My marriage wasn’t going well. Divorce wasn’t on the table. We had vaguely discussed separation… but no one had made a move. I knew I would need to soon.

    Mary and I were growing apart. We didn’t kiss, and we didn’t cuddle. We had moved into separate bedrooms three years ago, and like many couples do when living in a numbing sort of denial, we acted like that was normal. We justified our decisions and our dynamic, but neither of us were happy. “Oh he snores…” that sort of thing. We had accepted it, and at this point, we were just roommates, merely existing in the same house. But neither of us was ready to throw away a 17 year long marriage. It was just too messy. So, we stayed, and we pretended that everything was good, even though we were both still young… Too young to settle.

    We had recently moved to a smaller city on the peninsula between our currently location of San Jose and San Francisco. It’s an affluent area, which was in keeping with my status as a successful Silicon Valley executive. This was very important to Mary. The house wasn’t particularly large— we have no children, so a big house isn’t needed— but it is elegant and expensive. Very expensive. 

    Mary found all the trendy shops in our new neighborhood, including a grocery store that uses exotic fares as an excuse to charge exotic prices. All of our neighbors shopped there, so we of course had to as well. There were a lot of standards to live up to in Mary’s book, standards that if I were really to admit it, didn’t matter a whole hell of a lot to me. 

    Eventually after we relocated, we needed to find a new doctor. Driving thirty miles south to see the one in our old neighborhood was too much trouble. In our world, access to a doctor was important. So when Mary got one of her frequent, debilitating headaches, she called me to ask where she should go. 

    I was in Europe at the time on an extended business trip— a welcome vacation from home. My phone rang in the middle of the night, because Mary hadn’t considered a time change of course. She didn’t seem to stop and think about much in these moments. I had to tell the girl beside me in bed to be quiet while I answered my cell phone. 

    “What should I do?” Mary asked me. “I have this terrible headache and I don’t know any doctors here.”

    “Well, I don’t either. Especially not from Europe,” I said. “Ask Mrs. Johnson across the street. I’m sure she can point you to the best doctor in town. We have new neighbors and I’m sure they’d be willing to help and suggest someone.”

    “Okay, I can do that,” she said, and abruptly hung up. There was never a traditional goodbye with Mary. 

    I guess there are some things about my wife that I should explain… like her tendencies towards hypochondria. She’s the type of person that focused a lot of her energy on her ailments, seemingly seeking out a new problem the minute one was solved. Also, she had one nasty habit that came up regularly, like a cry for wolf that never resulted in a new ending. Mary had attempted suicide… Not just once, but many times. And to be honest, it’s not something I have ever been able to fully understand. 

    Her regular method was sleeping pills. She never took enough to kill herself, but certainly enough to warrant a trip to the hospital. In fact, this happened again while I was in Europe, soon after her headache episode that she had called about. Each time it had happened, she made sure that someone knew about it soon after the pills were swallowed and would be available to call the paramedics to rush her to the nearest emergency room. And she of course made sure I knew. 

    On the occasion when I was in Europe, she had called my secretary and said “tell him I love him. I won’t be here when he get’s back.” I’m sure it sounds dramatic, but it was a pretty similar farewell message to the many I’d received in the past. 

    My secretary Cindy immediately contacted me in Europe, once again waking me up in the middle of the night. 

    “I think your wife is leaving you,” she said. “She said she won’t be here when you get back. But she didn’t say where she was going.”

    “That would be too good to be true,” I said, which was met with silence. Clearly, not a great joke. “Don’t be alarmed Cindy. This is probably another suicide attempt, so I will need to get in touch with whichever hospital she has been taken to.” 

    “Oh my goodness, is that what she meant by she won’t be here when you get back, suicide? That is terrifying, I am so sorry.” Cindy sounded unsurprisingly panicked… A normal reaction I’m sure when it comes to a suicide attempt. Unfortunately, I had experienced this conversation many times before. 

    I assured her she had done everything right, and proceeded to hang up, and call home just to check if anyone was there. No answer, of course. So instead I called the police and told them I thought my wife might be in trouble and I needed to know where she had been transferred - I figured at this point, she must be at a hospital getting her stomach pumped.  

    A half hour later, my cell phone rang, and I was told my wife had attempted suicide, and the paramedics had gotten there in time. They gave me the name of the hospital she was transferred to. I called the new hospital and expressed concern, just as I had done each prior time she had done this. As suspected, the new doctor, Dr. Angela Parks, assured me that she would be just fine. Her voice was calm and steady as she reported the events of the day to me.     “She might feel sleepy for a while,” she said, “but that will wear off by tomorrow. But I must tell you that I think it crucial that your wife seek out some psychological treatment.”

    “Like a therapist?” I asked. 

    “Yes, a therapist,” Dr. Parks responded quickly. “It’s imperative that your wife gets some help here. One on one therapy could be very beneficial for her.”

    I had heard this all before, it was almost like Deja Vu at this point, but it all sounded so promising coming from the strong doctor… A strong woman. A strong, confident woman that believes that my wife needs help, that my wife that tackle this problem that she is facing. I realized in that moment that I felt beyond help. I felt lost. I felt like I was in a marriage I hardly understood playing a role that I wasn’t very good at playing. And I wasn’t helping her. I wasn’t helping my wife because I didn’t know how. I found myself instead fantasizing. I found myself instead during this conversation wondering what Dr. Angela Parks might look like. I was so emotionally removed from my own reality that I would regularly get lost in fantasy and day dreaming. It felt sad, but I also couldn’t help it. I think Dr. Angela is a brunette.  

    I snapped myself out of my drifting thoughts and gave the doctor the name and number of Mary’s sister. I wasn’t in the country, so I suggested they contact her for immediate assistance with Mary, I wouldn’t be back for a few days.

    “Your wife tried to commit suicide, you aren’t coming home now?” Dr. Park asked.

    “It’s not the first time,” I said, “and it probably won’t be the last. I have a meeting in London tomorrow, and I will be home the day after that. Believe me, if my schedule revolved around Mary’s chaos, I wouldn’t be able to support her ever mounding medical bills.”

    “This is not a joke, Mr. Richards,” she replied. “I feel it might be appropriate to report this to our social service office if your wife isn’t getting the help she needs.”

    “Please do,” I said. “And when you do, be sure to give them her therapist’s number. Speed dial number 1 on her cell phone. Her therapist is no help at all, but she can fill you in on just the last years worth of ‘events’.” 

    Dr. Parks hung up on me. I wonder when she stopped listening. I just hoped she understood that we had been here so many times before. I was tired. It was clear to me that I had all but given up on this marriage, because it wasn’t a marriage. I felt like I was a babysitter, and my wife was my child. She went through therapists like different varieties of candy. She sought out approval and validation, not actual help. In my opinion, her therapist was a joke, and her therapeutic treatments weren’t getting us anywhere. Mary treated her life like a joke, and I didn’t find it funny, and I didn’t know how to help. It was as simple as that. 

    My meeting in London the next day came and went. There were no distractions from the previous night’s calls, so I was able to concentrate fully on business, and that night, I packed for my trip home. I called the hospital again and learned that Mary’s sister had taken her home. I didn’t call home because it was the wee early hours of the morning, but I planned to call in a few hours and let everyone know I’d be home the following day. 

    The next morning, I boarded a flight to New York, where I would make a connecting flight to San Francisco. I always fly into New York because customs agents there allowed me to bring several bottles of French wine, unlike in California. I learned that lesson several years ago when I had two bottles of very fine Spanish sherry confiscated because I was over my California import limit. The flight to San Francisco was uneventful. I arrived in the early evening and, as expected, no one met me at the airport. I took a taxi home. 

    Jan, Mary’s sister, met me when I entered the house. She looked tired. 

    “How did it go this time?” I asked.

    “The same as last time,” she said. “There shouldn’t be any permanent damage, so she should have a full recovery. She’s asleep now.”

    “That’s good,” I said. “I really don’t want her to die like that, Jan. We’ve had some bad times, especially in the last few years, but early on there were a lot of good times. I don’t want her to die like that.” 

    “Don’t worry, she won’t die if she keeps going about it this way,” she said, with a smirk. I couldn’t help but smile a little, even though I was painfully aware how inappropriate that was. 

    “Do you want to have a drink?” She asked. “Maybe we should celebrate.” 

    “Is this something to celebrate,” I asked, puzzled. 

    “Maybe it is,” Jan responded quickly. “We can celebrate a dozen attempted—but not completed— suicides, why not? The real failure will be if she ever actually loses her life like that.”

    “Wait, a dozen? I think for us this is number 7 or 8….”

    “Oh, don’t give yourself so much credit,” Jan said. “You aren’t the only person she has done this with. I’d taken her home from the hospital many times before you two were married. Our parents have had the honor at other times, because I was too young to drive then. And she was just a teenager”

    I needed time to absorb that. It made me sad to realize that this was a normal part of Mary’s whole life, not just her time with me. I wondered sometimes if this was a desperate attempt at getting attention from her husband, not realizing that this was just a desperate attempt at getting attention in general. 

    “She told me on the phone a few days ago, after you had left for Europe, that her therapist wasn’t paying much attention to her. She didn’t feel like they were really listening.”

    I understood what Jan was saying. Mary had a problem with wanting attention, which led to a pathological lying problem. But no attention she received was ever really enough, not even in a one on one session with her therapist. Even when she had someones undivided attention, she wanted more. I knew that she wasn’t facing her real demons, but I didn’t know what to do about it, and the wedge between us grew wider and wider. 

                                                                              ______

​

    Mary woke the next morning with no visible after effects from her hospital stay. In fact, neither of us even mentioned it. We had breakfast and I left for the office as if nothing happened. I found it all absurd, yet I did nothing to change it. I guess I was coasting, and maybe I felt like this was the best way to keep her calm, even though I know that was just a  way of “avoiding the situation.” My behavior was just as absurd as hers was, because it was all rooted in utter denial. I was enabling, and she welcomed it… In fact, I think she was addicted to this routine, and I wanted nothing more than to run the hell away from it. 

    Upon arriving at the office, I was greeted by my secretary as usual, and she immediately launched into the many messages and things I needed to catch up on, especially after my time over seas.

    “You received a call from the hospital from Dr. Angela Parks? She would like you to call back to discuss what happened with Mary.”

    “Dr. Angela…” 

    “Dr. Angela Parks, yes.”

    Just the mention of Dr. Angela’s name made my ears perk up. This was so typical for me, where a new character on the periphery of my life would suddenly take center stage in a way that wasn’t easy to explain and wasn’t in any way based in reality. 

    I was interested in Dr. Angela, the woman who had hung up on me just days before, disapproving of my actions, concerned over my family dynamic. That concern drew me closer — she wanted to help. She was a strong woman who had good sense to know that something was wrong in my marriage. I was drawn to that certainty, that confidence, the centered and warm tone of her voice assuring me “something must be done.”

    I seated myself quickly at my desk and looked at the note with the hospital number that Cindy had written down for me. I dialed maybe a little too quickly, fumbling over the numbers I needed to press, needing to start over once because I messed up the sequence, frustrated at my own nagging impatience.

    “Returning a call to Dr. Parks,” I said once the hospital front desk answered, and I waited while the call to connect. 

    “Mr. Richards…” her voice answered after 4 or 5 rings. She didn’t sound harsh like I was expecting based on our conversation from before when she ended the call abruptly. “I apologize for losing you so suddenly the other day. Our call dropped, and then the rest of my day was so filled with patients, I’m just getting back to you now. 

    “Oh, I didn’t realize our call dropped. I thought you had hung up.” I responded, a little taken back. I thought she had hung up after all. I thought in the heat of the moment, the heat of her frustration with me, she had hung up. She had such an intense reaction and I was eager to explain, to explain why things had gone so awry in my marriage, and how much I had thought maybe I could fix it. Maybe I needed a way out, maybe she could help me find my way out. She could help me understand how I got here, how we got here. I thought when she hung up on me she had been wrapped up in all that. 

    “Oh Mr. Richards, why on earth would I hang up on you?” She asked. 

    I froze for a moment, unsure of what to say. Because you disapprove of my marriage? Because you can see how unhappy we are and you know this isn’t right for us? Because you just needed a moment to catch your breath, your intense emotions towards me overwhelming you in the moment…

    Just then, Dr, Angela’s voice disrupted my fantasy again, bringing me back down to earth and back to the reason for her message at my office.

    “I wanted to reach back out to see if we could make an appointment for you to come in to discuss what happened to your wife this week?”

    “Well sure, although Mary doesn’t like to go to the hospital unless it’s on her own terms, but I can try to convince her to come with me to talk to you…”

    “No Mr. Richards, you misunderstand me. Just you. I would like to speak to you alone,” the doctor corrected. 

    For some reason, I felt nervous. Dr. Angela was assertive. Her voice was commanding and yet, compassionate. I found myself wondering what kinds of books she read, or what her favorite cuisine was. I imagined walking into her office, the door shutting behind me, acutely aware that we were the only two people in the room. I didn’t know what she looked like, but I believed she was probably beautiful, dark hair and eyes, strong and steadfast. I imagined her swiveling around in her chair, turning to face me for the first time, eyes focused in on mine, holding my gaze. 

    These were the kinds of fantasies I was lost in these days. It wasn’t dreaming about fleeing physical affairs like my recent romp in Europe—a fun night out with another mutual friend, also seeking an escape from a loveless marriage. It was fantasies about dramatic connections and passionate affairs… long stares from across the room and love letters left on another doorstep. It was fantasies about something more intimate. 

    It felt like a long time before I responded to what the doctor had suggested.

    “I’d be happy to… whatever is best to help Mary.”

    “Great. I will have my assistant contact your secretary to schedule you an appointment. Also, Mary mentioned you had not found a new general doctor yet, and I told her I’d be happy to fill the void… so we can also get you scheduled for a physical exam if you’d like.”

    “Sure… we could do that.” I responded, although I felt like my voice was shaking.

    “Till then, Mr. Richards.”

    With that, I heard a click, and she was gone, like a shooting star in the night. This one telephone call was more electrifying than the last decade of my marriage. It was a little silly how much this short, meaningless conversation had just made my head spin.

                    

    When I got home later that day, I walked through the front door and saw Mary was sitting at the dining table staring straight ahead at the wall. Who knows how long she had been there… hours? Or potentially just moments, upon hearing my car pull into the driveway. It was never clear what was actually going on in her head. 

    “How are you feeling?” I asked as I set down my briefcase. 

    “I’m fine,” she replied quickly, keeping her eyes on the wall.

    “I’m going to go up and take a shower,” I said, as I headed towards our bedroom. 

    “You’re home late for someone who’s wife almost died,” Mary said, curtly. 

    This comment stopped me dead in my tracks, for I knew what the upcoming confrontation could look like, and I wanted nothing more than to avoid it entirely. Mary had a way of baiting me into a fight when I said little to nothing, which was generally my response. I’m generally not a fighter, if I’m being totally honest. I think in some ways, Mary being far too aware of this, would create these situations to get a rise out of me. Sometimes that was in the form of a pointless argument, and sometimes it was a trip to the hospital. More than anything, she did not like when her theatrics were met with silence. 

    “You did not die, thank goodness. Let’s just be grateful for that,” I finally replied after a moment, hoping to defuse the situation.

    “I could have died, and you’re off galavanting God knows where…”

    “Galavanting? I go to the same damn office everyday, Mary…”

    “Not when you’re traveling. And you just can’t wait to get away from me every single time can you? You can hardly stand to spend a moment home with your wife!” Mary said, standing up and walking into the kitchen. One of her favorite moves was leaving the room dramatically, walking away and waiting for me to follow. I stayed right where I was.

    “Are you trying to start a fight? You should be resting, this isn’t good for you,” I said. 

    “I’m fine!” She hollered back. I could hear her starting the water in the kitchen sink and banging around dishes, maneuvering them into the dishwasher, her passive way of walking away from me and this conversation that she had initially been the one to heat up. 

    In these moments, I knew there was no winning. This as a woman who lived to fight. I didn’t know why or where she had learned this survival tactic, butter 17 years of marriage, I knew Mary functioned from the belief that family wasn’t family without a whole lot of drama. Somewhere in her life, she had been led astray. In some ways, I felt horrible for not acknowledging these problems and learning to navigate them differently sooner. But here we were, and here was Mary, in a constant state of turmoil, with a husband that was at his wits end. 

    So as opposed to perpetuating the fight any further, I did what I usually thought was best… walking away from a fight I would never win. I started up the stairs and to the quiet of the bedroom, hearing the clanking of dishes grow fainter with each step.

    

    My appointment with Dr. Angela was set for the following Thursday. As I got ready that morning, I found myself flustered over what to wear, which was ridiculous for a married man in his late 40’s. I was all too aware of that. What did I think was going to happen when we met in her office?

    I sat down on the bed and bent over to put my left sock on when I saw Mary enter the bedroom from the bathroom and quickly walk past. 

    “Shouldn’t you be at work already?” She asked, suspiciously. 

    “I have a doctors appointment today with the doctor you found,” I replied quickly.

    “You never told me that…” Mary said, and I could sense her emotions rising. 

    “We don’t have a regular physician, and I haven’t been in for a check up in ages. After your last visit, I was given a card. I doubt I’ll be there an hour,” I answered, attempting to relax her attention on the situation. In some way, I felt like I was cheating even though nothing had happened. 

    “Well, I’m not even sure I liked that doctors office, so I’m not sure what the point is,” she replied. 

    I would need to remember to call her by her actual last name when I met her in person. As I approached the doctors office, I felt nervous. I knew my focus should be on Mary’s health, not the color of Dr. Angela’s hair.

    The office was down a long corridor on the 5th floor of a large building. The halls were bustling with nurses, wheel chairs and other medical staff pulling and pushing gurneys into various rooms or in and out of elevators. I approached a front desk, signed in, and sat down. Moments later, I heard my name. 

    “Mr. Richards?” A nurse asked, scanning the room. As our eyes met, I stood to go meet her. “Right this way.”

    She led me into an office with a view that stretched to the edge of town. 

    “Dr. Parks will be with you shortly,” she said, as she gently shut the door upon her exit. 

    I took a few steps forward and examined the view ahead of me. It was impressive. As I walked around the office, I could see her credentials on the wall, as well as some general information for patients. Out of curiosity, I took a look on her desk to scope out any family photos, but there was nothing to give away any of her personal information. For some reason, this investigation made my heart start pounding. I decided to sit down to try and relax while I wanted. 

    Just as I hit the seat, the door opened behind me and I popped back out of my chair. 

    “Mr. Richards?” Said a warm voice, and as I spun around quickly, I saw her for the first time… I saw her and took in her face the moment my eyes caught it and I was finally face to face with my Dr. Angela… A woman I knew nothing about that had completely taken over my consciousness in the most teenage way over the last few days as I awaited this appointment… And in that moment of seeing her for the first time, my fantasy evaporated as I took in who Dr. Angela was… Because when held side by side in my minds eye, my fantasy doctor and the doctor that stood before me and belonged to that disembodied, warm and soothing voice, were quite the opposite. 

    The doctor was older than I would have predicted. She had soft white hair that fell just past her shoulders, and she wore a ring on her wedding finger that I’m sure had been there for some time, although who knows… We all have our stories. 

    As this new wave of reality washed over me and I allowed the imaginary world I had been creating to fade away, I felt what can only be described as a sense of relief. I wasn’t looking for an affair. I never had been. But I certainly was looking for something, and maybe it was time I tried to figure out what that was... It was time to address the unhappiness in my own life. 

    But for now, I would sit down in my chair and finish my visit with Dr. Angela. Moving forward, I would keep the memory of this moment as a reminder that life goes on, and no matter what challenging conversations might be ahead, there are always new dreams to get excited about.