Tomorrow my ex has shoulder surgery. Similar to my shoulder surgery. I had to recover alone. I had to manage, and when you have to manage, well, you do. I recover very well from surgery, and some people find that offensive. Some people decide to compete. It’s just something I’m good at. I can;t help it. I deal with physical pain exceptionally well. It’s actually a disadvantage, because no one realises how much pain I;m dealing with.
My ability to deal with a lot of pain was a major factor in why I was treated so heinously around my hysterectomy.
But back to the point. He has his surgery tomorrow. He is worried, he is nervous, he is looking at the unknown.
I was going to NOT bring the kids in to see him. I was. I was going to return the favour. He didnt bring the kids in to see me when I was possibly going to die.
Hey, maybe I should thank him. Maybe it was that I hadn’t seen them that kept me going? Ha…I don’t know.
I was going to do it back to him…even though this is just a minor surgery…wanted to give him a taste. When you wake up from surgery and there is NO ONE…its really hard. It’s lonely. YOu feel like a nothing. Everyone else has people. I didnt. Multiple times. I don’t. I have to deal with it all alone.
So I wanted him to get a taste of that.
But I can’t. I am not that kind of person and I never will be.
If I did that to him, I would be no better than the inhuman bitch who taught me a lesson by not being there for me after my hysterectomy, desperate me helping her through several suicide attempts, deep depressions, a broken marriage , and a stroke. I was there. Every fucking day. And she chose to not be there for me.
And its not even that. I just can’t do that to him. I dont hate him. He treats me like crap, that makes him a bad person. I treat him like crap? Them I suck too.
So I told him I will bring the kids in to see him. And I will, unless I physically can’t.
Remembering that this means walking onto the ward where I had surgery, where they tortured me. I dont know if I can. But he doenst want to see me, anyway. I can get the kids to the elevator, and the Chicklet will be able to find the room. They will see their father, and I can leave.
I will do the right thing, because, cliche of cliches, two wrongs don’t make a right.
Treating someone else bad, because you think they treated you bad, just makes YOU a bad person.
And I don’t want to be that. That’s one choice I still have.