what's in a name

here's a story i've been meaning to tell for a while: the story of the name "i'm the wife." (or "ohimthewife" which is pretty much the same thing.)

it all started way back on april 20th, in the st. vincent's emergency room, with j lying dazed on a gurney and me sitting in the dirtiest, most uncomfortable but only available extra chair in the er.

we had been through a lot already that day. we wanted a moment alone together; a moment of peace; a moment of not having to look up the gown to the wrinked crotch of the elderly gentleman in the gurney opposite j's. we had just pulled the curtain closed and were admiring the mysterious brown stains along one side when it was violently ripped open by a woman with "funky" glasses and a lab coat: the mythic "dr. s."

we had been hearing about dr. s from the nurses for the past two hours. apparently she was the one calling the shots in that godforsaken place.

she said, "mr. m?"

"yes," j replied.

"and you are?" it took me a minute to realize she was talking to me. and then took another minute to realize that she wasn't asking me a philosophical question: who am i? WHO am i? who AM i? who am I?

"the wife," i said.

not that it mattered. she had moved on. she was now making some major medical decisions without knowing any of j's history; she was busy.

yes, that's me: the wife. the one who sits in the crappy chair; the one in the way; the one who asks annoying questions; the one to ignore at will; the one who should be doing "this" or "that" for her poor, poor husband.

so while j may be j or mr. m, i will always be first and foremost "the wife" whose name will be said and forgotten as many times as a needle is stuck into j's arms, which is to say many, many times.