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"You have chlamydia," my obstetrician told me as I lay on the examining table, six months pregnant with my fourth child.
"You've got to talk to your husband." I was in total disbelief. "We're both monogamous." But of course I knew that wasn't really true, and the doctor's words forced me to finally acknowledge what I'd suspected for a long time: My husband was most likely gay.
C., suburbs, he curled into a fetal position on a porch chair and admitted more than I ever wanted to know: He had been having anonymous sex with men. it just happened...; At gay bars, there are back rooms with holes in the walls..." A wave of nausea swept over me as I listened to his agonized confession. We looked like the perfect family in our Christmas card portrait.
"I don't know how this could have happened," he stammered. But I kept quiet and thought, I've held up as long as I could. Both of us grew up in the small-town South, and Chris was in the military.
"I haven't done anything wrong." Instead of arguing about how I felt or figuring out how I wanted to handle the larger issue, I focused on what I needed at that moment — to take medicine and get healthy — much as I had throughout our rocky marriage.
Then, after he kissed me good-night, he shocked me again, saying, "No matter what you hear, I'm not gay." In fact, I had heard other students say that everyone in his fraternity was gay.I didn't think there was anything wrong with being gay — I have an openly gay cousin.And I didn't care what went on behind others' closed doors.This pronouncement made me feel more secure, but I shouldn't have ignored my nagging intuition that something was seriously wrong.
After all, what man wouldn't jump into bed with his fiancé.
He was 22, a senior and a talented musician who could sing and play brass, keyboards and woodwinds.