Four years ago, when I was discharged from hospital, I quizzed my doctors about my long-term survival prospects. Most of them hedged their bets and gave me non-committal answers like, “Oh, it’s impossible to say for sure; it depends on many factors blah blah blah”. Then they scurried off to see if they’d fallen foul of any of the liability clauses that haunt their nightmares. One of them – the surgeon – stood out from the others, because he looked me dead in the eye and said, “Five years, tops”. He was the only one with sufficient respect for his patients to be honest, so I shook his hand and thanked him, despite the loud ticking clock I could suddenly hear in my head. It’s always better to receive bad news and plan for it, than be ignorant and blindsided.
Case in point: most people know that I’m not on Facebook, so my insight into the lives of others is generally dependent on direct interaction. I’m strange that way. However, a day or two ago, an acquaintance told me that my wife had updated her profile status to “single” and deleted all reference to our life together from her timeline. I’m not even a ghost to her; it’s like I never existed. Is it just me, or has it suddenly got chilly in here?
I’ve often joked that I have no soul left to crush, but this insidious betrayal broke me. I find myself staring at the inscription above the gates as the circles beckon and I think, “What use do the condemned have for hope anyway?” At least now I know what to expect out of our marriage counseling session next week.
It looks like I’m going to be putting that call through to my lawyer after all.
