Aggravated is the best word to use.
I’m getting my stomach stapled.
They are gonna cut me open, fiddle about, find it in there somewhere, cut it off and staple it.
Let’s flashback for just a second. Husband says he wants me to be more active, worries about my health and wants me to be healthy and care about myself.
In other words, put down the fork.
No, no it’s cool. He was right to say something. I would have just kept going and going until he found himself in someone else’s bed like my father did. So no, this was good. …I cried like a bitch that day. I couldn’t believe he called me fat. [Let’s be fair, he didn’t use those words.
Fuck off! It was insinuated!] Anyway.
Right now, he’s in a transition period. He’s changing careers from computers to law enforcement.
Uh-huh. That’s what I said, too.
He was training for the physical exams and blew out his knee. I told him to go to the doctor; he won’t go.
He’s been working midnights since he was 19. That’s almost half his lifetime. Now he’s starting to have memory problems. I told him to go to the doctor.
He. Won’t. Go.
[sigh] I fail to understand this. This whole “men don’t go to the doctor” shit is not an excuse. Lemme ‘splain – FAST FORWARD:
I’M HAVING MY STOMACH CUT OFF AND STAPLED. Why? So I can be more active and more healthy, as requested. So I won’t die of a diabetes-related illness or a heart attack. So I can hang around with his fine yet frustrating ass longer. So I can bear our children without making them motherless or him a widow in the process. Son of a bitch.
Let me be clear, he didn’t ask me to have the surgery. But it would be nice to know that his hypertensive (yep, has high blood pressure – doesn’t follow doc’s orders and I don’t think he’s fully med compliant) behind was at least taking care of himself as much as I’m trying to take care of myself. If I’m willing to go to this length to be healthy, he can make a fucking doctor’s appointment.