The Other Shoe Has Dropped

Yesterday I received some heartbreaking news.
I knew this would happen.
I almost knew this was true.

A few years ago my sister was diagnosed with some clotting disorders which have caused her to miscarry several times.
Being sisters, I knew I may have a risk of also having these genetic disorders.
About a month ago at my yearly check-up, my own OB/Gyn insisted that I get tested now since there may be some contraindications of taking hormonal birth control and having these disorders.
So on May 13, I gave eleven tubes of blood.
I prayed that everything would be normal.
I prayed I was not broken.
That somehow my genetics would be completely different than my sister.
By some miracle.
Don't I deserve a miracle?

Last night I saw my doctor's name and number appear on my phone.
I have been trying to get the results back for the last week like a mad woman.
I answered the call to hear my doctor's voice on the line.
She confirmed my gut.
Yes, I have both MTHFR mutation and protein C deficiency.
No more hormonal birth control for me.
And hard pregnancies in the future.

I have been on hormonal birth control this time for about eight and half years.
It has kept my PCOS under control.
Which I have no idea how that is going to play out now.
Mr. X and I were not planning on trying for children for at least two more years but now it looks like that may get pushed up a year if it is going to be harder for me to get pregnant and harder to stay pregnant.
Something I did not even want to do until almost two years ago.
Part of me wishes I still did not want children.
At least maybe then the heartache would be less.

Why can't I get a break?!
Why can't things just be easy from now on?!
Can't I get some sort of immunity from bad things happening?
Ugh...

The First Time

I have debated writing this entry a long time.

My family reads my blog.

Roger's family read my blog.

But so do other widows.

So do other widows who are new to the "club".

So fair warning... this may be TMI.

Before I met Roger, I dated. A lot.

I liked dating for the most part.

Yes, there were heartaches.

Yes, there were some times where I just wanted to be in a relationship, but for the most part, it was fun just dating.

Then in December 2004, I decided I wanted a real life boyfriend.

Someone to hang out with on the weekends.

Someone to go on vacation with.

Someone to cuddle with.

Someone to have sex with on a regular basis.

I was living in New York City at the time with a consulting job.

I traveled every week for four days.

I loved the concept of my job but I was sick of the traveling routine.

In one city for part of the week, in another city for the rest of the week.

It was a great lifestyle for dating.

But not for boyfriend life.

So in January 2005, I started looking for a new non-traveling job in NYC.

I tried for about four months. Nothing.

My consulting job had a database of all the clients.

I decided to use my resources and look up the clients in Orlando area.

Moving back to Orlando would be easy with a friend base already in place and I knew I loved Orlando.

I moved back. And I started trying to date more seriously in August.

I met Roger at a time when I was dating two other guys.

But by November Roger won my heart.

On my wedding day, I was so nervous.

Not about how the day would go. I hired great vendors that I trusted for that.

But that I would be with the same man for the rest of my life.

"Forever" as my old friend Nick would say.

I would be having sex with the same guy for the rest of my life!!

I felt on the verge of vomiting all day until the ceremony.

But of course afterwards, I was happy with my decision.

Roger was good to me.

After I realized Roger was going to die on me, I thought about how I was going to have sex with a new person someday.

I was in the elevator at the hospital with some very close friends when I exclaimed, "My 'number' is going to go up again!"

Crapola!

Last April, I was longing to be touched.

Not just a hug from a friend.

But T.O.U.C.H.E.D touched.

But I was also so nervous.

Would I feel guilty?

Would I feel like I was betraying my vows?

Betraying Roger?

Before I started dating again, I consulted some of my peers who had gone before me.

Supa and Crash were emailed.

"Did you feel guilty the first time you had sex?"

Both replied no.

"Okay, I can do this."

So last May, I did "it."

I had to make all the first moves.

This guy I was dating was nervous about offending me.

About moving too fast.

To me, I just wanted it out of the way.

I wanted to know yes or no about feeling guilty.

I wanted to know if I could enjoy sex again.

Could I feel?

Could I feel good?

For me, I did not feel guilty at all.

I did not feel I was cheating on my husband.

I did not cry which I severely feared I would.

I could feel again.

I try not to think about Roger's reaction to this whole ordeal as if he is somewhere watching over me.

That is just weird to think of anyway.

But I know Roger would not want me to be sad forever.

Roger would not want me to be alone forever.

He loved me. He would want me to be happy and be loved.

I Peeked

I do not think I have ever told anyone this.

And I am semi-ashamed.

And semi-laughing at myself.

It was not a big deal really.

But I had to look.

I had to see.

While Roger was subconscious laying in the bed, I pulled up the sheets.

I wanted to see his penis.

And yes, I touched it.

I am his wife.

The doctors told me the part of his brain affecting a person's ability to wake up was damaged.

Which also controls arousal.

I had to check.

Sex is important to a relationship.

Especially a marital one.

So I touched.

And nothing happened.

Mrs. Doubtfire

I finished my exams for the semester yesterday.

Straight As for the term.

I also took the second of the three state teaching certification exams yesterday.

So now it is time for Christmas break.

Time to relax.

Today I decided I would not be leaving my house.

At all.

I did manage to shower.

But no trips to the grocery store.

No errands.

Nothing.

Just me.

My computer.

My camera.

And some movies on television.

Fun times.

All day I have been in exercise pants, Christmas socks, and a sweat shirt.

Comfy times.

One of the movies on television was an old time favorite of mine - Mrs. Doubtfire.

I love Robin Williams.

Love the story.

Makes me laugh.

But like I mentioned the other day, I never noticed the widows in the movies.

Until now.

Mrs. Doubtfire herself is a widow.

Even in this movie, there is a widow.

And I know that Robin William's character's character had ulterior motives, but still.

Her/His comment bothered me.

When his ex-wife starts to date someone new, she asks when Mrs. Doubtfire started to feel desires after her husband's death.

Her reply, "Never. Once the father of your children dies, you never want someone else."

Now, I have not met too many older widows.

Just my mother-in-law and her sister but still.

I do not believe this statement is true.

Almost every younger widow I know has "desires" for love.

And more importantly, sex.

Yes, we need sex.

And I believe it is normal.

I guess the part that really bothers me is that if others watching this movie or in life believe this is true of widows.

If society thinks widows should just close themselves off for someone new.

Never have sex again.

Never be in love again.

Maybe they think that of only older widows.

But even then, why is that fair?

No one deserves to be alone and/or lonely.

We deserve to be desired and have desires.

We deserve sex.

We need it just like everyone else.

Ugh, Hollywood widows... mostly far from the truth.

"I'm afraid of hurting you"

I have heard "I am afraid of hurting you" a lot from the few guys I have dated in the last few months.

And I have to say it is frustrating.

Beyond. frustrating.

I want to say to all of them, "Are you kidding me?"

First, do they really think I am that weak?

Have I not proven that I can handle the worst pain ever?

I am stronger than most, I think.  

I think I can deal.  

I am actually pretty sure I can deal.

Even if I cry, it does not mean I am weak.

People cry.  

Get over it.

Second, if it does hurt me, do they really think I could not survive this new pain?

Really?

I mean, come on.

I lost my husband.

The man I loved more than anything else.

My best friend.

And I survived.  

And I am surviving.

My sister-in-law says I am even thriving.

Do they think they are on the same level at that? 

Do they think the pain they may cause will hurt me that badly? 

Even if they were half as important, I am pretty sure I can survive not being with them.  

I may get a scar in the process, but scars still heal.  

Third, what kind of person wants to hurt other people?

As long people do not hurt me intentionally, then it is fine.  

I will be fine.

Cry, maybe.  But I will be fine.

And I have to believe the people I am dating are not the type to hurt people on purpose.  

I am a better reader of people than that.

Sometimes, I put myself into situations knowing the outcome.

I know what I am doing most of the time.  

I know the outcome of some things before I do them.  

I would not put myself into a situation that I could not handle.  

I know what I need.

I know what I want.

And I know how to express those things and get those things.

So...

It is not necessary to treat me differently.

It is not necessary to try not to hurt me anymore than normal when dating me.

I am not that different than an ordinary person besides surviving a tragedy.

Yes, my heart was broken.

But many people get their hearts broken. 

And I will always survive.

The First Kiss (After...)

What was my goal for that first date?

Honestly, to be kissed.

It was all I wanted.

I did not want a boyfriend or anything.

Just one kiss.

Or maybe a few.  

But it did not happen.

With the first.

The second.

Or even the third guy I went out with (even on two dates!).

The second guy/second date sucked.

I was not attracted to him.

I did not want him to kiss me.

I did not want to kiss him.

But he had heard me complaining about date number one.  

He offered.

So I took him up on it.

Plus I really wanted to see a particular movie.

As we were walking back to my car, he called me something that just completely made me cringe.

He called me "rich."

Yeah, not anything horrible per se but I hate being called that.  

Yes, I have a semi-nice car.  But nothing outrageous.

And I had a lot of crappy cars before this one.

Cars that lasted less than a year (most only lasted a few months).  

So when I moved back to Florida, I bought a brand spanking new car.  

Hence, I never talked to that kid again.

There were other reasons too but that was the tipping point.

The third guy I dated was a little better.

I met him at another birthday party for a different friend.  

A friend that I knew through Roger and have remained friends with.  

I was looking hot.

I had bought a really cute short skirt and a top that really flattered me.  

My friends Kathy and Randy were shocked.  "Wow, Star, you look great.  We will have to fight the guys off with a stick."

"No, do not fight them off.  Please do not fight them off."

Jack, Kathy's friend, saw me and started talking to me.

And then he asked the question.

"So, how do you know Kathy?"

"Well, I met both Kathy and Randy through my husband."

I kind of figured Kathy and/or Randy had told him my story before we actually met that night.

But nope.

He did not know the fate of said husband.  

So I had to say, "You know my story about my husband, right?"

"Nope."

So I told him.

He seemed to handle it.  He was taken back but he was processing it well.  So I thought.

He got my number and said he would like to see me sometime.  

I said "sure."

We went out that week.  First date was okay.  

We ended up going to the same restaurant as Roger and I did for our first date.  

But I tried hard not to think about it.  

It was also the day I got back the final court order.

But I was okay.  I was cute and friendly.  

I asked him questions.  Answered his.  Normal date stuff.  

Now there was one weird thing.

He told me about some health problems he has.  Not sure why on the first date but...

My gut reaction, "Oh my God, he is going to die.  If I date this guy for real, I could go through the exact same thing AGAIN!!"  

My counselor said this was a normal reaction.  

I went on another date with him to a movie.

But then... we never saw each other again.  [He does occasionally talk to me online but...]

And I still did not get kissed.

Damn it!  I just wanted to be kissed.

During this same time, I was flirting heavily at school (and pretty much everywhere else I saw a cute guy).

And I mean heavily.

I was being so forward.  So brazen.

Kissing and being touched was all I could think about.

I was like a hunter looking for that one deer.  

I so needed to be touched.

I needed to know I could feel again.

I needed to know I would feel again.

So one of my classmates, Sam, and I started flirting.

Constantly.

He was 22.

It started in class.

He invited me and a friend to a bar to see a band.  

We did not go but he got my number and we became friends over facebook.

We started chatting over facebook.

We started texting.

We started flirting over text.

We started teasing each other.

Then one night after a basketball game he called me.

He wanted to see me.

Immediately.

"Well, I am not exactly at home but I am on my way there.  I can meet you there."

We met at my house.

I was freaking out.

My head was running a million miles a minute.

My house was a mess.

I looked like a mess.

I had onions for dinner.

A guy was going to be in my house.

A guy I had been flirting with.

Holy crap!!

He could not stay long.

And that was fine for me.  I only needed one very simple thing.

We sat on my sofa.

I started trembling.  

I was trying to make small talk.

My head was saying "Just kiss him."

Telepathically, I was trying to tell him "Kiss me now."

Nothing was happening.

Fine.  Fine.  Fine.  

I attacked him.

Yes, I attacked him.

I kissed him.

As my lips were completely shaking, but I was getting a kiss that night.

Sweet relief.

I did feel again.

It was not weird.

I did not feel guilty.

I kissed a guy in my house and I did not feel guilty.

Yay!!!  I was ecstatic.  

Poor Sam though.

I was pretty much done with him.

He served his purpose.  

I was no longer attracted to him.

Classes were about to end.

So I never spoke to him again.  

Dating lesson number two: most people cannot handle knowing I am a widow right away.  And kissing is still fun.

I Paid a Man to Touch Me Today

My widow friend Supa referred to this term called "skin hunger".
And I have been suffering.
I so want to be touched.
I need to be touched.
For more than just a quick embrace.
For more than just a hello or goodbye hug.
I want to be held.
I want my hair to be stroked.
I want to be touched.
Touched. Touched. Touched!

Tomorrow, it will be eight months since I have had sex with someone.
Yeah, too much information I know but...
The desire is so strong.

Part of my issue, I think, is touch is my primary love language.
Gary Chapman wrote several books about the five love languages.
It is a great book and I am a classic touch person.
I am also very tactile.
I touch almost everything around me all the time.
In a store, I will touch a shirt or pair of pants before I even look at the price.
If I am walking down the street and see an interesting building, I touch it.
When picking out our cats, I wanted soft fluffy fur.
Touch drives me.

So now that I have had my toucher ripped from me, I am suffering.
Perhaps I just want to feel those feelings again.
To feel good about me.
To feel loved.

A few weeks ago, a friend of mine held my hand a few moments and kissed me on the forehead a couple of times.
And it felt so unbelievably nice.
Even if he did it just to be nice.
Even if it was quick.
Even though it was completely platonic.

So today, I just had to be touched.
I could not take it another moment.
So I went to a massage place.
It was calling out to me as I passed it.
I asked for a male therapist.
And for $39, he gave me a wonderful massage.

Yeah, it was not the romantic touching I really desire but it was human contact of the male persuasion.
It was fantastic.
And although he was only doing his job, I enjoyed every moment of the warmth of his hands.
And he massaged my ass.
My ass! I know has not been touched in eight months.

Sigh. Soon I know. It is only a matter of time.