More like "I was evacuated from a sexless relationship"
Apr 3, 2016 4:08:19 GMT -5
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saxappeal, bballgirl, and 4 more like this
Post by himynameisrucca on Apr 3, 2016 4:08:19 GMT -5
Hi, all. I finally had a chance to go to ep again and of course I ended up here. My name was VeruccaSalt, and I lived with my now-ex boyfriend. The two of us had a lukewarm, barely sexual relationship with what I thought of as the worst of both worlds. I had no idea how bad it really was. Spoiler alert: he didn't love me.
In 2014, my mother moved in with us. We had been celibate for 6 months at that point, and before then it was so infrequent and passionless that it wasn't worth the effort to shave my legs.
Later that year, my ex had another flare up of his diverticulitis and lost a foot of his colon. I all but lived at the hospital, because any attempt at self care, such as eating a meal while being seated or showering or sleeping in the bed at home had to be done with frequent interruptions, usually him on the phone demanding that I get back to the hospital so I could be there for him. The day he came home, he demanded a special meal, which I fixed him and was promptly told that I was not to partake in. That's actually not the worst insult by far.
I had been having my own health issues, which I put on the back burner to care for him through his recovery from the surgery. I had a hard time doing for him and driving my mother around for her errands, because I was so tired all the time.
Then the pain started, the weight loss sped up and I couldn't get out of bed some days, much to his fury. I went to the ER, and I was admitted to the hospital for testing. The word "cancer" was being said a lot. Of course, he couldn't be bothered to stay even a few hours with me when I was inpatient.
I was hospitalized for 11 days that first time. I left with a diagnosis of stage 4 rectal adenocarcinoma, a port installed in my jugular vein for chemotherapy and an appointment with the hospital cancer center. My welcome back meal was pizza delivery because he had to get home to watch his shows.
I drove myself to my radiation therapy 5 days a week for 6 weeks while wearing a low-dose continuous infusion of chemotherapy. This was because his routine could not be altered, and because we were sharing my car, I got to hear all about it when I was late getting home because the cancer center was running behind or I had to stop too many times to use the bathroom while in transit.
Three months post diagnosis, I started the high dose chemotherapy, and I vomited so much that I ended up in the hospital again, this time with a cardiac arrest. The very next day, he happily told me that he'd found the perfect work at home job for me to earn more money...I was still in the ICU and hooked up to monitors that went off constantly, mostly because of my heart rate dropping into the 40s...but of course the priority for him was that I get my ass to work.
I wish I could say it ended there. It didn't. His next strategy was to confiscate my food benefits card, because the liquid nourishment that I needed to try and stave off the weight loss was using up almost all of the balance. I was bedridden, taking over 300mg of morphine a day and squirting lidocaine into myself every 3 hours just to be in slightly less pain and very out of it. He decided that I only needed half of the recommended daily intake the doctor ordered. I nearly starved, and I probably would have if my mother hadn't snuck me extra nutrition, which he screamed at her for.
The final straw was when I had to have a colostomy surgery. I knew if I came home to that house I would probably have died from neglect, since he wouldn't so much as bring me a glass of water without throwing a fit because I was "lazy". Meanwhile, I was expected to help him with whatever he needed, no matter what I was going through.
The day after Christmas, and less than a week before my surgery, my mother and stepfather moved me out of his home while a policeman looked on. His first question was "Where is the car?" He had honestly expected me to leave it with him. His next beef was with me taking my cats, even though he was not feeding them or even giving them water.
That night, he texted me many times, mostly to demand that I give him my car, or that I continue to give him most of my monthly disability check or my food assistance, or he was going to end the relationship.
The morning of my surgery, he showed up at the hospital, not to wish me well, but to again demand my car, my money and my food assistance, because I owed him that much. He was furious that he wasn't permitted to go to my room during my stay or to get information about my recovery, and yes, that I wouldn't give him my car.
So, I am out of there. I'm going to have a colostomy for the rest of my life, and the 5 year survival rate for the cancer that I have and it being caught at stage 4 is around 10%. He's made it clear that when I pass, he expects to get the cats and vehicle back.
I wanted to let you guys know, your refusers may have some sort of sex issue, or they could genuinely not give a crap about you. Mine sure didn't, and I almost lost my life. I am 37 years old, and I may not make it to 50. I have been in the hospital as much as I have been at home in the 13 months since I was first admitted for the testing, and even now he is angry that I left...because he is losing the county health care due to having a smaller household.
I wish I had left 5 years ago. I wish I had never moved in with him. I wish we had never even met. It wasn't worth it.
In 2014, my mother moved in with us. We had been celibate for 6 months at that point, and before then it was so infrequent and passionless that it wasn't worth the effort to shave my legs.
Later that year, my ex had another flare up of his diverticulitis and lost a foot of his colon. I all but lived at the hospital, because any attempt at self care, such as eating a meal while being seated or showering or sleeping in the bed at home had to be done with frequent interruptions, usually him on the phone demanding that I get back to the hospital so I could be there for him. The day he came home, he demanded a special meal, which I fixed him and was promptly told that I was not to partake in. That's actually not the worst insult by far.
I had been having my own health issues, which I put on the back burner to care for him through his recovery from the surgery. I had a hard time doing for him and driving my mother around for her errands, because I was so tired all the time.
Then the pain started, the weight loss sped up and I couldn't get out of bed some days, much to his fury. I went to the ER, and I was admitted to the hospital for testing. The word "cancer" was being said a lot. Of course, he couldn't be bothered to stay even a few hours with me when I was inpatient.
I was hospitalized for 11 days that first time. I left with a diagnosis of stage 4 rectal adenocarcinoma, a port installed in my jugular vein for chemotherapy and an appointment with the hospital cancer center. My welcome back meal was pizza delivery because he had to get home to watch his shows.
I drove myself to my radiation therapy 5 days a week for 6 weeks while wearing a low-dose continuous infusion of chemotherapy. This was because his routine could not be altered, and because we were sharing my car, I got to hear all about it when I was late getting home because the cancer center was running behind or I had to stop too many times to use the bathroom while in transit.
Three months post diagnosis, I started the high dose chemotherapy, and I vomited so much that I ended up in the hospital again, this time with a cardiac arrest. The very next day, he happily told me that he'd found the perfect work at home job for me to earn more money...I was still in the ICU and hooked up to monitors that went off constantly, mostly because of my heart rate dropping into the 40s...but of course the priority for him was that I get my ass to work.
I wish I could say it ended there. It didn't. His next strategy was to confiscate my food benefits card, because the liquid nourishment that I needed to try and stave off the weight loss was using up almost all of the balance. I was bedridden, taking over 300mg of morphine a day and squirting lidocaine into myself every 3 hours just to be in slightly less pain and very out of it. He decided that I only needed half of the recommended daily intake the doctor ordered. I nearly starved, and I probably would have if my mother hadn't snuck me extra nutrition, which he screamed at her for.
The final straw was when I had to have a colostomy surgery. I knew if I came home to that house I would probably have died from neglect, since he wouldn't so much as bring me a glass of water without throwing a fit because I was "lazy". Meanwhile, I was expected to help him with whatever he needed, no matter what I was going through.
The day after Christmas, and less than a week before my surgery, my mother and stepfather moved me out of his home while a policeman looked on. His first question was "Where is the car?" He had honestly expected me to leave it with him. His next beef was with me taking my cats, even though he was not feeding them or even giving them water.
That night, he texted me many times, mostly to demand that I give him my car, or that I continue to give him most of my monthly disability check or my food assistance, or he was going to end the relationship.
The morning of my surgery, he showed up at the hospital, not to wish me well, but to again demand my car, my money and my food assistance, because I owed him that much. He was furious that he wasn't permitted to go to my room during my stay or to get information about my recovery, and yes, that I wouldn't give him my car.
So, I am out of there. I'm going to have a colostomy for the rest of my life, and the 5 year survival rate for the cancer that I have and it being caught at stage 4 is around 10%. He's made it clear that when I pass, he expects to get the cats and vehicle back.
I wanted to let you guys know, your refusers may have some sort of sex issue, or they could genuinely not give a crap about you. Mine sure didn't, and I almost lost my life. I am 37 years old, and I may not make it to 50. I have been in the hospital as much as I have been at home in the 13 months since I was first admitted for the testing, and even now he is angry that I left...because he is losing the county health care due to having a smaller household.
I wish I had left 5 years ago. I wish I had never moved in with him. I wish we had never even met. It wasn't worth it.
