My Husband Abandoned Me During Surgery for a Sandwich — And Blamed Me When My Heart Almost Stopped

Part 1

I am staring at my packed suitcase in the corner of our bedroom.

My hands are still trembling slightly from the residual anesthesia.

The house is perfectly quiet right now.

Tyler is downstairs watching television like nothing happened.

I can hear the faint canned laughter of a sitcom echoing up the stairs.

He expects me to effortlessly get over the fact that he accused me of overreacting when I refused to speak to him this morning.

I suppose I should start from the very beginning.

Yesterday was supposed to be a simple outpatient procedure.

I had a lumpectomy scheduled for early in the morning.

The tumor was not believed to be malignant.

I still wanted it out immediately.

My mother passed away from breast cancer.

Her name was Brenda.

I spent my entire childhood watching her sit in sterile waiting rooms.

I remember the smell of rubbing alcohol and old magazines.

I watched her fade away slowly.

I vowed I would never let anything fester in my own body.

I took my health incredibly seriously.

Tyler got the day off work to drive me to the clinic.

I thought that meant he cared about my well-being.

I genuinely thought he wanted to be there for me during a terrifying time.

We arrived at the surgical center at six in the morning.

The waiting room was freezing cold.

I was wearing a thin cotton gown that offered no warmth.

My nerves were completely frayed.

I could not stop bouncing my leg.

I just wanted the whole ordeal to be over.

The procedure was unfortunately delayed for three entire hours.

Emergencies happen in hospitals all the time.

I understood that logically.

Tyler did not understand.

He kept checking his watch with exaggerated sighs.

He shifted loudly in those uncomfortable plastic waiting room chairs.

He started complaining about his stomach rumbling.

He skipped breakfast because I was not allowed to eat anything before the anesthesia.

He acted like he was the one making a massive personal sacrifice.

He glared at the receptionists every time they walked past.

I just sat there shivering under my flimsy gown.

I felt incredibly guilty for keeping him waiting.

I kept apologizing to him for the delay.

I was the one about to go under the knife.

Dr. Patel finally came into the pre-op bay.

She explained the delay and apologized profusely.

She was calm and professional.

She said the actual surgery would only take an hour.

I felt a massive wave of relief wash over me.

I looked over at Tyler for a reassuring smile.

He was already standing up from his chair.

He grabbed his heavy winter jacket from the back of the seat.

He announced he was going to get a hot lunch while I was under.

My heart sank immediately.

I was completely terrified of being put to sleep.

I had never been under general anesthesia before.

Hoping to compromise, I asked him if we could just pick up food on the way home together.

Trying to mask my rising panic, my voice sounded unnaturally light and casual.

The last thing I wanted was to come across as a needy or demanding wife.

Without making eye contact, he offered a vague, noncommittal nod.

Through that simple gesture, he gave the distinct impression he would stay right there in the room.

The nurses wheeled me away down the bright corridor.

I counted backward from ten while the medicine burned my veins.

I only made it to seven before the darkness took over.

The next thing I knew, someone was violently shaking my shoulder.

I opened my eyes to blinding, harsh fluorescent light.

nurse Heather was standing over me.

Her face was drawn tight with absolute panic.

I could taste bitter bile in the back of my throat.

My chest felt like it was splitting entirely open.

I looked down at my thin blue gown.

It was completely soaked in bright red blood.

The internal stitches had unexpectedly given way.

My blood pressure had plummeted to dangerously low levels.

I was crashing rapidly.

The alarms on the monitors were screaming in my ears.

I tried to ask for Tyler.

My lips were completely blue and numb.

No sound came out of my dry mouth.

nurse Heather told me I was very sick and needed to stay awake.

She squeezed my hand tight.

She said they were desperately trying to track down my husband.

Dr. Patel was calling his cell phone repeatedly from the nursing station.

It kept going straight to his stupid voicemail.

I was coming in and out of consciousness.

I was vomiting uncontrollably into a plastic basin.

I was entirely alone in that sterile, terrifying room.

I thought I was going to die without my husband holding my hand.

I thought about my late mother Brenda.

I wondered if she felt this agonizingly lonely at the very end of her life.

I prayed for Tyler to walk through the swinging doors.

He never did.

I miraculously survived the medical crisis.

The surgical team stabilized me after an agonizing hour of panic.

They finally reached Tyler on his phone.

He strolled back into the recovery room smelling strongly of a deli sandwich and gasoline.

He did not look panicked at all.

He did not look concerned for my life.

He looked profoundly annoyed that he was interrupted.

He actually asked the nurses what was taking so damn long.

Dr. Patel immediately ripped into him.

She told him I had almost lost my life on that table.

He just blinked at her with blank eyes.

He did not rush to my bedside to comfort me.

He did not hold my trembling hand.

He defended his own actions immediately.

He loudly stated he was getting gas for his truck.

He said he had to drive my lazy body around all day.

He literally used those exact words in front of the medical staff.

He said he could not possibly have known my heart would suddenly stop.

He blamed me for not telling him it was a highly risky procedure.

He crossed his arms defensively over his chest and glared at the surgeon as if she had personally ruined his afternoon.

I laid there in complete silence.

I realized I was legally married to a total stranger.

I realized my life meant absolutely nothing to him compared to his own minor convenience.

Now we are back home in our shared house.

He expects everything to return to normal by tomorrow.

He thinks a minor argument fixes everything.

I have made a decision that will destroy his comfortable little life.