Sleeping in a Lonely Bed

I mentioned in my previous blog that I’m not married. I’ve only ever been serious about one man, over a decade ago. I used to joke to people who asked that I thought he was Mr. Right, but he turned out to be Mr. Jerk. It’s true that he was something of a jerk, but in his defense I have to add that the real reason we split up was simply that we weren’t right for each other: he was an emotionally needy Scorpio and I’m a freedom-loving Sagittarian. Not that I believe astrology much (although, I have to admit that the Chinese are on to something – I really do seem to have all the behavior traits attributed to the Dragon!) but it’s undeniable that he pushed for an emotional closeness that I simply was not able to offer him. Part of me is saddened by that, because when he wasn’t being a jerk, he was a great guy. Also because in the years since I’ve managed to work a little on alleviating that need for independence, and would really welcome emotional closeness with someone. First, I need to approach the issue of physical closeness with someone. Hell, I grew up in a house with my own bedroom, and I’ve never even shared a room with someone, so aside from the rare instances like that brief stay with my sister in a horrid motel on Lake Huron (thank God we can laugh about that now!), I have always slept alone. Could I learn to share with someone who hogs the covers? Would he be able to tolerate my constant tossing and turning, due to RLS? What if he snores? What if I do? (I’ve been told I do, but it was my father who said this, so the source is rather dubious – and definitely a case of the pot and kettle meeting in a black place) For someone who enjoys sleeping and resting as much as I do, this is not a small issue. On the other hand, it’s been damned cold this week, and I can’t help but think how much I’d love to have someone else sharing my bed, even if like the majority of men he’s not really into cuddling. Just the extra body heat would be a good thing – right now, my roommate’s 6-month-old tabby cat Bobby sleeps on my bed, and though he’s cute and purrs a lot, it’s just not the same thing (although, just like a guy, he butts his head in my face when he’s ready to go downstairs and be fed; that’s his way of saying, “Hey? You up yet?”). The more I meet with people who haven’t avoided physical and emotional closeness, the more I yearn for it, and envy them.

Yesterday morning, I was in the ICU to which I’m assigned, checking the patients who are intubated as part of my daily rounds. Three doors down the hall, I saw a room with about 15 medical staff inside, which I immediately realized meant only one thing: CODE BLUE. Before I could go ask for clarification, I heard that unmistakable sound: EEEEEEEEEEEEEE echoing down the hall. A nurse came out from the room, and in a rare moment of team synchronicity, we briefly communicated: Is he?....Yes; just now. That was my introduction to Steve, who was thought to be going home today, but instead died unexpectedly yesterday after emergency surgery. I spent nearly three hours with his widow and two of his children; I love to hear stories about great people, and Steve was definitely somebody I wish I’d known. His wife Sally told me about how he’d been her best friend for almost her entire life; they were married for over 50 years and spent only two or three nights apart. Now she wonders how she’ll sleep alone. A friend who has already been widowed said that she had to sleep on the couch for over six months after her own husband died; she couldn’t get herself accustomed to sleeping alone.

That afternoon, while making normal rounds on a different floor, I met Vivian, who was standing at the bedside of her husband Frank. He is over 90 already, and they’ve been married 60 years. The sheer numbers are almost incomprehensible to me; I can’t imagine being with one person for so long. She, too, expressed her fear of losing him, so I told Frank (who was sleeping fitfully) in a joking tone, “hey, you heard her – you have to get better ‘cause she can’t be without you!”. Humor is something I often resort to when I discuss issues surrounding emotional neediness, and this blog is a perfect example. I guess using humor is a good defense when you find it hard to understand the language. I’ve never shared a bed with someone; how the HELL can I try to offer support for someone who has done so for nearly twice my lifetime?!? The one thing that stands out to me is something Sally said twice, both times in a heartbroken voice: “Who will I talk to now?”

When I sit back and try to process this all, I realize that there IS no way I can understand what it’s like to spend 60 years with one person. At the same time, it makes me yearn all the more to find someone with whom I can share even 60 months. I’ll take that over being alone any night. I’m at last beginning to realize that sleeping in a lonely bed is only good for those who can’t open up to others emotionally. Now that I can, and am, I’m ready to find a man with whom I actually can pursue emotional closeness. I guess I’d better try to find another Scorpio, though, or things might be even worse this time :) Thank you, Steve, for being such a wonderful husband to Sally. And thank you, Frank, for being so indispensable to Vivian. I was privileged to be present in the lives of both of you, and your ladies.