The Viagra Bathtubs on the Beach
Although my husband and I were regularly engaging in “the physical act of love” (channeling Ross from Friends), whenever he wanted, and I mean, I really mean — whenever he wanted, see Sex On Demand, let’s just say that such activities did not require a huge time commitment.
I had suggested that my husband talk to his doctor about it, but he declined. No, he would not. No.
Fast forward to after my husband “broke up with me” and moved out, taking surprisingly few possessions, saying he’d come back for the rest. As I discussed in When I Needed A Helping Hand, I didn’t want him to keep coming back to get his stuff so I decided I’d pack it up for him–not to help him, but to help me. Like mothers often say to children — “in or out,” he had chosen “out,” despite my begging, and I mean, I really mean — begging him to reconsider. So, I thought I’d help the process along if for no other reason than to keep him from prolonging it.
One night, after the kids were in bed, behind my closed bedroom door, my sister, a friend, and I packed up his shit. At one point I pulled out one of his suitcases he’d used for his last trip, an island vacation which I’d recently discovered he’d taken with a lady friend. See My Worst Super Bowl, Remembered. I intended to use the suitcase to pack some of his things.
The suitcase, I noticed, still sported the airport tags.
Lovely.
It also contained some papers, which I read.
The papers turned out to be receipts for my husband’s prescription for Viagra, well actually Levitra, a “sister” (or should I say ‘bro) erectile dysfunction drug . The prescription had been filled in the week prior to my husband’s romantic island vacation with his sweetie.
What the . . . hell?
I read it, showed it to my sister and friend. They both said, if I recall correctly, “Ew.”
There it was, in my hand, evidence that my husband had pursued the best that modern western medicine had to offer in order to enhance his sexual relationship with another woman, the woman he was not leaving me for, or so he said, though they had secured an apartment together and that’s where all his things were no doubt going.
Lucky girl . . . she got his stuff, and his stuff on steroids . . .
Looking back, I remembered I’d previously discovered (and suppressed) facts in support of this information — facts that suddenly made sense.
His doctor had called the house to confirm an appointment.
I had wondered: Why? Why? When we were going through this god-awful thing, was my husband making doctor’s appointments? I was the one who was sick, wasn’t eating or wasn’t sleeping and was constantly crying — why was he going to the doctor?
The pharmacy had called to tell him his prescription was ready.
I had wondered: What is he taking? He’s not sick! He’s a mean son-of-a-bitch, certainly — but he’s not sick!
Later, after his stuff was packed and gone, at some point in my post-separation cleaning frenzy –I’m the polar opposite of a hoarder, when I’m upset I throw everything out — I’d found a letter from the insurance company, dated right after the romantic trip time, stating that yes, based on his doctor’s recommendation, the unnamed medication in question would indeed be covered by insurance.
I had wondered: What? Had he paid the full price for the Viagra in order to get it before the trip because insurance hadn’t kicked in yet?
According to the dates and bank receipts which showed a $200 plus expenditure at the pharmacy on the eve of the island trip, yes, yes, he had.
Ouch. But it all made sense now.
I wanted to scream, “Did he tell his doctor that he needed this medication for use with his girlfriend and NOT his wife? DID THE DOCTOR KNOW THAT LITTLE FACT?????”
Not that it mattered.
I tried not to think of his chemically enhanced love-making to this woman. She brought him newness and adoration, he brought . . . drugs.
Inserting this again because my husband and his sweetie literally had Viagra on the Beach.
I packed his crap a little faster after this discovery, as I recall. Just a little bit faster.
And I think I washed my hands.
Just Me With . . . a medical discovery.
After everything was packed I called a friend When I Needed A Helping Hand.
See also:
Just Me With . . . 
“broke up” I felt the same. We’re not freakin boyfriend and girlfriend, we’re MARRIED UNTIL DEATH DO US PART!!!! I try so hard to not generalize and hate ALL men, but sometimes it’s just easier to hate them all…If it’s any consolation, he’s someone elses problem now.
I know, right? It was surreal, like “Are you breaking up with me? Are we in high school?” But yes, he’s somebody else’s problem, man, husband, father, lover now . . . I’m over him, not the situation, but him. Evil me still wishes that I could get the kids to switch his “meds” for placebos . . . heh heh heh
Ew. Just, ew.
Exactly.
I think I would have to have written a nice letter to his doctor upon discovering the letter, telling the doctor that he used the meds on his trip with a girlfriend, that you were worried that because of (some health issue) that he might not be a good candidate for the meds. Just say you both thought it not safe for him, but now he was not so careful. Maybe the letter would go in his permanent file. Say something to the effect you did not want your children to be fatherless….sounds sincere.
My ex had a list of items in the divorce papers that he wanted–old ragged green blanket his mother sent to college with him, and old bike he never rode, old bedroom suite we bought as newlyweds. Like you, I tired of his things being here so he could return and come inside the house or go into the basement without asking me or notifying me.
So, I allowed the son to take the bike apart for parts. After all, the boy needed some good practical experience. I sent the blanket with the kids. The new wife made him throw it away immediately. I sent a registered letter to him, saying I would keep the suite for another month (dates included in letter), and after that I would consider it mine to keep or dispose of. I sold it.
I think men leave things to be retrieved later because, after all, we have been the repository of so much of their detritus. They can possess part of our souls and consume our psychic energy, not to mention occupying real estate in our homes. They know they are an intrusion. We are supposed to care as much about their stuff. We are the ever-forgiving mommy.
Ha! That would have been great. Actually, funny you mention it, but he did end up in the hospital for heart problems later. I asked him, “Did you tell the doctor EVERYTHING that you’ve been taking?” Ugh. He sat in the hospital “under observation for 3 or 4 days.” I still think he just wanted attention.
I don’t see him often but his eyes look weird and others who have seen him comment on the same. Then I looked up side effects of that drug and it all made sense.
That’s exactly what my husband had planned to do, he said as much, kind of come an go as he wished to pick up the things he wanted, when he wanted — and basically mark his territory. He may as well have started pissing the perimeter of the yard. I just couldn’t have that.
Your last paragraph is so true.
My Ex apparently still had some things that I have given him over the years and his wife had put them into a box for donation. My daughter found it and they gave it to her, allowing her to bring it home, to my home. It was guy stuff — shirts, ties, etc. I told my daughter we were going to throw it away, when she protested I said, look, your Dad has made a new home and is getting rid of old stuff. I don’t have to keep it here either. If you need a new old t-shirt or men’s ties then we can go to Goodwill and get you some, but we’re not keeping this stuff. She was fine after that. I couldn’t believe they sent that stuff home with her. Ugh.
When he was moving out I started to get pissed that he was going to get everything new so I asked him if he wanted our “marital” bed — ha! He declined. I guess the girlfriend wouldn’t have appreciated that. By the way, he didn’t marry that girlfriend.
The nerve…..reminds me a lot of when my mother finally divorced my father. My father did a lot of ballsy crap, too! My mother begged and begged him to reconsider and to do the right thing, yada, yada. He made the wrong choice, my mother divorced him. She was hurt and sad for a long time, but eventually her knight in shining armor arrived and she’s the happiest she’s been in her entire life (with the exception of giving birth to me….of course! ;-))
What gets me is that they make their choice, yet they want to keep a revolving door back to their original marriage. Hmmmmm……the mere selfishness of that (besides everything else) boils my blood.
Here’s hoping the great women on The Hill are able to get that bill passed where all men have to get an anal exam beforehand if they want their Viagra and Viagra-like prescriptions!
I’m happy for your mother. It’s good for me to hear stories like that. What you say about the revolving door is so true in my case. Setting boundaries was a very difficult thing for me to do and when I finally did it he did not take kindly to it, no he didn’t. He seemed so surprised, really, that this heart wrenching choice he made eventually led to him not being welcome in my home or my in personal business. (He would just have to see the kids elsewhere.)
Pre-Viagra anal exam! Yes, I love it. And why not also require them to get informed consent from their wives as well.
As soon as my husband wanted to “separate” as he said at first, he said “we could still be friends”. “What?” he thought we could still go out and go on trips together and I would forgive him in a few months. Surprise. I hired a Divorce Lawyer and changed my phone number and e-mail since I’ve moved. There has been no contact. Why do these men think they can have their cake and come back to the main course any time they want? It doesn’t work that way.
That sounds so familiar. And I didn’t know what I was “supposed” to do and there were kids and etc. so for a period of time he did come and go as he pleased, even went on family vacations with us yet he had his own place and his own freedom. Basically, he was single when he felt like it but I was not. My life was his, his life was his. I didn’t know any better — at first. When I started to set up boundaries (though he still saw the kids) he was livid. Then he moved back in without my permission. Horrible. Ugh. I completely understand “no contact.” For some people that’s the way it has to be.
[…] But the knowledge that Law Firm Barney had dropped on us in the cafeteria was intriguing to me. I had been playing the role of trying to make my brooding husband happy for years. At the very least I tried not to make him mad. If, I thought, I adopted Barney’s philosophy, I would have a happy husband. Could it be that easy? Would it be that hard? (No pun intended, that’s another story altogether.) See My Cheating Husband Was Packing Viagra. […]
[…] a subject of another post, it involved two of my bridesmaids, wine and Fatal Attraction). See My Cheating Husband Was Packing Viagra. Next, I planned to put his belongings outside on the porch for him to retrieve without me or the […]
Random comment: “The physical act of love is a beautiful thing” was part of the standard wedding vow language the judge who married us used. I had that stricken from my vows.
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Hilarious and awful!