A Wife's Revenge

When I wrote the first two parts, I wanted to show meticulous planning from an MBA. Surgical precision. Military precision. Real project management bordering on ...well, some of the comments stated boredom.

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In part two, I wanted to show the self-destruction and emptiness of the cheaters. Then the lack of resolution following the aggrieved wife's 'revenge'.

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As someone I follow put it, 'The story didn't work'.

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He was correct.

Mea culpa mea culpa mea maxima culpa

(yep, it's Latin. Look it up)

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This final story brings everything out and fills in the holes.

It's not for everybody.

If it doesn't fit your idea of what you think life is, then sorry.

*****

My phone at work rang just after I sat down with a fresh cup of coffee. "This is Officer John Martin of the San Jose Police Department. I'm calling to find and speak with a Lucy Przyisabylski."

That was my name when I was married to Bret, and he pronounced it correctly. Nobody that doesn't know me or my ex or is a Polish immigrant knows how to pronounce it correctly. "Lucy Przyisabylski was my married name. I've been Lucy Standard for over 3 years. What can I do to help you and please provide a way for me to verify who you are."

"Ok, I understand. It's important that I speak with you. Can you please call the San Jose California police? Look up our website and get the non-emergency phone number from there. Ask to be transferred to me, Officer John Martin. I sit 3 doors away from the Operator and I'll tell her that I am expecting your call."

I was googling that police department while we were talking and started to dial immediately after we hung up. Then I stopped to consider things. What in the world would the San Jose police want to speak with me about? With my married name? With all the tech in that area? I've been working with oil industry firms, banks and financial companies in the North East, Midwest and Canada. Nothing tech, nothing California.

After dialing the number the phone was answered. "Hello, San Jose Police. How may I direct your call?"

"Is there an Officer John Martin there?"

"Yes, is this Lucy Przyisabylski?"

She pronounced it correctly, but I decided to not fight it this time. "Yes."

"I'll put you through to John."

A couple of clicks later I hear "Thank you so much for calling me back Ms. Standard. May I immediately get to the point?" I responded with a yes and he continued. "Do you know a Bret Przyisabylski?"

"I've been divorced from Bret for over 3 years, nearly 4. I haven't seen or heard of him for over 3 years. Don't even know where he lives. What is this about?"

"We were going through his things and you are listed as his Medical Power of Attorney, his medical POA. That document was signed, notarized and dated over 6 years ago. I take it you were married to him?" He paused while I took in what he was saying. Then I mumbled a "yes".

He continued. "The document is still valid and Bret is in need of someone now in that capacity."

Medical Power of Attorney was for someone else to make medical decisions if you are incapacitated. I immediately redid mine very early during the divorce process. Both of my sisters signed on for me. That cut him out of ever having any power to make medical decisions for me.

"Officer Martin, it was not a pretty divorce and I'm well aware that I can decide against doing anything." I heard a subdued yes over the phone. I remember getting that information when I was redoing mine. I'm sure that he's gotten refused before. His voice sounded like someone in his 50's and nearing retirement. Desk jobs are a great place to ride out till retirement.

"Officer, can you please tell me what happened."

"Well Ms. Standard, Mr. Przyisabylski was in a motorcycle accident and hasn't regained consciousness. We've been trying to find people to call and this call was one of leads we're working on. This Medical POA was found in the top drawer of his desk and an unfinished letter to you was in his waste basket. That's why I called."

"What was the content of that letter?"

"Well to be honest with you, it was rather rambling and I don't remember much, but the overall tone was an apology. With that said, he's been in a coma for over a day and it's imperative that we contact someone to get some answers and make some decisions. Are you aware of any other family?"

An apology? It took Bret over three years to begin to apologize?

"Are you still there Ms. Standard?"

That brought me back to the call. "...Other family?, let me think. He was an only child, his father abandoned his mother when he was four and his mother died about seven years ago. No other siblings and there was never any other mention of any other living family."

"You seem to be it Ms. Standard. I don't know what happened to you two in the past, but it's either you or the state of California making decisions for Bret. Would you have his best interest at heart?" Then he paused for 5 seconds, "Or would it be better that the state do what it will be obligated to do?"

I exhaled, loudly. Even I could hear the frustration in my breath. "Would you like to think about this Ms. Standard?"

I don't like making snap decisions. I like to consider my options and think things through. "I'd like to think this over for a little bit. Could I call you back in an hour? I'd like to discuss this with some of my family. I see that it's 8:00 in California. Can I call back at 9 AM?" We agreed and hung up.

Bret in an accident? And I'm the only one available? Bad marriage, we divorced. His life hit the fan for all of his screwing around. An apology found in the wastebasket? Now there's no one else?

I immediately made a call to my sister May. She couldn't talk for long as she was at work. That's when I called my fiancé Dave. He's a Marketing analyst for one of the companies we use for evaluating different firms for mergers and acquisitions. I dialed and he answered on the first ring.

"David O'Neil. And how may I help you Lucy? Miss me already?" What a guy. It's only been about two hours since I've seen him.

Here was someone that was so different than Bret. Warm, loving, a bit sexually shy, mature, but devoted and honest. No drama either. And he honestly loves me and I him. He grew up in a household that supported one another, just like mine.

I almost didn't make the cut from his family. His sisters knew I was divorced from an infamous philander. Such a polite way of saying a fucking around jerk. Dave 'bullied' them to give me a chance. They saw who I was when Dave had a medical emergency while leaving clients at the Chicago Merc Exchange after work in downtown Chicago one day. He'd been toughing out some pain, but it escalated rapidly to the point of him collapsing on the sidewalk. I was his "ICE" number, 'In Case of Emergency' in this phone.

He was taken to Rush Pres St Lukes. There the doctors discovered that was an infected abscess. I never left Dave's side until after surgery and he was medically safe and stable. His family 'adopted' me as one of their own after that.

Once I tried to take a pass on a birthday party for one of his many nephews. (Irish family planning, plan on a large Irish family.) I was politely read the riot act by Dave. He told me in no uncertain terms what it would mean to not show my face.

It was only a year later at a dinner with my sisters and their husbands when he got on his knee and asked for my hand. We moved in together in his condo in the West Loop two months ago. The wedding is in June at his parent's church in the Beverly neighborhood on the south side of Chicago. They had enough pull to get a Sunday wedding at that church, good old Chicago Catholic Political pull. Relationships and favors are quietly maintained by that extended family.

It'll be a big Irish, and then Slovak, Lithuanian, Mexican, Polish, African American, a couple of Shia's and 'the rest of whoever moved to Chicago that is part of the 'extended O'Neil family' wedding. Big close families mean big inclusive weddings.

"I've got a situation Dave, can you talk for at least 10 minutes?" For the next 30 minutes Dave listened, asked questions, and brought up things I told him before.

"Lucy, this is not about Bret. This is about you. No one is asking that you surrender. Helping someone in need has to be the best you can do for anyone. You've worked hard to forgive him. Not accept him, not take him back, not to support or enable him. Not to be part of him but to forgive and move on. That is part of you growing. You've decided to not waste your life on anger or hate.

"You are not taking him back, but be real, this is about living your religion, living your goals, being the best person that you can be. Even if he remains a jerk, you know you shouldn't do this to anybody short of a mass murderer."

We talked for another 10 minutes. Dave helped me to re-understand that I was not about revenge or anger. Revenge was long over. Even his fallout from Chloe's blowup at the bar left me feeling empty. He was a jerk, but he was a living breathing person too. He may still be a dangerous person to be around emotionally. There I was not going to go.

I do know what I should do, he is part of humanity. Should he be punished forever more because of what he did to me and others? That was not who I am, nor hope to ever be. No one should be abandoned at their hour of need. I knew that he may not stand much of a chance without some oversight.

I think that was what I wanted to do. It was so helpful to have that support from Dave. We have shared values. I have that ability to talk important matters over with Dave, especially now.

At the proper time, I made the first of several calls to California. First the Police, then to the Medical center.

Bret was at the Stanford University Medical Center, Trauma unit, in Palo Alto. That's about 30 minutes away from his apartment in San Jose. He had a concussion with brain swelling and a series of slightly less serious internal injuries along with a broken arm. They were able to see several possible areas of damages in his skull that they were clearly worried about. Sometimes the damage clears on its own, sometimes it can kill. He's stable but has been kept sedated. They were very concerned that a medical decision to operate may need to be made soon. There are significant risks to waiting or going ahead. Either way, a decision may need to be made tomorrow.

With the blessing and urging of Dave, I booked an immediate flight to San Jose. Dave was going to follow if I felt I needed him. A cab ride home to quickly pack and then the 'L' to O'Hare airport. Just made it past the TSA people and was the last one on the flight. I was loving that I had to sit between two smokers that fidgeted the entire time and reeked of stale tobacco. I must have been obnoxious in a previous life to deserve that.

I had a couple of possibilities for hotel rooms, but decided against checking into any until I was able to talk with the Doctors at the hospital. After being vetted by hospital security, I was allowed in. I was starting to worry about why the security when I was buzzed into the ICU. Then it hit me, post 911. The number of defense firms and the whole high tech industry in the area all made lots of reasons to play it a bit safer.

When I finally arrived outside of his room, I could barely see him for the medical equipment and bandages. But I could immediately tell it was Bret. I saw a distinctive scar on his left arm that he got when he was a kid. While thinking about things, a nurse touched my arm.

"Can I help you?"

"Yes, I'm the Medical POA, I'm Bret's ex. When will I be able to meet with the medical staff on his condition?"

"You are Lucy Przyisabylski?"

"That was my name when I was married to him. I'm Lucy Standard now." She gave me a questioning look, so I pulled out my old cancelled passport with the Lucy Przyisabylski name and my new passport with my current name. You have no idea how many times having both passports with me has helped. After I marry Dave and if I decide to become an O'Neil, I'll have two cancelled passports.

"His staffing will be happening in an hour. I'm afraid that you shouldn't stay in the hall waiting. At this point you also shouldn't be in the room until after the staffing and the doctors speak with you. There's a waiting room at the end of the hall. I'll come and get you then. My name is Mary. Bret is my patient and I'll be on duty till 8 PM tonight and for the next two days."

I must have looked at her with a question on my face. "We do 3-12 hour shifts a week."

"Ok Mary, I'm going to find the cafeteria for something to eat. I'll be back in 30 minutes and then check in at the nursing desk." She directed me back to the elevators. I know hospitals. It's better to be proactive then to depend on them to take care of somebody other than their comatose patient.

On the way to the cafeteria I passed the chapel. It was empty and so was I. Well, I was not really empty. I was empty of peace and more full of conflicting emotions, good and bad memories and more. This was quiet time, time to be alone. Praying was what I needed. I was lost in my thoughts for a few quick moments when I discover that 45 minutes had passed. I quickly left to return to the nursing station.

It was just like I've been told what the military is all about - hurry up and wait. And wait I did for another hour. Granola bars in my purse, the water fountain and the staff coffee pot helped. That time helped me to understand why the heck I flew 4 hours to take care of somebody who was alone.

"Lucy PRY Z IS ABLE SKI?"

I shook my head, a regular American, not even close. It was a young looking red haired man wearing a lab coat. Glancing at his badge I saw that he was a resident and very Irish looking. "It's Ms. Lucy Standard now. I'm the Medical POA for Bret Przyisabylski." I looked at his eyes and stopped him cold. "That's pronounced Sha-bils-ski. OK?"

He nodded yes but didn't even try. "It's time to discuss Bret's condition now. Could you come this way?" and he led me to Bret's room. There were two doctors along with Mary and an additional nurse waiting.

I know that I'm a reasonably bright person, but they were talking in dialect, medical dialect. After my 3rd interruption, they realized they needed to go slower and translate immediately. Being in finance, I've been around many people attempting to gloss over 'little' details, the materially relevant deal breaking 'little' details. I'm practiced in not getting rolled over anymore. One of the things I learned from my marriage.

My directness actually worked out better. A couple of leading questions from me showed them I was on board and tracked them.

End result? They didn't know. Monitoring his brain swelling, possible emergency surgery if need be. Their concern was if his brain continued to swell, or there was a stroke or whatever. I'm not medical, I'm financial. The nurses were helpful afterward.

The big decision would be if there was no recovery, if his vitals started to go flat or if the level of interventions started to become meaningless. In that case, would I be on board for making him comfortable, then allowing him to pass? I never thought I signed on for that kind of decision. Scary. 'Life and Death' is what happens when you have other plans. My whole life I thought that it was only 'Life happens' when you have other plans.

After the physicians left the room, I spoke with the nursing staff for a while. My anxiety started to drop only slightly. After they left, I was alone with Bret. That's when I parked myself on the couch and cried for a few minutes. This is life and death and there was no one else for him. I called Dave right after the cry to help me process. By the time we were finished, it was after 9:30 pm and I decided to find some place for the night.

The hospital's front desk was helpful in locating a hotel with a shuttle. The clerks at the hotel's front desk recommended a pizza place that delivered to the hotel. After the pizza I collapsed into a series of nightmares. Never thought that the decision to let nature take their course and let someone pass would be so difficult to actually consider. Even with how difficult it was and the wringer it was putting me through, I was still glad to be here for him.

The next day I was back at his bedside. The only person I 'knew' in California was Officer John Martin. With time on my hands and questions about Bret's apartment, I gave him a call.

It was nice to hear a friendly voice. We talked about 10 minutes when he offered to have dinner with me. I politely begged off, but he said that his wife Mary would accompany us. She was Bret's nurse in the ICU. Now that I think about it, she was one of the few that pronounced his name correctly. Mary was the first nurse I met at the ICU and has been very helpful to me. What a combination, Cops and Nurses. Who ever heard about that?

At the end of her shift at 8 PM, Mary grabbed me and we left. We were meeting her husband John at a quiet restaurant 20 minutes away. She offered to take me back to the hospital or drop me off at the hotel afterwards.

Mary and John were in their mid to late 50's and warm and friendly. Over dinner, we talked about things in general. As the meal progressed, we got to talk about Bret, my marriage, divorce and why I'm here. They were very interested in why I came. I explained that to them but I was wondering why it was so important.

I looked at them both, "Honestly, I can't figure out why you both are here with me today. Don't you both have better things to do?"

That's when Mary sharply nudged her husband and pointedly said to him, "Fess up now mister." It was not a friendly rebuke.

Looking at me a bit sheepishly, John started. "I got you here partially under false pretenses. You can get as pissed as you want to, but hear me out first. If you need to beat on me, all you need to do is ask Mary here to do it." Mary was nodding her head yes, but it was in all seriousness.

"First off, the Medical POA was real. The state taking over was real. There is no one competent to sign anything or make any decisions for Bret."

He reached for his water and took a sip. "I've known Bret's father for years."

I jumped. This was the first anyone ever said anything about Bret's father being alive.

He continued. "I found out after Junior's accident that Bret finally met and spoke with his father. First time in 35 years. It didn't go well. A couple of days later was when Bret had the accident.

"This was a single vehicle accident on a clear and dry day in the early afternoon. No drugs or alcohol, skid marks, nothing. Nothing else was involved. As police, we were able to search his apartment. The pages in the waste basket, what Senior told me all showed what he was feeling. There were enough signs to point to a possible suicide attempt. By the way, this was not put into any reports."

I was in shock. I stated to mumble something when Mary put her hand on mine and quietly said to wait. John continued.

"The real story about Bret's father didn't start in Chicago, it was in Nam. PTSD, Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. That's why he abandoned his family. He had kept it together as well as he could till the mid to late 70's when it hit him pretty hard. He was afraid of hurting his family. That's why Senior split for the road. There's been lots of Viet Nam era vets like him over the years out here. Warmer climate means that they have less of a chance of freezing to death at night. Senior lived on the street or low rent slums. He'd get clean occasionally and then fall back down. I first met him about 30 years ago. Had to arrest him a few times, sometimes at his request, sometimes at somebody else's request."

John took another sip of water and continued. "I found out a couple of days ago that Junior finally was able to track him down. Junior and Senior meeting and it didn't go well.