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No more Dr Nice Guy - part 3 I found my way home without much direction finding concern. If I wasn't feeling so gloomy I may have highlighted that to Kevin to prove a point. On entering my house though it was evident he wasn't home and I felt sad. I didn't think it was so much that I was developing feelings for my husband; it was not like I missed him or anything. But he was all I had, and I felt so wretched, having at least some sort of human company, even if it was someone who found me detestable, would have been at least somewhat comforting. The whole way home I was haunted by the day's events; specifically Mr Donald's death of course. Everyone was blaming me for it. None more so than me I suppose. I don't imagine I have a job any more. What will Kevin think about that? My suspicion of his disappointment stressed me greatly. What if he did throw me out? If Mr Black wanted to teach me humility; or just to have me suffer humiliation, he didn't need a lifetime. He'd achieved it in less than 24 hours. But what was alarming me was his disregard for collateral casualties. My focus had shifted to damage minimization once I considered the repercussions of my recklessness. Kevin's life had certainly not been made better by my presence in it. A fair assessment would be that it was worse if anything. And now a man was dead. Had I truly underestimated Mr Black's degree of malevolence? Was he an evil unparalleled? Was he in fact Satan himself? As is oft the case, historical myths and legends start with some distortion of factual occurrences. He may have been around a long time. Obviously I could find holes in my own theory. If that is who he truly was, then am I dead? Is this Hell? I suppose that would certainly thwart my suicide attempts were that my situation. But it wasn't. I am alive. It's just a completely different life. Irrespective of all that, what good did it really do me to contemplate his origins? Whatever he was, I was powerless against him. We all were. With nothing but my negative thoughts to entertain me, and the griminess of the day clinging to me, a shower was unavoidable. It was finally time to face the horror show that was my body. I had seen enough naked women both professionally, and recreationally, and occasionally combining the two, to have a good idea about the normal distribution of things, so to speak. I had a fair inkling of what to expect. Even if it was still less than a day I felt fully conscious of all the apparent differences. I had no intention to indulge in any long lingering looks or tactile self exploration. I just needed to inspect things enough to incorporate my sense of self. From my experience as a psychiatrist, losing a body part was not dissimilar to losing a loved one. And although I had always considered the 5 stages of grief a kitsch oversimplification, it certainly could be applied. By body part I specifically meant something like a limb. I mean I had lost a body part I suppose. And it was a body part I certainly liked, as it had provided me with considerable fun and enjoyment over the years. But my grieving I suppose specifically was for the loss of my body as I identified it. Not just a missing dick, but everything had changed. There was no identifiable trace of me. No echo of who I once was. I was completely different. Then there were the mental changes I seemed to exhibit. I didn't know what was enforced by the curse and what was me adapting to survive. I do know that after Mr Donald died and I had the opportunity to steal the drugs I needed to give me the only avenue of escape I could see; I chose not to. I didn't take the Propofol. Perhaps it was being reminded of the fragility of life and what an insulting self indulgence it would be to waste it. Perhaps some part of me wanted to live. Maybe it was indicative of more changes. Was a significant proportion of me now Alex Moore completely, and she was merely preventing her own murder. Which was a disturbing thought to say the least; when would it stop and how much of me would be left at the end of it? Then again, possibly it was even more simplistic. After causing Mr Donald to die I thought myself deserving of my punishment and sabotaged my own efforts to be free of it. I just didn't know. I had so completely come apart at the seams and lost all sense of perspective that I was no longer capable of introspection. All my discipline and training had vanished when faced with adversity. My self confidence and self belief completely shattered. I knew in the back of my mind that if Alex Turner could see me now he'd be completely disgusted. The only response I could muster to that was an impressive deluge of ugly tears. When I had eventually cried myself out, sitting on the bed, I faced the inevitability of the naked woman beneath my clothes. After pulling my scrub top off I wasn't so much surprised by the bra, but I had forgotten about it. When I'd thrown it on in a frantic hurried state that morning I'd been so conscious of the band around me and the straps over my shoulders, but at some point I no longer felt it. I seemed to recall, and was concerned I knew this, that if you couldn't feel it, that was testament to a good fit. Still, once I removed it I felt a degree of relief. Curiosity had me finally looking at the label. 34C. I suppose that was perspective. My belief I was carrying around massive mammaries was totally unfounded. I equated it with the body image distortion anorectics felt. Now that was a bitch of a condition to treat. I had convinced myself my boobs were so much bigger than they were because I was completely unfamiliar with having them, but also so skewed in my self evaluation, just like those with anorexia. But it seemed unlike them I was still able to be redirected away from erroneous perception. Thank heavens for small mercies. Alex Turner's shirts were 40 inch or 42. Being a 34 was a degree of scale how much smaller my frame now was. I turned the water on to allow the hot to run through so that I could remove my knickers at the last minute and not have to deal with things completely. Was I supposed to feel an array of differing sensations as the water hit my new body? I don't know. The fact is, I didn't. Was I supposed to be turned on? I wasn't. Surely this was indicative of more changes. Yesterday pawing a naked woman in the shower would have been a very different experience. Today it was about putting on, and removing, with the use of the shower puff, raspberry and vanilla body wash, whilst avoiding thinking too much about it. So I wasn't turned on by my own body. Nor was I sexually interested in any of the female nurses I worked with today. Admittedly medical scrubs were about as sexy as a hessian sack; and no-one glams up to work in an Emergency department, but I felt pretty sure I wasn't attracted to women any more. What would happen when Kevin got home? Would I find myself wanting him? It didn't feel like it when I thought about it. Although I did want him to hate me less. But I believed that was just for my own psychological well being and self preservation; to avoid life on the street. Regardless, I felt better after washing off the reminders of my day, purposefully drying myself away from the mirror's cruel revelations, and threw on casual loose fitting clothes. I felt nauseated, and realized it was from hunger, having not eaten all day. I mustered the energy to rummage through the fridge and pantry, finding enough to prepare one of my staple pasta dishes with home made sauce. It was just after 6pm when it was ready and I heard the front door unlock. I felt suddenly sheepish and very anxious. More feelings I was unfamiliar with and frustrated by my inability to control. "Hi." I spoke before he could. "Perfect timing. Dinner's just ready. Although I don't know what you like. I feel like I should get you to fill out a form. Any dietary considerations? Food allergies?" He just stares back in silence, in response to what I thought was humor, although it wasn't a particularly vicious stare. "What?" I ask. He's making me all the more self conscious. "You cooked us dinner?" He raises his eyebrows. It takes me a moment to understand his incredulous implication. "Oh yes!" I begin with sarcasm. "Mr Black has seen fit that I'm now the perfect wife who wants nothing more than to cook and clean and bring you your pipe and slippers." "I wouldn't joke about it if I were you Alex. Haven't you heard of being careful what you wish for?" He notes bluntly. I formulate thought for a moment. "Is that the sort of woman you want? As a result of the curse? Not an equal but someone subservient?" His face darkens. "It's not something I can control. I know my attitude is wrong, but it's implanted in my brain and I can't stop it. Don't you think I've tried?" His voice escalating in agitation as he spoke. "Oh Kevin I'm sorry!" I respond instantly. "I wasn't judging you. I'm just trying to understand. I don't know what changes are in store for me. What behaviors are going to be planted in my mind! I just need to know if I have any hope of retaining parts of myself." He seems appeased by my honest explanation but says nothing. I know its folly to pursue this topic further, not right now, not when I've angered him. "I was a bachelor," I explain. "Like you've been for the last 6 months. So I can cook. But I'm no Masterchef. And it's just as easy to cook for two as it is one." "Thank you Alex." He's genuine, and seems to have calmed. "You're welcome," I say. And smile. I figure I'll break the bad news to him, about my potential unemployment when he's fed. Some adage about men and empty stomachs I'm sure. ***** I'm only half way through the meal when my phone rings. I look at it. It's the only person who's already rung me since I entered this life. And I feel like I know what's coming. "Hi Kristi." I answer as I slip away into the living room, trying to sound upbeat, but filled with dread. I'll tell Kevin after. I just don't want to be looking at him when Kristi fires me. "Where'd the hell did you go?" she begins. "What?" I assume she is mad. "After the cardiac arrest. I tried to find you." "You told me to handover to Jenna. And then she sent me home," I defend. "Oh sure!" She seems friendly enough though. "But I thought you might want to talk." "I'm sorry Kristi," I blurt. All I seem to do is apologize to people. A testament I suppose to what wreckage I am. "For what?" "For Mr Donald. I know it's my fault he died." "What? No! Don't be ridiculous. It's not your fault," she exclaims, surprised by my admission. "Meg seemed to think it was. And everyone else too." I'm glum. "Oh don't worry about that. Meg's not stupid." She seems to be referring to what Meg said after. "She knows that Stanley was trying to throw you under the bus." "Stanley?" Who's Stanley? "The resident. He ignored you when you tried to warn him." "Then I'm not fired?" Now it makes sense. 24 hours earlier I tried to do exactly the same to Meg and Kristi, as what Stanley did to me today. Was it truly coincidence I was disempowered and subject to the same underhandedness? Perhaps; I wasn't sure. I suppose it was perverse justice of sorts. I just hoped it was accidental. "Hardly," Kristi remarks with surprise, in response to my query about my future employment. "I just wanted to see if you were okay. A debrief is always very helpful when a patient dies." It feels exactly like what I need. I knew the value of such things when I was Alex Turner. "I still feel awful," I reveal. "Maybe I wasn't forceful enough or didn't do enough." "Alex; to be honest; I think it was his time. That's what happens in an emergency department. People die. We save the ones we can and make things as dignified and painless for the ones we can't." I still didn't feel absolved though. In the heat of the moment I was overwhelmed and panicked. The former me may not have known what to do any better, but he would have been much more confident about things. Even in his ignorance. Maybe all the more so to cover it up. "I'm so out of my depth. I don't know what I'm doing." It's almost something I should have said to myself, accidentally vocalized. "Alex you're new. You need to give yourself time. You've got great instincts though. You're what I've been looking for." "Whatever do you mean?" "Look. You're back on an early with me in the morning...." Okay. I guess she'd know. I really need to sort this part of my new life out! Well actually any part frankly. I'd been inserted into this life without any sort of script for it. Everyone knew more about me than I did. Who I knew, what I knew, my past, all made sense to them. But not to me. "Yes?" It was an uncertain affirmation, but she was confident that was the case, so I went with it. "Well let's look at your roster then, when you come in. I want to pair you up with me as much as possible." "So you can keep an eye on me?" "Geez. Paranoid much?" She laughs. "No! So I can mentor you." "Okay. That would be good." I'm sincere. She reaffirms, to her satisfaction that I'm alright. And I am now. I'm sad about Mr Donald but feel much better given I'm not blamed and still have a job. Then she says goodbye and that she will see me in the morning. I find myself looking forward to it. I can?t help thinking how obnoxious I was to her as Dr Alex, and how little I thought of her. And how comparatively kind and patient to me she has been as Nurse Alex. And how I now found myself admiring her. Of course she hadn?t changed at all. I had. I was able to see all these qualities in her. Her leadership. Her compassion. Her common sense. She was a remarkable human being. To have come to such spiteful loggerheads with her on our first meeting made me wonder about my own faults. I wandered back into the kitchen as I contemplated this to see Kevin gathering his keys and wallet. He had finished his meal and looked like he was leaving. ?Where are you going?? I enquired openly. ?None of your business,? he replied gruffly. ?Well I am your wife......? It was a joke but it just appeared to incense him. ?Not by choice. And not really,? he growled as he exited, slamming the door. So, suddenly, I?m alone again. I reheat my food and finish it. I don?t know what to do. I don?t know when Kevin will be home. All I have to do now, to bide time I guess, is wallow in introspection. I return to the bedroom, which seems to be my safe haven. On the bed again, maybe as testament to who I once was, the first thing I think of, is Sigmund Freud. My last, and possibly only serious girlfriend, I had met when I started psychiatry training. She was a doctor like me. But she was a Freudian. And that was a cardinal sin. A non survivable difference for our relationship. Whilst most lay people have heard of him, and many psychiatrists follow him and espouse his beliefs, in my honest opinion he was a quack. Worse still a misogynistic patriarchal quack. Now I was no saint when it came to my opinion and treatment of women; and how much bearing that had on my predicament I could not be sure; but Freud was positively primeval. Sure, it was well over 100 years ago now, and maybe contemporary for the time, but his views on human psychosexual development are worthy only for historical anecdote. Penis envy! Castration anxiety! For fuck sake, I mean really? Still I guess I was now in prime position to validate or debunk his theory. Whilst I had not been ?castrated by God? which Freud believed all women felt for a time in their childhood, I had been ?castrated? by something. Did I feel penis envy? It was all so acute but I couldn?t get past the fact though that everything I had used to define myself, as a self aware psychiatrist, could be brought back to two base elements. Wealth, power, confidence, righteousness, entitlement, privilege were all constructs of the fact that I was both a man, and a Doctor. Mr Black had taken those two things away from me. Merely 24 hours later it was clear what remained. Nothing. I was merely a fa?ade of a human being. A movie lot - main street - shop front of a person. Tear down that outer layer and there was emptiness behind it. How could I be such an incomplete person? No wonder I was so hell bent on dying. I curled up in a ball. The fetal position seemed apt. Self pity can be an effective sedative it seems. For at some point I fell asleep. *** I woke up to the sound of Kevin coming home. It was after 10pm. I leapt from bed and pattered out into the living room to greet him. ?Hi,? I started contritely. ?Hi.? He grimaced a reply. I sighed. ?I?m sorry I?m such an imposition Kevin. I know I?ve been foisted on you and you don?t like me or want me around. But I want to try and pay my way. And if you still want me gone, as soon as I can afford something I?ll move out.? He slumps down into the lounge room couch, weighing his words for a moment. ?Nothing has changed for me Alex.? ?What?? I sit beside him, but not too close. A respectable distance I suppose. ?I mean I meant what I said last night,? he explains. ?I?ve inherited something I have to look after. But it may as well have been a stray dog. That would probably be better company at least. But I?m exactly where I was two days ago, when suicide seemed the answer.? ?I?m trying Kevin.? I try to defend myself. ?I know you don?t want me. And being compared, unfavourably, to a dog, kind of hurts. But what would you have me do?? ?You want to know where I?ve been tonight Alex?? It?s rhetorical. ?The same place I?ve been every night since the curse. First a bar. Then a brothel. Every night the same. Where I debase myself trying to pick up loose women, and then end up paying for it in some den of debauchery. All the while remembering, not just what I once was, but exactly why I so passionately hated men like I have now become. Why I wasted much of my adult life as a woman seeking vindictive revenge on them all, which brought me into Mr Black?s crosshairs in the first place.? ?I don?t understand.? ?No. You don?t. You?re so self absorbed. Whoah is me! I?m a woman. You don?t realize how much worse things could be. I hope it doesn?t get any worse for you Alex. Truly I don?t. But for now don?t you dare try and compare your torment to mine. It?s insulting.? ?Then make me understand Kevin. I want to help.? I try imploring him. ?You want to help me? Then spread your legs!? ?What?? ?Because that?s what I need. What I asked Mr Black for. Someone who would willingly have sex with me. Satisfy my apparently insatiable appetite. So I don?t have to go out there every night for the rest of my days and humiliate and denigrate myself. So I don?t have to be an animal. I mean as it stands I?m barely human!? ?That?s not true. You?re losing perspective.? ?Don?t try and psychoanalyse me either. You?re not a psychiatrist any more may I remind you. You?re just a nurse.? ?Just a nurse!!? I?m suddenly angry. ?There?s no such thing as ?Just a nurse.?!? He is surprised by my outburst, and frankly so am I. But it makes me realize what I need to say. ?Kevin. Can?t you see? It?s only been 24 hours and clearly I?m changing. I?m probably going to become what you need. Of course I?m terrified of it; but I can see how much you need me to be that. So maybe I just need to accept it. Maybe it?ll happen quicker if I don?t fight it. But, fair warning, I suspect I might be quite the feminist, or more specifically nurses advocate, given there are now such a large percentage of male nurses nowadays, if my tantrums are any guide. So maybe just hang on a bit longer.? Am I really telling him to wait for me to become the man hungry slut that I suspect the future holds for me? Well yes. I am. Because it seems to be the only way to save him. ?I guess I can. Hang on I mean. But I don?t really want to wish that on you.? ?I?m kinda resigned to it happening anyway. I?m more worried about being racked with guilt about it. I mean if I?m to become a skanky Ho, it?d be better if I just owned it. But Mr Black is going to ensure I hate every minute of it, I?m sure. To have my male ego, or maybe, if I?m still going with Freud, my id, tormented by my involuntary giving over to femininity.? Kevin blinks at me blankly. ?Sorry. Ignore the Freud stuff. Long story.? I?ve lost him completely. ?Thanks for dinner Alex. I forgot to say so earlier.? He changes the subject, a concession that his disposition towards me has improved modestly. ?Oh thank God. I?d been hanging out for praise from my husband about my cooking.? I grin. ?Well it?s time this husband went to bed. So get off the couch.? ?No!? ?No?? ?You can?t sleep on the couch till I turn into a super slut. Especially when we don?t know how long that will be. We can share our marital bed. I mean just keep to your side. It?s a Queen after all. And I assume you?re sexually sated tonight. So I don?t have to worry.? ?Well that and you?re still pretty repulsive to me.? It?s delivered lighter than the previous times he?s said that to me. ?Ha! That?s the first time anyone?s ever said to me my personality was effective contraception. And all the more advantageous considering I?m now the one who can get knocked up.? It was supposed to be funny but I involuntarily shudder. Saying it out loud made me realize the possibility. ?God!? I add. ?Do you think I can? Get pregnant I mean. Surely not?? ?I don?t see why you wouldn?t be able to.? ?Because if Mr Black thinks we?re such awful people who need to be punished, surely there?d be no possible way we could create another human being.? ?I suppose you?re right.? ?Thank God for that.? I say exactly what I think. I lead us both to the bedroom. On only my second night as a woman I fall asleep in bed next to a man. My husband specifically. And I can?t help but wonder how different I?ll be when the sun rises. *** The next day, with Kristi, was a little easier than the first. I knew how to find my roster now and that I would be on shift with her for the foreseeable future. I learnt that nursing was much more regimented and protocol driven than medicine. Doctors were so unaccountable. As a nurse I needed to be certified in virtually everything. An example that sprung to mind was that I had to be ticked off as competent in intravenous cannulation. As a brand new intern Doctor 5 years ago I just was expected to roll up and do it. Which I did. No one teaching me, supervising me or signing me off. Medical practitioners still seemed to remain a bit of a law unto themselves, at least in some things, in spite of hospitals now becoming more like businesses, especially with regard to KPIs and the consequences of them not being met. I must admit, 5 years on since I last did an IV, I was rusty, so the certification was a good refresher, and made good sense. I wasn?t allowed to look after the sickest patients in the resuscitation areas. Well not on my own anyway. This was probably prudent given my performance yesterday. To look after the sickest ones I needed critical care certification, which was a 6 month full time commitment. I guess if this was the rest of my life now there would be time enough for that. Having Kristi as the shift leader gave me more confidence in what I was doing. She seemed to trust me, even if I still got the impression Dr Meg didn?t. I was starting to feel like I understood the routine. The patient turnover was high, people coming in and out of my cubicles; and you relied heavily on the nurses you worked with to help you, and you helped them in return. It was definitely much more collegiate than the relationship the doctors had with each other. If they were male, their arrogance turned things into a bit of a ?pissing contest?, and if they were female, they still behaved like they had a point to prove. For Women Doctors, being mistaken for a nurse by an elderly patient, who may have grown up in a different time, was taken as a grievous insult, or at best casual misogyny, that needed to be crushed. I suppose my changed perspective gave me renewed insight into my own behavior. To think I had considered myself so self aware and emotionally evolved. Of those things, I was neither. I felt my day was going better than my first until at about the mid point a patient was moved into my cubicles from the higher acuity area. Mrs De Silva. She was in her nineties, an old matriarch, and was quite unwell. ?She?s palliative now,? Kristi explained in response to my worried glances after getting a look at her. ?God! Do people die here every day?? It probably was a genuine question from me. ?Not every day. But a fair proportion of them,? Kristi replied gently. As if it was another lesson on the facts of life. I guess I missed psychiatry. People rarely died. Well not in view in any case. The successful suicides didn?t make it to hospital. If you made it to hospital you usually lived. I accompanied Meg at her request to inform Mrs De Silva?s extended family of her terminal prognosis. In my opinion Meg butchered it. The actions of a time poor Departmental leader who did the Mic drop bombshell and left me with the pieces. I was glad there were still parts of Alex Turner inside me. Grief counseling I could do. And intentionally or not Meg had abandoned me to that. They gathered around her bedside after I had answered all their questions and explained what was to happen. Four generations of De Silvas. Death is death, and it was not as if I had got them all to make peace with that, but I felt like I had helped. The family watched on as I fussed over her to get her comfortable as her consciousness waned and her breathing became tortuous and labored. I left them to their goodbyes but they called me back in when she was no longer responding to them. I adjusted things one last time, making sure she seemed as peaceful as possible before saying gently to her. ?Everyone?s here with you honey. If you need to go, you can.? With that, she took her last breath. Sometimes people just need permission. *** I was home a bit after 4pm. I knew from yesterday Kevin gets home about 6. I really must find out what he does and where he works, I note to myself. Life as a nurse was so arduous and emotionally draining. It was physically hard too. There was a large percentage of male nurses in the ED, and we had the PSAs (sometimes known as orderlies), but for me and the other slight young women like me, moving patients too weak to move themselves, around the bed, or on and off pans, was strenuous work. No wonder back problems were rife. What was the difference then between my days as Alex Turner and my days now as Alex Moore? He dealt with the sad, and the mad. With broken, tortured souls. Yet he would end his shifts unaffected. On reflection I felt like I knew why. He didn?t care. Somewhere along the way he stopped caring, or lost the ability to. It frightened me how different I was to him in just 48 hours; like I was drifting further and further away from him. But then things like this reminded me perhaps it wasn?t all bad. Whether it was his intent or not, Mr Black had given me my humanity back. My fear was that he?d done it with purpose, to use against me at some point. It seemed logical that the best way to inflict maximal damage on someone who didn?t care, was first to make them care. How that would manifest I didn?t know, but I knew I would live in fear of it. Nonetheless, in spite of my fatigue, I tidied the house and prepared dinner for us both. Over food I quiz Kevin about salient details of his life. He was a factory foreman, overseeing mostly immigrant workers whose English was a work in development. His work was further out of the city in an industrial suburb. Our employment was each in opposite directions with our home in the middle of it. It didn?t seem to pay much, about the same as nursing wages, which wasn?t great. I felt like together we would never be rich, but we could afford to live, and pay a mortgage. Things could be so much worse, financially, I was sure. I wondered internally how big a dent paying for a prostitute every evening would put in our budget. Straight after dinner, as if on cue with my thoughts, he made machinations to leave for his nightly obligations. For some reason I felt apprehensive and sad. ?Do you have to go?? I asked. ?I can?t really last much more than 24 hours. And with you in the house, it?s all the more reason to keep things under control.? ?But I thought I was repugnant?? ?Repulsive is what I said.? ?Oh. I don?t think I really know the difference.? I?m frank. ?I?ll be home about 10 again I guess, if it follows the usual routine.? He looks so sad. ?Can I know where you are? In case of Emergency.? ?Well I usually go to ?The Northcote.? It?s a big pub out past Healesdale. I?m there for an hour or two. After that I?d rather not say.? ?The knock shop? Would it really matter if I knew where it was?? ?God Alex. Can?t you at least pretend that I?m just going to the pub with the boys. Like men do. Without me having to spell out the reality of it?? ?I?m sorry Kevin. Everything?s so new and I just don?t relish being home alone every night of my life. I feel vulnerable. If I knew where you were....? ?Okay. If it?s that important to you I?ll turn on my find my phone app. Then you can track me like a stalker.? He?s getting mad. ?And no-one?s making you sit here waiting for me every night. You could go out too.? ?Where? And do what?? ?I dunno. With your nurse friends.? ?I?ve only been there two days. Well as far as I?m concerned any way. No one seems to know me or to particularly like me. Except maybe Kristi. So I don?t actually have any friends.? ?Welcome to the club then,? he says as he slams the door. I feel for him. I really do. As it stands, things are so much more insufferable for him than me. Being compelled to do something that he feels defiles him. And he made some comments yesterday that suggested what he was being made to do was somehow worse for him than it may have otherwise been, were such a thing possible. For me, as yet, such things weren?t enforced. Yet I did feel like I was just waiting around for whatever compulsions to manifest in me. I was in fact just waiting patiently to lose my free will and autonomy. What on Earth am I doing that for? Fuck that. I?m not sure how much longer I?m going to be in charge of my own choices; but I am right now. And with that in mind I need to exercise that privilege whilst I can. And there is one thing I need to do. The right thing. TBC Apologies for the tardiness between parts for anyone reading along. Please bear with. Life gets in the way sometimes.