
I figured I wouldn't hear from him until just before Wednesday, but he surprised me by emailing me Monday night to see how I was doing. I asked how he was and he said he was keeping busy, which, for him, was revealing. The night before the appointment, I was on edge. My shrink had recommended we just talk about "all the things we don't have in common"--in reference to the ridiculous statement he'd made the week before about us not having anything in common. But I also needed to ease my mind, say some things I should have said months before. I wanted him to see why we'd been together in the first place, thinking it would make a difference, still thinking the breakup had something to do with me.
Diagnosis: For him: The open, vulnerable #111 that I witnessed for about 30 minutes the week before is gone again but...
For me: ...I keep believing the open, vulnerable #111 will return. I saw it, it exists. Otherwise, in even thinking to use the pregnancy in an effort to keep him around was a low point, one to which I hope I never return. I'm just glad I didn't think to act on it when it would have mattered. Between that and the state I'm in, clearly, I have lost my mind.
Tuesday, October 5, 2010
Thursday, September 30, 2010
Mr. Unavailable #111: The Sad Ultrasound
See Could it Be?, It's Not Him, It's Me, The Recovery, We're Just Not That Into Each Other, The Continuation, The Curse is Broken, Unfortunately, The Make-Up Date, The Phone Call, The Negotiation, Dates 9 Through 12, Dates 13 Through 15, The Public Sex Talk, Bridging the Chasm, The Shut Down, All Kinds of Good, Meeting the Friends, Part 2, Hamptons Getaway, Day 1, Day 2, Day 3, Day 4, Happy Birthday to Me, The Drunken Text, Jeckyl and Hyde, The Layoff, One-Man Show, A Boy in Man's Clothing, The Doctors Visit, Giving Him the News and The Appointment for the background on this one.
Just one day after the door incident, I had an appointment at NYU for a more detailed ultrasound in the ongoing hunt for the missing embryo that could kill me. #111 had replied to my email the day before saying he'd still like to go to my next appointment with me, so I told him where and when. He was 15 minutes late--and he was never late, so, clearly, he was making a statement. He didn't apologize or anything when he walked in. I had gone to The Strand that morning and was reading an E.L. Doctorow novel in preparation for a New Yorker Festival panel discussion the next day--a discussion featuring Doctorow, Annie Proulx and Peter Carey that I had originally gotten the two of us tickets for. Clearly, I was making a statement, too.
We had nothing to say to each other. I started to put my book away and he said, "You can keep reading if you want to." So I did, and he got out his cell phone and was laughing as he texted or emailed someone, which bothered me to no end because, naturally, it made me wonder who was on the other end.
Finally, they called us into the examining room and I got undressed and up on the table. I learned from the day before to throw vanity out the window. The first technician came in and did one ultrasound. Again, it hurt--not only from pain but also from fear and #111, who was sitting in a chair next to me, put one arm over the top of my head and held my hand with the other. I squeezed his hand harder every time the technician hit a sensitive spot, digging my nails in just a little bit for my own gratification.
When the technician finished, she said it looked like it was in the cervix, which was a very bad place for it to be. "They did the right thing yesterday in giving you the pill and injection," she said. "They did a very good thing." When she left to get the doctor, I said to #111, "It's ironic that I don't even think I want a kid and this one could have killed me."
Then the doctor came in--an older doctor with a poor bedside manner who was not shy about jamming the ultrasound wand in. More hand squeezing, more nail digging. He had a more tempered diagnosis and told us that it may have miscarried on its own and been on its way out by the time they gave me the drug. "But we'll never know for sure," he said. "Either way, you're fine. This kind of thing happens all the time. With the next one, there will be no problem." That was the twenty-zillionth painful layer to this whole scenario: Everyone we came into contact with didn't know we weren't together.
On our way out, #111 said he was getting a bagel and asked if I wanted to get one, too. "Ess-a-Bagel?" I asked. That was the plan, he said. Sadly, we were always on the same page. It was raining a little and we walked together downtown. The conversation was light--this movie, that movie, Guy-Ritchie-is-a-one-trick-pony, oh-isn't-the-Ess-a-Bagel-decor interesting, teasing me about losing my keys... that sort of thing. Back outside, we were going in different directions, so we gave each other a sad little hug in the rain.
Diagnosis: Sad. Just sad.
Just one day after the door incident, I had an appointment at NYU for a more detailed ultrasound in the ongoing hunt for the missing embryo that could kill me. #111 had replied to my email the day before saying he'd still like to go to my next appointment with me, so I told him where and when. He was 15 minutes late--and he was never late, so, clearly, he was making a statement. He didn't apologize or anything when he walked in. I had gone to The Strand that morning and was reading an E.L. Doctorow novel in preparation for a New Yorker Festival panel discussion the next day--a discussion featuring Doctorow, Annie Proulx and Peter Carey that I had originally gotten the two of us tickets for. Clearly, I was making a statement, too.
We had nothing to say to each other. I started to put my book away and he said, "You can keep reading if you want to." So I did, and he got out his cell phone and was laughing as he texted or emailed someone, which bothered me to no end because, naturally, it made me wonder who was on the other end.
Finally, they called us into the examining room and I got undressed and up on the table. I learned from the day before to throw vanity out the window. The first technician came in and did one ultrasound. Again, it hurt--not only from pain but also from fear and #111, who was sitting in a chair next to me, put one arm over the top of my head and held my hand with the other. I squeezed his hand harder every time the technician hit a sensitive spot, digging my nails in just a little bit for my own gratification.
When the technician finished, she said it looked like it was in the cervix, which was a very bad place for it to be. "They did the right thing yesterday in giving you the pill and injection," she said. "They did a very good thing." When she left to get the doctor, I said to #111, "It's ironic that I don't even think I want a kid and this one could have killed me."
Then the doctor came in--an older doctor with a poor bedside manner who was not shy about jamming the ultrasound wand in. More hand squeezing, more nail digging. He had a more tempered diagnosis and told us that it may have miscarried on its own and been on its way out by the time they gave me the drug. "But we'll never know for sure," he said. "Either way, you're fine. This kind of thing happens all the time. With the next one, there will be no problem." That was the twenty-zillionth painful layer to this whole scenario: Everyone we came into contact with didn't know we weren't together.
On our way out, #111 said he was getting a bagel and asked if I wanted to get one, too. "Ess-a-Bagel?" I asked. That was the plan, he said. Sadly, we were always on the same page. It was raining a little and we walked together downtown. The conversation was light--this movie, that movie, Guy-Ritchie-is-a-one-trick-pony, oh-isn't-the-Ess-a-Bagel-decor interesting, teasing me about losing my keys... that sort of thing. Back outside, we were going in different directions, so we gave each other a sad little hug in the rain.
Diagnosis: Sad. Just sad.
Mr. Unavailable #111: The Appointment
See Could it Be?, It's Not Him, It's Me, The Recovery, We're Just Not That Into Each Other, The Continuation, The Curse is Broken, Unfortunately, The Make-Up Date, The Phone Call, The Negotiation, Dates 9 Through 12, Dates 13 Through 15, The Public Sex Talk, Bridging the Chasm, The Shut Down, All Kinds of Good, Meeting the Friends, Part 2, Hamptons Getaway, Day 1, Day 2, Day 3, Day 4, Happy Birthday to Me, The Drunken Text, Jeckyl and Hyde, The Layoff, One-Man Show, A Boy in Man's Clothing, The Doctors Visit and Giving Him the News for the background on this one.
I met him at my appointment and when he walked into the waiting room, "strong" #111 was back. He immediately launched into a story about a man who appeared happily married, but told him the week before: "If I could do it all over again, I wouldn't." #111 had obviously liked this story very much because he was now changing his own. On a date back in July, he had referred to "whoever he ends up with..." indicating he wanted to end up with someone. Now, however, didn't sound like he so much wanted to anymore.
I was filling out paperwork and having difficulty figuring out how to work the insurance. The one that was probably "right" to use was going to not cover much and going to make things really expensive and, seeing as I was now unemployed, the one that might be "wrong" to use would have made everything free. So I asked him what he thought I should do and he snapped, "Well, why don't you try being honest for once."
I got up and walked away toward the check-in counter and gave them the expensive insurance info. I was clearly upset when I sat back down and he was like, "What's wrong with you?" I said what he'd said wasn't very nice and he said...(and there should be no surprise here), "I was just joking." And there it was, the mean streak poorly disguised as a sense of humor.
Early on in the relationship when we had the discussion about "what if I got pregnant," he asked if I'd ever been pregnant before. I said I hadn't. I thought that if he had gotten someone pregnant before then he would have told me then, but he didn't, so I assumed he hadn't. So I said to him, "So, you've never done this before, right?" And then he said he actually had. An old girlfriend years ago got pregnant but he was positive it wasn't his because they used to cheat on each other all the time. But he went through the process with her anyway (even when he said it he had a bit of a martyr air about it). And then with the 4.5-year ex--yes, there she was again--they had tried to have a baby but it didn't work out. This was the first I was hearing of it.
They brought me into a check-in room and then weighed me and put us in an examining room. The doctors came in and had me change. #111 asked if I wanted him to wait outside and I said I did. I changed and got on the examining table and a minute later, he came back in and said they told him he couldn't wait in the corridor. The whole thing was awful. I wanted him to be with me but he wasn't with me so I wasn't sure how to treat him. He didn't know how to act either. They came in to do another ultrasound and it actually hurt. #111 was standing down by the door and when he saw I was in some pain, he came over and stood by me and held my hand, which was nice but painful in a different way. Again, they couldn't find the embryo and said it might be ectopic. There was a chance it could rupture. I got dressed and he asked me if I was OK.
Standing there looking at him, I was miserable. "Can I have a hug?" I said. I buried my face in his shoulder, sobbing, and said, "This is awful. And we're not even together." We sat down and moved our chairs closer and he told me what happened with the 4.5-year ex. She got pregnant with twins but one of them died and then they had to wait for the other one to die. It was a terrible scenario.
"You tried to get pregnant even though you weren't married?" I asked.
"It was like a marriage," he said. "We had a very deep friendship."
That stung. "I knew on our first date you weren't over her," I said. "You talked about her even then."
The doctors came in and told us what the situation was. They said that if there was a chance we wanted it, they would wait to make sure, but because we didn't want to keep it, they didn't want to take any chances and would give me a shot that would end the pregnancy no matter where it was and then a pill to induce a miscarriage.
Afterward, #111 and I went outside. It had been exhausting. We'd been in there for three hours. He asked me if I was OK and hugged me. "Yes, but no," I said. "Thanks again for coming with me," I said.
"Yes, for like the 16th time," he said, because I'd thanked him a bunch of times for coming, partially because I was thankful and partially because I wanted to avoid one of his "annoyed" moods.
"Let's get you something to eat," he said, and we started walking toward the East Village. I felt awful. I had no idea what I was going to talk to him about. I was hurt because he'd brought up his ex--again. He held that damn relationship in such high regard--and, by his own admission, she had never even been emotionally available to him, so I don't know what this "deep friendship" bullshit was about. Maybe he was just trying to hurt me. It was all very baffling and painful at the same time because there I was completely ready, willing and able to go there and he didn't want to--because he wasn't able to. But he didn't know that.
I was quiet on our walk downtown, which, of course, meant he was nice to me, asking if I wanted to get ice cream or where I wanted to go to lunch. Finally I said, "How about Mogador?"
"No, I just don't see it. What are you passionate about?"
I started a list of things and realized, as he shot each of them down, it was futile. He needed to find a reason for why he didn't want to be with me and this was what he found. My apparent lack of passion. Somewhere in the 12 hours between when I'd seen him last night and now, he had decided that, no, it wasn't that he was emotionally unavailable, it was that I just wasn't that passionate. And, by the way, he didn't really want to get married anyway.
"Well, I don't see it in you, either," I said. "Sure, you like the arts but I don't see how you like it more than anyone else." He began to defend himself, lamely.
"I think you're a hypocrite," I said. And the thing was, I was right. And he knew it. It was like Therapy 101--he was projecting.
I sat there, despondent. I had made the mistake of thinking that he was open the night before, so he would still be open now. I was wrong.
"You were so open and vulnerable last night and now you're all walls," I said, moving my hands in front of me to indicate walls going up.
"Yeah, well, it's been a trying day," he said.
I was silent for the rest of lunch, and I'd lost my appetite. When the bill came, I tried to pay--because money had been such an issue with him--and I admit it was a little passive-aggressive, but I didn't care.
"Let me just walk you home," he said. It was more like he followed me home. At my downstairs door, which is heavy and made of steel, I opened it to walk in and he said, "Here, just take this [the leftovers]. Please just eat something."
"No, you paid for it," I said.
"Just take it," he said.
I grabbed the bag and walked through the door, letting it fall on him. Yes, I was being a bit of a child, but I think on some level I was allowed. I had taken enough.
When I got up to my apartment, I got to write this email, and chuckled as I typed:
"I'm sorry I got upset and let the door fall on you. I guess there are just certain things we can't talk about." Letting the door fall on him was one of my prouder moments.
"Now there's passion for him," Nora said after I told her and Heidi about the door later that night. Neither of them were surprised by his retreat from vulnerability. "This is who he is," Heidi said.
Diagnosis: When a man is angrily yelling at you, "I don't feel that strongly about you," clearly, he feels strongly about you.
But here's the really sad thing about this whole scenario: Even though I let the door fall on him, I fully knew that I would hear from him again and that he would go with me to my appointment the next day--maybe that's even why I knew I could let the door fall on him. He had a commitment to what was going on that I completely trusted and believed in--a commitment that, for a while, he sounded like he was making but was never truly able to make to our relationship. I now know what him being committed to me feels like, only he wasn't committed to me, he was committed to my abortion.
I met him at my appointment and when he walked into the waiting room, "strong" #111 was back. He immediately launched into a story about a man who appeared happily married, but told him the week before: "If I could do it all over again, I wouldn't." #111 had obviously liked this story very much because he was now changing his own. On a date back in July, he had referred to "whoever he ends up with..." indicating he wanted to end up with someone. Now, however, didn't sound like he so much wanted to anymore.
I was filling out paperwork and having difficulty figuring out how to work the insurance. The one that was probably "right" to use was going to not cover much and going to make things really expensive and, seeing as I was now unemployed, the one that might be "wrong" to use would have made everything free. So I asked him what he thought I should do and he snapped, "Well, why don't you try being honest for once."
I got up and walked away toward the check-in counter and gave them the expensive insurance info. I was clearly upset when I sat back down and he was like, "What's wrong with you?" I said what he'd said wasn't very nice and he said...(and there should be no surprise here), "I was just joking." And there it was, the mean streak poorly disguised as a sense of humor.
Early on in the relationship when we had the discussion about "what if I got pregnant," he asked if I'd ever been pregnant before. I said I hadn't. I thought that if he had gotten someone pregnant before then he would have told me then, but he didn't, so I assumed he hadn't. So I said to him, "So, you've never done this before, right?" And then he said he actually had. An old girlfriend years ago got pregnant but he was positive it wasn't his because they used to cheat on each other all the time. But he went through the process with her anyway (even when he said it he had a bit of a martyr air about it). And then with the 4.5-year ex--yes, there she was again--they had tried to have a baby but it didn't work out. This was the first I was hearing of it.
They brought me into a check-in room and then weighed me and put us in an examining room. The doctors came in and had me change. #111 asked if I wanted him to wait outside and I said I did. I changed and got on the examining table and a minute later, he came back in and said they told him he couldn't wait in the corridor. The whole thing was awful. I wanted him to be with me but he wasn't with me so I wasn't sure how to treat him. He didn't know how to act either. They came in to do another ultrasound and it actually hurt. #111 was standing down by the door and when he saw I was in some pain, he came over and stood by me and held my hand, which was nice but painful in a different way. Again, they couldn't find the embryo and said it might be ectopic. There was a chance it could rupture. I got dressed and he asked me if I was OK.
Standing there looking at him, I was miserable. "Can I have a hug?" I said. I buried my face in his shoulder, sobbing, and said, "This is awful. And we're not even together." We sat down and moved our chairs closer and he told me what happened with the 4.5-year ex. She got pregnant with twins but one of them died and then they had to wait for the other one to die. It was a terrible scenario.
"You tried to get pregnant even though you weren't married?" I asked.
"It was like a marriage," he said. "We had a very deep friendship."
That stung. "I knew on our first date you weren't over her," I said. "You talked about her even then."
The doctors came in and told us what the situation was. They said that if there was a chance we wanted it, they would wait to make sure, but because we didn't want to keep it, they didn't want to take any chances and would give me a shot that would end the pregnancy no matter where it was and then a pill to induce a miscarriage.
Afterward, #111 and I went outside. It had been exhausting. We'd been in there for three hours. He asked me if I was OK and hugged me. "Yes, but no," I said. "Thanks again for coming with me," I said.
"Yes, for like the 16th time," he said, because I'd thanked him a bunch of times for coming, partially because I was thankful and partially because I wanted to avoid one of his "annoyed" moods.
"Let's get you something to eat," he said, and we started walking toward the East Village. I felt awful. I had no idea what I was going to talk to him about. I was hurt because he'd brought up his ex--again. He held that damn relationship in such high regard--and, by his own admission, she had never even been emotionally available to him, so I don't know what this "deep friendship" bullshit was about. Maybe he was just trying to hurt me. It was all very baffling and painful at the same time because there I was completely ready, willing and able to go there and he didn't want to--because he wasn't able to. But he didn't know that.
I was quiet on our walk downtown, which, of course, meant he was nice to me, asking if I wanted to get ice cream or where I wanted to go to lunch. Finally I said, "How about Mogador?"
"Yes, let's go to Mogador," he said.
At Cafe Mogador, we made small talk and then, even though I knew I shouldn't have, I went there. "So, how come your ex was able to move on and you haven't been?" I said.
"She wasn't as sensitive as I am," he said.
And then I told him about this blog--but not the name or any other trackable details--about how I write about my dates with emotionally unavailable men and, then, in a roundabout way, I suggested how he was exhibiting classic signs of emotional unavailability--everything's great until a sudden emotional shut down.
"Look, I don't think I'm all that emotionally unavailable." He was angry now. "You just aren't hearing what you want to hear. I just don't feel that strongly about you." He was angrily yelling at this point, in a hushed-restaurant type of yell. "It's the passion thing. I just don't see it."
"What, you want me to sit here and prove to you that I'm passionate about things?"
And then I told him about this blog--but not the name or any other trackable details--about how I write about my dates with emotionally unavailable men and, then, in a roundabout way, I suggested how he was exhibiting classic signs of emotional unavailability--everything's great until a sudden emotional shut down.
"Look, I don't think I'm all that emotionally unavailable." He was angry now. "You just aren't hearing what you want to hear. I just don't feel that strongly about you." He was angrily yelling at this point, in a hushed-restaurant type of yell. "It's the passion thing. I just don't see it."
"What, you want me to sit here and prove to you that I'm passionate about things?"
"No, I just don't see it. What are you passionate about?"
I started a list of things and realized, as he shot each of them down, it was futile. He needed to find a reason for why he didn't want to be with me and this was what he found. My apparent lack of passion. Somewhere in the 12 hours between when I'd seen him last night and now, he had decided that, no, it wasn't that he was emotionally unavailable, it was that I just wasn't that passionate. And, by the way, he didn't really want to get married anyway.
"Well, I don't see it in you, either," I said. "Sure, you like the arts but I don't see how you like it more than anyone else." He began to defend himself, lamely.
"I think you're a hypocrite," I said. And the thing was, I was right. And he knew it. It was like Therapy 101--he was projecting.
I sat there, despondent. I had made the mistake of thinking that he was open the night before, so he would still be open now. I was wrong.
"You were so open and vulnerable last night and now you're all walls," I said, moving my hands in front of me to indicate walls going up.
"Yeah, well, it's been a trying day," he said.
I was silent for the rest of lunch, and I'd lost my appetite. When the bill came, I tried to pay--because money had been such an issue with him--and I admit it was a little passive-aggressive, but I didn't care.
"Let me just walk you home," he said. It was more like he followed me home. At my downstairs door, which is heavy and made of steel, I opened it to walk in and he said, "Here, just take this [the leftovers]. Please just eat something."
"No, you paid for it," I said.
"Just take it," he said.
I grabbed the bag and walked through the door, letting it fall on him. Yes, I was being a bit of a child, but I think on some level I was allowed. I had taken enough.
When I got up to my apartment, I got to write this email, and chuckled as I typed:
"I'm sorry I got upset and let the door fall on you. I guess there are just certain things we can't talk about." Letting the door fall on him was one of my prouder moments.
"Now there's passion for him," Nora said after I told her and Heidi about the door later that night. Neither of them were surprised by his retreat from vulnerability. "This is who he is," Heidi said.
Diagnosis: When a man is angrily yelling at you, "I don't feel that strongly about you," clearly, he feels strongly about you.
But here's the really sad thing about this whole scenario: Even though I let the door fall on him, I fully knew that I would hear from him again and that he would go with me to my appointment the next day--maybe that's even why I knew I could let the door fall on him. He had a commitment to what was going on that I completely trusted and believed in--a commitment that, for a while, he sounded like he was making but was never truly able to make to our relationship. I now know what him being committed to me feels like, only he wasn't committed to me, he was committed to my abortion.
Wednesday, September 29, 2010
Mr. Unavailable #111: Giving Him the News
See Could it Be?, It's Not Him, It's Me, The Recovery, We're Just Not That Into Each Other, The Continuation, The Curse is Broken, Unfortunately, The Make-Up Date, The Phone Call, The Negotiation, Dates 9 Through 12, Dates 13 Through 15, The Public Sex Talk, Bridging the Chasm, The Shut Down, All Kinds of Good, Meeting the Friends, Part 2, Hamptons Getaway, Day 1, Day 2, Day 3, Day 4, Happy Birthday to Me, The Drunken Text, Jeckyl and Hyde, The Layoff, One-Man Show, A Boy in Man's Clothing and The Doctors Visit for the background on this one.
I was petrified to tell him. After all the things he'd said about how his ex's friends used to talk about getting pregnant by the next guy they met--just to have a baby--I was afraid he'd have thought I'd done it on purpose somehow. And after how he behaved during the breakup, I wasn't even sure if I would hear back from him at all. I decided to wait until the classes he taught were over for the day and left him a message. "It's Tara. When you have a chance, if you could call me back tonight, that would be great. It's kind of important."
Then I waited. A few hours later, he called.
"I have bad news..." I said. "...I 'm pregnant."
"I thought that's what it might be," he said.
"I figured you'd figure it out."
"Maybe we should talk about this in person," he said, and then he started to ask how it could have happened. I said I didn't know and became flustered and he said, "It's OK, I know."
"What do you want to do?" he asked.
"Under the circumstances, I really don't think it would be a good idea to have it," I said.
"Listen, we should talk about this in person, I'm going to come down. I'll be there in about an hour."
I was stunned. I never thought he'd race downtown to talk about it. He always seemed so annoyed whenever anything remotely tricky came up (tennis taking a long time, me not immediately offering him gum, etc.) that I thought this would be too much for him to handle.
An hour later, he came up the stairs and when he saw me had a look on his face that I'd never seen before--sort of open and concerned--not the closed-off "intense" expression he always cultivated. We sat down and he asked if I knew how far along everything was. I told him maybe five weeks, but they couldn't tell because they couldn't find it and it might be ectopic and the doctor seemed more freaked out than I was, which only freaked me out more...again, I became overwhelmed.
"It's OK," he said. "Let me talk for a minute. I felt like such an asshole when I left here last week. I was such an asshole for all those things I said to you."
"Why did you say those means things?"
"Because you were right. Everything you said was true. I didn't realize I did those things until you said something."
I forget the exact order of the conversation, but at one point he was talking about me...
"I hope you don't take this a patronizing, but you carry yourself with such ease. Even with your friends I see it..." and then he went on "...and a lot of people are self-deprecating and it's because they really don't like themselves, but you're self-deprecating and not like that at all." It was a compliment delivered almost morosely. In retrospect, I realized he was telling me he didn't have those things.
"That's not patronizing, that's very nice," I said. I told him it came from working on myself for a number of years (therapy, etc.) and how when I started dating again in earnest, I met a guy (#100) and told Heidi how comfortable I was with him and she said, "It's probably because you're comfortable with yourself."
"You used that line on me," he said. "That you never felt as comfortable with anyone before."
"I felt more comfortable with you than I did with that other guy."
"Why did you not date much for five years?" he asked.
"Because I think I was shut down on some level," I said, and then told him how at the end of last year I decided I didn't want to be alone anymore and that's when I started dating more. "I'm learning what I want and who I want to be. I want to be in a relationship where I can reveal who I truly am and not get rejected--and for the other person to reveal who he truly is. I don't want to be in any other kind of relationship. I don't want to be a walking dead person. There are too many relationships like that."
He just nodded. As we talked, he was slumped a little on my sofa and was looking straight ahead. He was on the verge of tears.
"Do you want to be alone?" I asked him.
He shrugged. "I don't know. I'm fine alone. I'm fine with someone..."
"Well, I think it would be a shame if you were alone because you have so much to offer if you'd just let yourself."
He didn't say anything at that. I could see him welling up again.
At one point I said, "I don't think you were going to break up with me. I think you're emotionally unavailable and when I got laid off you felt some sort of weird pressure."
"No, I was going to end it," he said (and that stung), "but you're probably right, I probably am emotionally unavailable. If I were more self-aware, I'd probably know that."
"That's funny," I said. "You're always talking about how self-aware you are."
"You know what they say about people who talk a lot about being a certain way, they usually aren't."
"Methinks he doth protest too much," I said, totally stealing Heidi's line.
"You're probably right," he said, "You're very smart, you know. Very smart."
The conversation came to a sort of natural close and he said, "I'd like to go with you to your appointment tomorrow."
I told him I'd like that and said I'd see him there at 9 a.m. He used my bathroom for a second time and I said, "I thought I was the one who was supposed to be peeing all the time."
"It's sympathy peeing," he said.
When he left, I was ecstatic. I didn't know what any of this meant, but I wondered if there was hope.
Diagnosis: Ironically, our relationship just got the depth it needed in the breakup. Or maybe he could only tell me these things because we have broken up. He has finally let himself be open and vulnerable, and it's beautiful. This is what I've been waiting for, but has it come too late?
I was petrified to tell him. After all the things he'd said about how his ex's friends used to talk about getting pregnant by the next guy they met--just to have a baby--I was afraid he'd have thought I'd done it on purpose somehow. And after how he behaved during the breakup, I wasn't even sure if I would hear back from him at all. I decided to wait until the classes he taught were over for the day and left him a message. "It's Tara. When you have a chance, if you could call me back tonight, that would be great. It's kind of important."
Then I waited. A few hours later, he called.
"I have bad news..." I said. "...I 'm pregnant."
"I thought that's what it might be," he said.
"I figured you'd figure it out."
"Maybe we should talk about this in person," he said, and then he started to ask how it could have happened. I said I didn't know and became flustered and he said, "It's OK, I know."
"What do you want to do?" he asked.
"Under the circumstances, I really don't think it would be a good idea to have it," I said.
"Listen, we should talk about this in person, I'm going to come down. I'll be there in about an hour."
I was stunned. I never thought he'd race downtown to talk about it. He always seemed so annoyed whenever anything remotely tricky came up (tennis taking a long time, me not immediately offering him gum, etc.) that I thought this would be too much for him to handle.
An hour later, he came up the stairs and when he saw me had a look on his face that I'd never seen before--sort of open and concerned--not the closed-off "intense" expression he always cultivated. We sat down and he asked if I knew how far along everything was. I told him maybe five weeks, but they couldn't tell because they couldn't find it and it might be ectopic and the doctor seemed more freaked out than I was, which only freaked me out more...again, I became overwhelmed.
"It's OK," he said. "Let me talk for a minute. I felt like such an asshole when I left here last week. I was such an asshole for all those things I said to you."
"Why did you say those means things?"
"Because you were right. Everything you said was true. I didn't realize I did those things until you said something."
I forget the exact order of the conversation, but at one point he was talking about me...
"I hope you don't take this a patronizing, but you carry yourself with such ease. Even with your friends I see it..." and then he went on "...and a lot of people are self-deprecating and it's because they really don't like themselves, but you're self-deprecating and not like that at all." It was a compliment delivered almost morosely. In retrospect, I realized he was telling me he didn't have those things.
"That's not patronizing, that's very nice," I said. I told him it came from working on myself for a number of years (therapy, etc.) and how when I started dating again in earnest, I met a guy (#100) and told Heidi how comfortable I was with him and she said, "It's probably because you're comfortable with yourself."
"You used that line on me," he said. "That you never felt as comfortable with anyone before."
"I felt more comfortable with you than I did with that other guy."
"Why did you not date much for five years?" he asked.
"Because I think I was shut down on some level," I said, and then told him how at the end of last year I decided I didn't want to be alone anymore and that's when I started dating more. "I'm learning what I want and who I want to be. I want to be in a relationship where I can reveal who I truly am and not get rejected--and for the other person to reveal who he truly is. I don't want to be in any other kind of relationship. I don't want to be a walking dead person. There are too many relationships like that."
He just nodded. As we talked, he was slumped a little on my sofa and was looking straight ahead. He was on the verge of tears.
"Do you want to be alone?" I asked him.
He shrugged. "I don't know. I'm fine alone. I'm fine with someone..."
"Well, I think it would be a shame if you were alone because you have so much to offer if you'd just let yourself."
He didn't say anything at that. I could see him welling up again.
At one point I said, "I don't think you were going to break up with me. I think you're emotionally unavailable and when I got laid off you felt some sort of weird pressure."
"No, I was going to end it," he said (and that stung), "but you're probably right, I probably am emotionally unavailable. If I were more self-aware, I'd probably know that."
"That's funny," I said. "You're always talking about how self-aware you are."
"You know what they say about people who talk a lot about being a certain way, they usually aren't."
"Methinks he doth protest too much," I said, totally stealing Heidi's line.
"You're probably right," he said, "You're very smart, you know. Very smart."
The conversation came to a sort of natural close and he said, "I'd like to go with you to your appointment tomorrow."
I told him I'd like that and said I'd see him there at 9 a.m. He used my bathroom for a second time and I said, "I thought I was the one who was supposed to be peeing all the time."
"It's sympathy peeing," he said.
When he left, I was ecstatic. I didn't know what any of this meant, but I wondered if there was hope.
Diagnosis: Ironically, our relationship just got the depth it needed in the breakup. Or maybe he could only tell me these things because we have broken up. He has finally let himself be open and vulnerable, and it's beautiful. This is what I've been waiting for, but has it come too late?
Monday, September 27, 2010
Mr. Unavailable #111: The Doctors Visit
See Could it Be?, It's Not Him, It's Me, The Recovery, We're Just Not That Into Each Other, The Continuation, The Curse is Broken, Unfortunately, The Make-Up Date, The Phone Call, The Negotiation, Dates 9 Through 12, Dates 13 Through 15, The Public Sex Talk, Bridging the Chasm, The Shut Down, All Kinds of Good, Meeting the Friends, Part 2, Hamptons Getaway, Day 1, Day 2, Day 3, Day 4, Happy Birthday to Me, The Drunken Text, Jeckyl and Hyde, The Layoff, One-Man Show and A Boy in Man's Clothing for the background on this one.
I kept busy over the weekend, going on the Haunted Halloween hayride upstate that #111 was supposed to join in on. Instead, just Shelagh and Allison and I drove upstate. I'd already told Shelagh about the positive result and then told Allison in the car. She was alarmed. "Those things are usually right," she said. I momentarily panicked but truly felt I wasn't actually pregnant. I wasn't having any weird cravings or any bizarre reaction to things. Plus, I happened to have an OB-GYN appointment scheduled for Monday so I knew I would find out for sure soon enough. Besides, everything I was feeling felt like PMS and sometimes I had really bad PMS.
"Sickly, I kind of hope I am pregnant," I said.
"Well, that makes sense, so you still have a connection to him," Shelagh said.
"No, I said, so I can say to him, 'I'm pregnant with your child and I'm going to get rid of it.'"
We made a zillion off-color jokes about my unlikely pregnancy, from "and people said I looked radiant on my birthday...and they thought it was because I was in love" to "maybe we can find you a flight of stairs upstate...or tip a cow on you." I was reveling in my dark humor, and, knowing it would end once I found out I wasn't pregnant, said, "I'm going to miss my imaginary baby."
Even I have to admit that this PMS was different. Usually I want to wear baggy clothes to hide myself when I'm PMSing, but with this, for some reason, I was still wearing dresses and tighter clothes and not afraid to hang out of them a little--or, actually, proud of hanging out of them a little.
On Monday, I went to the doctor. When the nurse took my urine sample, I said, "So, I took a pregnancy test on Friday and it looked like it came back positive, but I'm sure I'm not." Suddenly, her tone changed, "Well, we'll find out..." and then about five seconds later, "Yup."
"Yup? Yup what? Yup, I'm pregnant?"
"You're pregnant."
"Holy fucking shit..."
I never thought I was the kind of girl who could get pregnant. I was always so damned responsible. Obviously, I am an idiot because I was that girl. I couldn't figure out how it could have happened because we were careful, except for that one episode of crime-scene sex. At the risk of TMI, the doctor said it was possible it could have been a very bloody ovulation.
In the span of one week, I got laid off, dumped and found out I was pregnant. By the time I got the third layer of bad news, I was calm. Even Heidi (who met with me at every stage of the disaster, bringing me cupcakes, buying me dinner, taking me home with her) said so when she met me out that night.
"Obviously, I don't have control over anything," I said. "I give up. There's nothing I can do. I know what I need to do next and that's it."
One of the things I had to do next? Tell #111. And I wasn't even sure if I would ever hear back from him.
Diagnosis: Too much badness in too small a time span.
I kept busy over the weekend, going on the Haunted Halloween hayride upstate that #111 was supposed to join in on. Instead, just Shelagh and Allison and I drove upstate. I'd already told Shelagh about the positive result and then told Allison in the car. She was alarmed. "Those things are usually right," she said. I momentarily panicked but truly felt I wasn't actually pregnant. I wasn't having any weird cravings or any bizarre reaction to things. Plus, I happened to have an OB-GYN appointment scheduled for Monday so I knew I would find out for sure soon enough. Besides, everything I was feeling felt like PMS and sometimes I had really bad PMS.
"Sickly, I kind of hope I am pregnant," I said.
"Well, that makes sense, so you still have a connection to him," Shelagh said.
"No, I said, so I can say to him, 'I'm pregnant with your child and I'm going to get rid of it.'"
We made a zillion off-color jokes about my unlikely pregnancy, from "and people said I looked radiant on my birthday...and they thought it was because I was in love" to "maybe we can find you a flight of stairs upstate...or tip a cow on you." I was reveling in my dark humor, and, knowing it would end once I found out I wasn't pregnant, said, "I'm going to miss my imaginary baby."
Even I have to admit that this PMS was different. Usually I want to wear baggy clothes to hide myself when I'm PMSing, but with this, for some reason, I was still wearing dresses and tighter clothes and not afraid to hang out of them a little--or, actually, proud of hanging out of them a little.
On Monday, I went to the doctor. When the nurse took my urine sample, I said, "So, I took a pregnancy test on Friday and it looked like it came back positive, but I'm sure I'm not." Suddenly, her tone changed, "Well, we'll find out..." and then about five seconds later, "Yup."
"Yup? Yup what? Yup, I'm pregnant?"
"You're pregnant."
"Holy fucking shit..."
I never thought I was the kind of girl who could get pregnant. I was always so damned responsible. Obviously, I am an idiot because I was that girl. I couldn't figure out how it could have happened because we were careful, except for that one episode of crime-scene sex. At the risk of TMI, the doctor said it was possible it could have been a very bloody ovulation.
In the span of one week, I got laid off, dumped and found out I was pregnant. By the time I got the third layer of bad news, I was calm. Even Heidi (who met with me at every stage of the disaster, bringing me cupcakes, buying me dinner, taking me home with her) said so when she met me out that night.
"Obviously, I don't have control over anything," I said. "I give up. There's nothing I can do. I know what I need to do next and that's it."
One of the things I had to do next? Tell #111. And I wasn't even sure if I would ever hear back from him.
Diagnosis: Too much badness in too small a time span.
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