Radioactive

 Toronto

On the radio:  It's Not For Me To Say:  Johnny Mathis

In my bloodstream: nada

Sorry to be late today.

We just got home from Moffitt.  My stitches were all removed - from both head surgeries as well as from my right arm.  They did a fine job and hardly any scarring will be evident in a short time.

The pathologies were complete and discussed.  The rear incision on my scalp, as expected, did not catch all the margins, and more melanoma than expected is still there.  Melanoma in situ is not as deadly as is metastatic, but in 10 -15% of the cases the can reform and become malignant.

As a result, we have agreed to a further excision at the end of this month.  We will cover the wound with  a silicone pad  and let the skin grow underneath it over a few months.  Other than that, we are doing great.  Kath and I have already played golf and gone for a burger and beer.  Walking is still touchy due to the cavities left on my shin, but that, too, will pass in the very near future.

 A Personal Story

In 1972, I was living with Wes, a friend from college, in a duplex, near Lake Ontario, in the southwest corner  of Toronto.  He was a farm boy from Lindsay, and still travelled home every weekend to help out his family with their business.  

It was an early Saturday morning, just before Christmas and I had the apartment to myself.  I had slept in a little and was just about to fix myself some breakfast.  I suddenly had a massive pain in my chest.  I couldn't breathe and believed I must be having a heart attack.  The pain was stabbing and would not ease at all.  I got to the phone and dialed.  I called 911.

I had just recently divorced my wife, Helen.  Most of you will not know about Helen.  

Helen was a girlfriend from my Orillia days and was living with one of her sisters, in Toronto.  She was working as a secretary for a brokerage firm at the time and I had just started a job with CIL.  We were both quite lonely at the time.  We were both out of our elements, living in a big city and had not yet developed any friends in Toronto .  Helen was, at least in part,  a Chippewa Indian, with jet black hair, dark skin, brown eyes and an engaging smile.  We had known each other for years and very quickly, we rekindled our former relationship.  Marriage soon made a lot of sense to us.

Our life together became fairly typical of others our age - lots of long hours at work, followed by weekend parties with others like us.  Somewhere, after our first year together, an unhappiness crept in.  We fell into a marriage malaise.  I was very fortunate to have a job that I loved, with lots of business friends, and had been given my first raise and a promotion.  In my first year of work I was making more than my father ever earned, for all the years he had labored.

Helen was not on the same track.  She was unhappy with her secretarial job and talked numerous times to her boss, who she got along with well, about getting ahead in her firm.  He encouraged her to take the exams which would let her become a broker.  She studied diligently, but failed the test.  She understandably became discouraged.  We both went out for beers with our respective co-workers after work and saw less of each other than we should have.   Signs of discontent in our home life and  disenchantment in her business life became evident.  Things, as they say, got much worse.  I eventually moved out, at her insistence.  I believed, naively, I suppose, that time apart might make us better appreciate the other and that fences might be mended.  

One or two days turned into a couple of months, and then, during one of our periodic conversations about getting back together, Helen told me that she was pregnant.  She had arranged to have an abortion in Buffalo.  I talked to my mom and told her the story.  I asked her if she would move from Orillia to live with me in Toronto and help me take care of my baby.  I would pay her as much as I could, which would be at least what she was making as a waitress.  She agreed, as I knew she would.  I called Helen and told her that I wanted to keep this baby, and that if she did not want to try together, to be parents, I would do so myself.  It was, in my mind, as much my baby as hers.  

These days, there are many discussions surrounding women's rights.  Most everyone is proud to loudly proclaim they believe in "women's rights".  My son was aborted without my agreement or consent.   He had to have been around three months old, in her womb.  My unborn baby deserved a chance at life.  My opinion.  I still think about that baby almost every day.  I also carry the burden of failure.  I could not hold our family together.  I have been too embarrassed at my incapacity to ever bring up the subject.  

It is too easy to publicly wear your badge of honor and beat your chest on popular causes,  especially if you have no stake in the game.  I am sorry if I offend anyone reading this. There are many, I know, who will disagree and I know I'm on the wrong side of current thinking on abortion, but here I stand.

I went to see Helen at an agreed time after she told me what she had done.  The apartment was emptied out and she was long gone.  She had taken all our belongings  and left.  She had apparently, planned to move prior to our meeting date.  I take, without hesitancy, full responsibility for my contribution in the dissolution of our marriage.   I still cannot comprehend why such animus at the end.

A mutual friend told me she had move in with some man in Quebec.  My friend thought he might be French - Canadian.  I didn't  know what was going on then and I know less now.  There was no more contact.  She did show up in Toronto for the divorce a year later, when my lawyer sent her the papers.  We had no words together in the courtroom.  In and out. Done.

One of my longest and best friends, Sylvia Smith, called me over a year ago, to tell me Helen had died in a hospital near Orillia.  I considered attending the memorial service out of respect.  I didn't know what, if anything , her family knew of her past with me, so I didn't attend.  I did not need to upset her family.  

This is an extract of Sylvia's e-mail to me and my response.

We made it back to Orillia last Friday night at 10 pm. Tired but glad to be back.
Hope you are doing well and continue to get stronger each day.
Not sure if I should be mentioning this, but as a friend, just felt I had to...hope you will understand...just read in the local paper, on line, that Helen passed away...visitation is tomorrow at 11 and celebration of life at 1 pm...unfortunately, Gerry and I have to go to Toronto tomorrow so we won't be able to attend.
I hope I have not overstepped any boundaries.
Love to you and Kathy.

Thank you, Syl,

You have not overstepped anything.  I am so sorry to hear this news.  I have no idea how Helen’s life has gone.  I always hoped she would be happy.  I am sure that she will have lots of friends tomorrow to celebrate her life.  Her sisters were all great people.  Obviously I don’t know if her Mom is still alive.

I also don’t know if she had a family.  If so, she will surely be missed.  This is sad news and it’s hard to believe that she died.  She was way too young.  I sincerely hope that she did not suffer.

Glad you are all well and hope we talk soon.

Thank you for letting me know.  

I appreciate  your note.

Love you,

Robin

When I talked to Syl, after, and thanked her, I asked her if she had kept in touch with Helen.  She and Helen had been good friends in their early years.  They had not talked since the separation.  Sylvia and Gerry had shown up to support me after the break-up all those years ago and to this day, they have always shared my life and Kathy's.  One could not have hoped for a relationship like ours.  I unloaded my baggage on Syl and told her, at greater length, the story you have just read.

                                                          Friends at rainbow's end.


Only one other friend besides Kathy have I ever told about this most sad part of my life.  I have kept it hidden in a dark part of my my heart from everyone else until now.  I have always hated a part of myself for my shortcomings.  I know I should have trusted my family and friends to love me despite my failures.   I now hope the truth will set me free.  I created a secret and now it is finally out for all to see.  I hope you, my friends,  will understand and forgive me.

The ambulance came and I asked one of the medics to open a drawer and take out a note with Mom's phone number.  "If I die, please call her".   And off we went to hospital.

Sorry for the lack of pictures and the loss of humor today.  I'll be back and better next Monday.  

My next posting will finish this story.  I intend to expose the goodness  that is around us.

Promise.