What Queens Do

I don't need another adventure.  I really don't.

The White King had a double hip replacement in May at the ripe old age of 36.  Before that we've done testicular cancer, ICU, breathing machines, kidney failure, pneumonia and a collapsed lung.  And that's only the King's health issues. (Mine are much more mild, but still baffling, and really just involve a dozen doctors telling me that I'm depressed and am gaining weight because I'm lazy - they are also an entirely different story).

But whether I want it, need it or not, I am getting another adventure.

The White King has slept almost continually for 2 weeks.  So I made him an appointment with the doctor for Thursday.  Then he went to work Monday and came home early sick.  And wanted to stay home Tuesday too.  I made him go to the doctor early. 

I have to admit that my motives for making and insisting upon the doctor's appointments were not entirely pure.  I'm tired.  The King has been sick almost continually for the last 3 years.  And I have been taking care of him that entire time, and I'm tired.  I have two actual children, a needy mother and an incompetent ex-husband to take care of as well, I deserve to be tired.  I deserve a break.

So I insisted on the doctor.  And honestly, I expected him to come home with directions to quit smoking and drinking and with a prescription for an anti-depressant. 

The White King has a depressed kind of nature. 

But nothing is ever simple where the White King's health is concerned.

Instead of a prescription, I got a phone call telling me to collect my husband and take him the the ER or an ambulance would.

Lovely.

Turns out he's jaundiced.

Probably due to alcoholic hepatitis.

Perfect.

Also, his potassium levels are non-existent.  Which makes him at risk for a heart attack.

Awesome.

And his blood pressure is very low when normally it's very high.

Fantastic.

So The White King is in ICU as I type and The White Queen is freaking the fuck out.

I've been here and done this, and its not pretty and I don't like it.  The last time was so bad that everytime I enter a hospital now I have flashbacks to my husband dying several times.

Plus, I've been up for 24 hours now.

Because even when the White King is in the hospital being taken care of by a team of nurses, I have to take care of my children and double check my ex-husband.

Because that's apparantly what Queens do.

Queens Like Flowers Too

Seriously.  Why?

If someone can answer this question for me, I might give you my first born child in payment (of course if he’s behaving anything like he was last night, I would be getting the good deal).

I don’t really like to bitch about my husband all over the intranets, but seriously??

This is why we moved to Analogy Land.

In my first marriage, my then husband, Jack, refused to ever give me flowers.  And he knew that flowers were very important to me.  I want flowers growing all over my yard and in vases on every flat surface of my house at all times.  It makes me happy.

By the time we got divorced, I hadn’t had flowers in months.  And the last time I had flowers I got them because I handed him $20 and said, “Jack, go buy me flowers.  Now.” .

Enter the White King.  We were friends during the demise of my first marriage.  Very good friends.  The kind of friends who talk about flowers and irritating husbands and loud children and flowers.

He knew that I was not getting flowers from my husband and that it irritated the fuck out of me.  He consoled me on the lack of flowers in my marriage and tried to help me understand why my husband refused to give me flowers even when I begged.

Then we started dating.  And flowers were everywhere.  He planted them in my yard and his (so that I could be surrounded no matter where I was), and even when he was very sick, he still brought me flowers.  And if he couldn’t get out of the house and flowers weren’t blooming in the yard, he drew me pictures of flowers or made them out of napkins and paper.

But here we are 20 months or so into our marriage, and the flowers in the yard have all died in the cursed drought and he hasn’t brought any new ones home in 9 fucking months. 

There are no paper flowers, or napkin flowers, or drawings of flowers.  My house is completely flower-less.

And we’ve talked.  And I have looked at him, handed him $20 and said, “White King, get me some fucking flowers.  Now.”

There are still no flowers. 

What. The. Fuck??

Am I not worthy of flowers?  Is there something about me that screams, “Do not buy this woman flowers.”?

No idea. 

All I know is that I’m the fucking Queen and I’m getting flowers.  And if a certain White King knows what’s good for him, he will start buying some flowers.  Soon.

Down the Rabbit Hole

If you've managed to find your way over here from TheBlogThatShallNotBeNamed, congratulations. If you're new to me and mine, welcome. Either way, here's the new digs.


I like them and I'm working on making it even more fabulous.


If you don't know me then you don't know that I am very fond of analogies. They make me happy, They help me say things that maybe I don't want to say, or maybe to understand things that I'm having trouble wrapping my head around. I don't actually plan on using analogies in <i>everything</i> I post here, but I will for things that maybe I shouldn't be blogging about if perhaps this blog were to fall into the hands of say, the White King.
Enjoy. Because I think I will.