[orthodoc]

I'm sorry. I've never been a drama queen. Not going to deliberately off myself tonight, just don't care anymore.

I know there's no fix for this. I just find that, when I'm really down, I write. Sort of inflicted this on you and whoever else takes a peek, sorry.

I started out very black and white, very intense, like pretty much everybody does as a young adult. I was sure of what I wanted, got my heart broken at 18, got date-raped at 18 1/2, moved away (it's a good thing) and went on to come first in both the chemistry and biochemistry classes of my university with my undergraduate degree. Went on to medical school, actually got a better school to take me after I'd turned them down. Why? Because my ex got accepted there and not at the place I originally sent my acceptance to. First big mistake.

Didn't cover myself with glory at med school but did well. It wasn't my best fit. I would've done better as an academic. Could've chosen an academic type of specialty, but by then I was bound up with my ex and doing something different, that would mean a split, didn't seem rational. Young love and all that. I will say, he was extremely personable, extroverted, cheerful, spontaneous, and pursued me with determination. No sign of typical abuser stuff. I was a bit lazy, having had my heart broken, and just let him pursue without much encouragement on my part. I gather that's the best thing for conniving women to do, but honest, I wasn't doing that. Just lazy where I should have been alert, for his sake as well as mine.

We spent tons of time together by default, being the only two in an insanely demanding undergrad program at the same university and then in the same med school. We married after third year med, for practical reasons.

We had children sooner than expected; I got pregnant right at the start of my internship. Let me tell you, I don't recommend it. Spent months seeing patients in ER and excusing myself to run off and throw up. There is no pity among residents; they're all so stressed out that the prospect of someone not pulling her weight brings out animosity, not compassion. My first child needed the NICU and teetered on needing an exchange transfusion for days (in 1986, when the blood supplies were unsafe - he would've very likely gotten HIV). I went back to work full of anxiety and then we went north as soon as we could, because after all I could write my Board exams anytime and there was no point delaying my ex for 6 months. I'd gotten sick after delivery and spent time in hospital, needed to make up time to finish my internship.

My beautiful first-born was followed by my second son, who shouldn't have been born, according to the docs. I was supposed to be too full of scars. My second son was so big and beautiful, but very soon it became clear there were problems. He was diagnosed autistic, then Asperger's, then early onset bipolar, and many other things. He was very violent from about 7 years old. I home-schooled my kids until my oldest was in sixth grade. In third grade he read at college level. In seventh grade, at age 12, he was diagnosed with schizophrenia.

My third son came along two years after his older brother, and my daughter two years later again. By then our household was in chaos. My ex had long previously chosen to live as a bachelor in terms of his work and athletics (he was very athletic) and amusements. He wasn't unfaithful as far as I know. He was much more committed to living for himself, not that interested in looking elsewhere. To this day I think he probably never strayed.

I was very lonely from the time I stayed home with the kids, from the birth of my second son. I did some locums but had no reliable babysitting; was accepted for a Master's at a prestigious university but my ex wouldn't share child care. I got to the final round of interviews for a very good job with the Canadian federal government in the Health Protection Branch but my ex then announced he wouldn't move to Ottawa. I tried to get into programs in Public Health so I could be a Medical Officer of Health but ex wouldn't move to cities where I could enroll in the program.

And so on. I ended up caring for my kids full-time because my ex was absent and they needed a lot of care. We moved to the US and I needed to advocate even more. I think the day I was told my oldest son had schizophrenia at 12 years old may have been the worst, the hardest, of my life.

Enough already ... crap. Who wants to know all this? Sorry.