show excerpt
Updated: 4 days ago
by Keith McGill
Over My Dead Husband
So when we’d been together for a while, we weren't always chill. Sometimes we were snippy.
I made dinner almost every day because I started learning to cook and “Let’s make the day exciting by making meals for people” and I remember one morning that I was especially frazzled, because was also cleaning the house and I was working online so I’ve got to get this done before I go to my online gig . . . da da da da. So I brought him a plate full of eggs with some veggies and he said, not “Can I have some salt?” or “I think you forgot the salt.” He said, “Are we not using salt anymore?”
And I left, and I went and got the salt, and he said, “Or pepper?” And I said, “That’s two.” And he said, “what do you mean?” And I said, “Note that that is two.” And he said something else that day and I said, “That’s it! That’s it. The next time something is cooked in this house it will be you. You will cook it.” Right?
And the first day went by. And the second day went by. And the third day went by. And I was very happy with cereal for dinner. And, I don’t know. I go to the grocery or something and I come back home. And we have the same, we have the same remote so I can what he’s been watching on YouTube or whatever. And every recipe—there were like eight different recipes for cacio and pepe. If you don’t know what cacio e pepe is, it’s basically a really simple dish but you have to do it just right or it will be ruined.
You boil spaghetti. You save some of the hot water. You put the spaghetti in the pan. You throw the hot water in. You grate cheese very quickly. You make a really quick sauce and add . . . salt and pepper.
The irony was not lost.
So one day after we’re able to go back out, and see things and do things and be places, I come home, and before I can get the door closed all the way I hear, “I’m on the floor but it’s okay.”
And I’m trying to figure out how that could be true. And so I walk through the house into the bathroom, and Jim is laying on the floor. And I said, “Did you fall or just . . . What happened?” And he said, “I’m okay.”
Now James was a hypochondriac. But he also had everything. So it made sense. He had heart problems. He had liver problems. He—um—had vision problems. Until he got hearing aids he couldn't hear. His stomach bothered him. He had everything, which is why he was afraid he had everything.
And so today—usually when he’d do this—usually—I would be, “We should see a doctor, or go somewhere,” and COVID gave him the excuse to never leave the house and not see any doctor ever again. And I said, “We should go and see a doctor, go to the—” “No I’m fine.” And he would be ostensibly fine. And when he was laying in the floor, I said “We can’t say you’re fine.”
And so I call an ambulance, and he gets in the ambulance, and we go to the hospital. They take him to the hospital. And he’s there for a few days and they say, “You’ve got a tear in your liver,” which seems drastic, but he had hepatitis for a long time before he knew he had it, and he drank about five or six beers a day. And . . . he never moved. So those add up.
So . . . so he . . . he’s in the hospital and the doctor says, “You’ve torn your liver. If you can pee you can go home.” I have never seen a man try harder to pee than this man. And he pees. And we go home. And it’s December ’21.
In April ’22, I come in and he’s lying on the floor and he can't tell me not to be upset because he’s too weak. And so I get him in the ambulance, and they take him to the hospital. And he’s not talking. And he’s not doing anything. And then he tries to talk, and everybody’s “Sir what’s wrong?” “Honey, what’s wrong?” and no words come out. But blood does.
And here’s the thing. My head is half sympathy, half science. And so I’m like “Oh my God! Honey! Are you ok?” And the other half is, “That is cool as shit. I’ve only seen this on television.”
And I’m just standing there watching, and they realize, “Oh my God! There’s someone who’s not medical in this room,” and they throw me out of the room.
And they take you—if you’ve ever waited in a hospital in an emergency situation—they take you to the only room they can, and the only room that they could find was a chapel, which is fine. But I noticed a thing in the chapel—side note—I noticed that there’s only Christian literature in the chapel, so if you're Buddhist or Hindu, don’t go to the hospital. They have no counsel.
So I’m waiting in the room, and they come and get me, and they say he’s stabilized, which is the vaguest, loosest, least specific word they could say. So I walk in the room, and everything is using a machine. His heart is using a machine. His lungs are using a machine. His kidneys are using a machine. Plus, they are putting drugs into his heart to make it beat so the machine could keep it beating.
Okay. And then you get the phalanx of doctors, right? And they all have a part. “Hi, I'm the liver doctor. No.” “I’m the stomach doctor. No.” “I’m the heart doctor. No.” “I’m the toe doctor. No. “His hair is great, but no.” Right?
That goes on for three or four days. And finally one day he just doesn't want to do it anymore. And he just starts to struggle against the machine and it beeps and the wires go crazy and things and they come in and they put more drugs in and they turn things down and they turn things up and he’s calm.
And then the phalanx comes in. And nothing changed. And nothing changed. And this happens for two or three days and he fights and he struggles and he fights and finally the phalanx comes in and says, “We can't do anything. We can’t operate because he’s too old. He’s in his 80s.” He was in his 70s, but he wasn’t in great shape. Or he might bleed out because he was also on blood thinners, because he had high blood pressure. Or he may just not survive the surgery because there’s always a chance. So Rational Boyfriend Me was like, “Gotcha. Thanks Doc.” (snaps fingers) Gay Hysterical Boyfriend Me goes out of the building—this might be the gayest grief ever, Ma’am—goes out of the building, puts in his earbuds and finds the saddest torch songs possible to scream as he walks around the hospital.
So the first song I put in—an oldie but a goodie, 1950s:
Don’t they know it’s the end of the world,
‘Cause you don't love me anymore?
1970’s. A lot of people don’t know this one. It’s one of my favorite songs about “I thought it was fine when you left but I knew it really wouldn’t be but I’m trying to pretend it’s not:”
Bluer than Blue
Sadder Than Sad
You’re the only life this empty room has ever had.
My favorite "You've left me and there’s nothing to be done”
One less bell to answer
One less egg to fry
One less man to pick up after
I should be happy, but all I do is cry.
Six a.m., walking around Norton Women’s and Children’s Hospital. Screaming like a big fairy banshee.
Keith McGill is a playwright, actor, and director. His show Over My Dead Husband premiered at the Louisville Fringe Festival at Actors Theatre. His plays include The Right Shoes, Jimmy Whatever, The History of Now, Nation in Crisis, and No Turning Back. Most recently he wrote Darrick and Douglass as a commission for the University of Louisville. He is currently at work on his next one-person show—Laundry on New Year’s Day. Keith also does stand-up comedy with the group AFROLACHIA.