Tuesday, March 3, 2015

The Day My Boyfriend Forgot My Name



“Chris? Can you hear me?”
            “Uh….uh huh.”
            “Your dad and I are here.”
            “What?” He looked at me, large hazel eyes drooped with fatigue met mine and confusion overwhelmed his face.
            “Who are you?” He asked. My mouth gaped open, my toes went numb and a faint ringing in my ears felt like it was getting louder.
            “Chris, it’s me. It’s Keri.”
            “Keri? I don’t know a……I don’t know you.”
            The day my boyfriend couldn’t recall who I was would end up being a day I would never forget, and although I fought it as a reason why we went separate ways, the truth is that it was a reason and I am now not ashamed to admit it.

            Click, click, click. One thought preoccupied my mind as I twisted through narrow hallways in Parkland’s ER. These leather high heeled boots are inappropriate. When your boyfriend has a grandmal seizure, you should change your boots into something more sensible. The noise of my heel against the tile was deafening. I reached the second to last room on the right, and entered. Thankful for the blue folding chair that was provided in my absence, I sat down quickly. It was that moment I realized I forgot the item I left the room for—a coffee.
            “Did you know we never went to the moon?” Chris’s father prompted, sitting next to me. I looked at him and blinked.
            “Can you repeat that?” I must have heard him wrong.
            “It’s true, we never went to the moon. It can’t be a conspiracy if it’s true.” I took the opportunity to take in his features and compare them to Chris’s. He was tall like his father, at least 6’6”. They both shared a strong straight nose, full lips and high cheek bones. Chris’s face showed something either of his parents didn’t have—a tiredness that was shellacked to his skin, particularly under his eyes. I often wondered if it was a result of his disease, a manifestation to mark what made him different. When I came back to the conversation, it was futile. Chris’s father had finished and remained silent, sipping something out of a small Styrofoam cup. That, or he knew I wasn’t listening and determined it wasn’t the time.
            I predicted I would be here, waiting for Chris to wake up after ingesting the powerful drugs administrated to him via an IV. I didn’t know I would be here the day after we fought about his medications. His denial of the seriousness of his condition could have fatal consequences. If you don’t take your medication you could have a seizure. If you have a seizure, you might not wake up. That is what his doctors had told him, that is what I told him, and that is what he couldn’t bring himself to face.
            “You know, you don’t have to do this.” Chris’s father stated. I turned to face him as Chris continued to remain unconscious.
            “Don’t have to do what?” I had suspicions he meant being here at the ER since I had already been here for the afternoon experiencing interaction with everyone except for Chris.
            “Be with Chris. Take care of him and oversee his condition. You both are young, you should be out having fun.” Fun?
            “You’re saying I shouldn’t be with him?” I asked with a defensive tone.
            “I’m saying that it doesn’t have to be your job.” Stunned by the proposition of Chris’s father, I decided to not reply, and let my silence end the discussion…..but I mulled over his words.
            One day I woke up with Chris’s father’s thoughts in my head. Chris had since been brought home from the hospital, and I had stayed by his side for a couple days afterward and began to immerse myself back into my school work that I had happily discarded to tend to Chris’s needs. I began to feel resentment towards myself for not taking my school work with me to Chris’s house. Then it dawned on me that as grateful as I was for Chris’s improved health, I was starting to resent him. He still didn’t have a good enough reason to take his medication. He didn’t need it, he didn’t like the side effects, he forgot. He “loved” me and wanted nothing more to take care of me, but he couldn’t take care of himself. How could he take care of me without taking care of himself?

            That was the question that would lead to the end of our relationship. I can choose to be with someone who has an ailment and choose to do everything I can to aleive suffering and to love with everything I am capable of. I am not capable of loving someone who would not do what they have to do to survive and put others before themselves to a point of self-destruction. I would not cause nor condone the self-destruction of a man I deeply cared for. 

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