How It All Began

Our son was born in 1984 at the Paddington Women’s Hospital which has now been converted and redeveloped into housing I believe. I had been in hospital for over a month with Pre Eclampsia. My blood pressure went extremely high one night and the decision to induce was made.

I had been under a Professor there since the mid seventies. We trusted and were confident that everything would go well. My bestie from school was coming after she finished her shift at POWCH. She is a maternity nurse and had been involved in lots of births so I was so happy she would be there as my support person. Especially since my husband was a little squeamish and not much involved in the antenatal care etc.

I was transferred down to the maternity delivery area and very quickly induced by my waters being broken with something I described as a knitting needle being shoved up my vagina. And I love knitting. In fact I was totally obsessed with knitting back then! I was told later that it was more like a crochet hook!

All the nurses who worked with my friend (whom I had got to know very well over lunches in their staff room) agreed with her that nothing would be happening as it was a first birth and was going to take a while. So she arranged to come straight over at five pm. She did not make it in time because unfortunately when they put the drip in which causes the contractions I think someone must have sped it up by accident. It was going very fast. Within thirty minutes I had horrid backache. Was not dilated enough though so the nurses and Prof and Dr took off. It was an unusual day. High high volume of births. There were women in the corridors giving birth.

Three and a half hours later and our son was born. And almost strangled to death. The only help we had was early on. After I was given gas (which did not agree with me) and then an injection, the only person to help us was a young med student who had never witnessed a birth before. Luckily he was there and he managed to hold onto our son as my husband ran to get help.

They managed to get his cord from around his neck. It was very hard to hold for so long without pushing. His head was literally out and I had to stop pushing. Not sure if that had anything to do with my issues later. The whole delivery process certainly did though.

Within months I had bladder incontinence and also our son was very ill. He developed a Proptosis and was sent to a lot of specialists. He became so ill at nine months it was not known if he would be retarded or not. Because of the lack of support from family here (my friend had moved to Northern NSW so was unable to help) my husband decided we should go back to the UK to live.

Once over there I was tested by a Urodynamics team at a big London Hospital. They said my bladder had been dislodged by the birth. They suggested I wear the huge pads that old people wore in nursing homes. They would not operate to repair this as I was too young and might want other children.

During the next year our son became much better in that we knew he would not be retarded by the hundreds of Myoclonic Jerks he had daily…. however he became afflicted by severe head pain. Cluster migraines in a three year old are not very pleasant. I spent many a day with him laying across my lap with him putting my cold hands on his forehead bless him. I will not go on about that. It is his story and it’s still with him even now. He is on a disability pension and has been since he was fifteen when the school system basically gave up on him.

When he was four a different surgeon asked if I wanted more children. Due to our son’s illness. I said I could not put another child through it. So he scheduled a Hysterectomy and Burch Culposuspension to move my bladder and remove my uterus. It was an horrifically painful operation and especially so as it was in the days before PCA machines. After the surgery I was given a shot of Pethidine before doing anything so I was able to move.

The surgery was successful. I think I was in for about ten days. Once I returned home my husband went back to work and I looked after our son while I recovered. It was gruelling but I was young enough, 32, to recover quickly. Sex was better than it had been for a long time. Hard to keep my husband off me actually.

We returned to Australia a few years later when our son was in year one at infants school. In the early nineties we started working at the church we attended. High Anglican and just across the road from our son’s school. I had already been helping the the Female Deacon with Scripture in the local schools and also with Sunday School so becoming Co Vergers seemed a logical move. Especially since my husband had always professed to want to train for the priesthood. In the end I actually was more suited to the Pastoral kind of work and my husband just looked after the church. I looked after funerals during the week when he was at his other job.

The whole time we were there. Ten years, I had more and more trouble with incontinence. Bladder and bowel. I just loved taking scripture classes. There were so many needy children who loved and needed extra attention and love. They actually used to stop me in the street and introduce me to their mums. Who knew who I was apparently! However I was so nervous of having a bowel accident in class, of which I had many outside in the street, that I said I would have to give it up.

We were problem solvers so I ended up assisting our very first female Anglican priest. A young girl in her late twenties who was sure she had God’s ear. Or rather he was talking into her ear! She was sure she was not meant to marry and not to work with the ill or elderly. God told her so. I said I think God has different plans for you. I see you as a Chaplain. She laughed. No way.

During our ten years living and working at the church she met a divorced man and fell madly in love with him and married him. She was then basically not allowed to work within the church. And she became a Chaplain. At a huge hospital I attended. And she was and is brilliant at it!! We had many a coffee and a laugh about her profession that she was called not to marry over coffee in the hospital canteen.

In 1999 I had a sudden gallbladder operation and then I went into surgery with the lovely Dr Eisenberg who was consulting with my then bowel surgeon, the late Dr Philip Douglas. I had been diagnosed with a rectocele and an enterocele by then. He pulled out during surgery after finding too many adhesions and also not knowing how to do a complicated surgery without shortening my vagina. He said I was too young for that.

My husband wanted me fixed. He liked me to be on top. He liked deep penetration. He like to go doggy. He liked to hurt me and he could not do that with two prolapses filling the vagina. He had always wanted anal sex and so he started that. Without lube. It was horrendously painful. Especially now that I know I had a weakness of the wall between vagina and rectum.

So the next year my GP sent me for a second opinion. A top surgeon Dr Andrew Korda at RPAH. And his colleague the wonderful Prof Michael Soloman. Dr Korda said I could not go on like that. He said the backache and bowel incontinence would get worse. That this would fix the structural problem and should hopefully help the rectal incontinence. Dr Soloman was not so sure. He said there was a colostomy in my future. Not too distant either.

The surgery was horrendous. The pain off the scale. I nearly went mad with it. I was a patient at the POW pain clinic then. Had been for some years for my spine. The glorious Dr Khor, whom I still communicate with by email and who insisted I make him one of my lush quilts, told me afterwards that it’s one of the most painful surgeries there is. I had the Posterior Repair done using my own tissue. No mesh which we now know to be causing so much trouble in women all over the world. Dr Korda folded over my vaginal tissue and sort of seamed it. All the way up. Not sure how long the vagina is cause it stretches. As a Quilter/designer I understand the mechanics of it. No mesh was fabulous but unfortunately the seam became a huge ridge which pressed even more on my rectum so my rectal incontinence became worse, much worse. Dr Korda felt or hoped it would settle down but unfortunately my husband decided he could not wait for the healing. He forced sex on me. While the stitches were still in there and while I was still in incredible pain in the wound. So much so that I could not sit on my right buttock for many many months that year.

All this was happening to the backdrop of the Sydney Olympics. Our son being told he would not have enough work in to sit his School Certificate. He was doing Distance Education by then as no school could cope with his absences due to his pain. He was well ahead of himself. Doing HSC level in year nine. But he was going to be short a few packages. So he pulled out of school and continued to educate himself with the help of the internet.

Our church was changing a lot of things around so after a family conference we decided to leave. My health was not good. Not after the surgery and my birthday present from my husband. A really nasty sexual assault. Number two but much worse. Well he thought he was wishing me a happy birthday. But I was crying and I inched myself backwards trying to get away from him until I was trapped between him and the wall. There was nowhere to go. I had cried and pushed him and pushed him and he did not notice, too involved in his personal pleasure. His pleasure involved my pain after the first few years of our marriage so this was nothing new. But I had an open wound. It really hurt already. Obviously no lube. My god the dryness. It hurt so much. There was blood everywhere. Stitches came out. It was in my mind a brutal rape. My therapist later said it was. She was disgusted by him. Did not really want me to discuss him. I have only told a few people and that is in the last few months.

He finished and pulled himself out of me and went to the bathroom. Very happy. When he came back I was doubled over in pain and crying. Trying to keep things quiet so our son did not hear anything. He asked what was wrong and I said I was bleeding and it hurt. He said oh it’s just not worth it. And stormed off. That was my birthday 2000. He never touched me again. Those brutal assaults were almost worth it. Except for the further damage they did.

So I am going to the surgeon on Thursday. No doctor has examined me for 17 years vaginally. It just hurt too much. But I need to get on with my life now that it is five years since I finally left “him.” I would like to experience penetration again. Not sure why but it was always my favourite part of sex. That gentle loving possession by another. I miss it. And the closeness. And would like to have some good, clean fun.

So am going to check if I need a reconstruction or just stretching with some sexy gadgets! I had similar to those through Professor Vancaille in 2000. But his ones gave electric type shocks through whole pelvic area. Not enjoyable at all. No fun.

I now have an incredible amount of scarring on anterior and posterior of vagina. Which is causing a lot of spontaneous orgasms. The ones in the middle of the night where I have a full bladder are excellent. Full on dream with being penetrated and made love to. Orgasm comes naturally and wakes me up and goes on and on. But the daytime one’s are really painful and I need them fixed somehow. I have read Botox can work on them. I also read these could have been made worse as I was sexually assaulted for many years as a child. Had many objects shoved up a very tiny passage. I can still feel the marbles she used to put up there that she made me hold onto. And the licking. I was less than eleven. It was from age seven years to eleven.

So I am going to be very frank with. $&$&$& on Thursday. I am told he is very very gentle. Which is great because last time I was examined it was agony. But that was a long long time ago, seventeen years. I am ready for this. The timing is right. The Small Fibre Neuropathy and Mesh pain is under control now using the nerve pain cocktail. I can handle this. So much so, I am going by myself. I am my own best support. I have always had to be. My son has been fabulous. But this is not something my son should be part of. He has enough on his plate with his own health. I know he will be thinking of me and wanting the best. He is very protective of me. Funny thing is if I get things working again he is going to be so embarrassed. Cause I will be sharing my sex ploits with him. As all mothers should. Not. We are very honest about these things. We can talk sex for hours. And I know one thing he was very hurt by with his father was that he did not take me up on my offer of having his own life many years ago. When I offered him his freedom after the surgery. My son lways thought this should be my time and there is a limited window now I am so old lol. That is me saying I am getting old, not him!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Joyce

Having a very late lunch of multigrain bread and black cherry jam. And it reminds me so much of my late mum. She always loved bread and jam. I however just ran out of cold meats and could not face more of the tomato flavoured tuna my son bought me. Why flavour tuna?  It is so good as it is with a dash of mayo and some freshly ground black pepper.  Mum preferred red salmon. Had to be tinned, with a dash of vinegar!

So as I was eating my feast….and it was scrumptious and a treat…I remembered mum and what happened before she went into care in 2013. We would see her get up and wander, much like a living ghost, into the kitchen. There she would take dad’s bread out of the bread bin and make a jam sandwich and a cup of coffee. This was quite the accomplishment because by then she had forgotten about the need for plates  or spoons to get the coffee out of the canisters. Or how to use the microwave to boil the water. She mostly used her hands for getting coffee out and then sprinkling it into a pretty mug. Those hands were rarely clean as she had bowel incontinence in the last years and had Celiac Disease.

She had her own gluten free bread but said “yuck” when offered it.  I think I tried to hide dad’s in the end so she did not get into it. The reason I mention the coffee and sandwich making is because it was on a loop, all day. No sooner had she sat down and eaten it than she was thinking of getting another one. We never had enough bread or milk in the house to satisfy her desire to make sandwiches and coffee, bless her heart.

My son went for long walks around the lake and beaches and used to bring her back bread and milk.  Once he came back with a gigantic tin of Nescafe coffee. All was stored in his backpack so that he could be hands free for the long walk back from Swansea to Pinny Beach.  Earlier on he fell down a ditch and everything fell out of his shopping bags so that is when he decided to use the backpack!

The day that is imprinted on my memory is when there was no fresh bread out because mum had devoured it all. I was sitting knitting trying to look busy but actually always aware of her, where she was and what she was doing.  She shrugged when she saw the empty bread bin and went to the fridge and looked in there for a long time. Shut the fridge door and stood there vacantly for some time. Then something must have sparked in her brain because she turned back to the freezer side of the double door fridge. Delighted with herself she found a loaf of frozen bread and proceeded to pry some pieces of the bread apart and then buttered them and jammed them up!

This was the funny bit, the rest was poignant, the stuff of madness. But not madness, Alzheimer’s. Mum tried so hard to do what was easy to her even ten years before. She watched what we did and aped that. Her biggest challenge was the wooden Venetian blinds which went along the front of the huge house. Each room had bay windows. Making smaller venetians necessary at the sides. Mum would start on the right and work her way across, closing them each evening. It took her at least thirty minutes to do it.

She would go to the next window and look at the venetian. Touch it. And stand with a baffled look on her face. Then she would look at the one she had just done and copy that. With each blind, twelve blinds in all. You could see she forgot which direction to close them. She kept checking back. This is how she covered up her Alzheimer’s for so long. Copying things, reading body language of others. Being eccentric already and almost totally deaf so that people did not expect her to join in conversations all masked it for so long.

The frozen jam sandwich also showed the funny side of mum. She brought me so much joy at a dreadful time in my life. A time when my son and I left everyone we knew behind in Sydney. We went for a short period of time and ended up still here five years later, mum long gone now and dad unwell with stage four cancer as well as stroke and dementia damage.

How was the frozen sandwich? Absolutely awful. But my mum took it in her stride, pulling a face and after saying “yuck” she threw it in the bin. Came smiling over to me. Kissing me on the top of my head and saying “my beauty.” Pronounced in the Lincolnshire way as booty. As her mother had done before her.

 

 

 

 

When I Wanted To Crawl Away and Quietly Die

In September 2015 I almost died of a parastomal hernia which had been trapping my bowel over the previous six months or so. A Stoma for a colostomy, Ileostomy or Urostomy creates a weakness in the abdominal muscles when the stoma is formed

I had my Ostomy surgery in mid 2012. The day after my Mother In Law’s funeral. Almost immediately the stoma receded and I had immense trouble getting a system to fit. This is usually the first warning sign of a parastomal hernia. It look many months of the Stoma Nurse, my Ostomy Support Groups on Facebook and myself to brainstorm a solution. But it was never right

Over the next three years I had horrendous pain near the stoma. In 2015 I was in and out of hospital for bowel obstructions repeatedly. Having the dreaded Nasogastric tube inserted to decompress the bowel

August 2015 the long anticipated wedding of my best friend’s daughter arrived. My son and I stayed with his fiancé in Sydney and we feasted and had a wonderful time before and after the wedding

I had bought a special teal jersey dress which had an attached coat front as I was so conscious of my swollen tummy. But had no idea what was about to occur. A few days after the wedding I had a small really small fish burger my son cooked. And I belched before I had eaten more than a few bites. My son tried to get me to eat it but I just could not. The next day we returned north. Myself to Lake Macquarie and Chris to Wallsend

A few days later Chris and Gen came over as usual on a Saturday to help with my food shopping. By then I was barely eating. Though they bought a Jamie Oliver Lemon Pie to tempt me. After they had been there an hour I laid down on the bed to try to hide the waves of intense pain from them. Soon after I started vomiting disgusting brown stuff. Chris was running around trying to find something I could throw up shitty vomit into. No luck! I had only moved into my little cabin a few weeks before and did not have many things there yet. In the end he used one of my new Corelle cereal bowls. We have not used it since!

They eventually talked me into staying with them in case I needed to get to John Hunter Hospital. On the way I asked them to take me to Emergency. They quickly found me a wheelchair and the Triage nurse took one look at me and somehow managed to find me a bed

I will not go into the details in case something similar happens to you. What I will say is I panicked. And I do not give up easily but I just wanted to find a ditch somewhere and crawl away and die. I had already sent Gen and Chris home as I did not want them to witness anymore of the horrendous suffering. Massive waves of pain like my Stoma area was being ripped apart. Alternated with vomiting noxious bowel contents. Almost asphyxiating on them as they had not inserted the right size NG tube. And they had not turned on the suction. So basically I was vomiting myself to death as my large and small intestine were kinked inside the very small area of opening behind my Stoma

I had one on one nursing care for over eight hours. Dreadfully, dreadfully ill. Four or five days later one of their top private surgeons operated on me as an emergency and he did an unusual procedure whereby I had a scimitar shaped wound under the devices I wear for the Colostomy. And under the wound and in the abdominal wall he inserted MESH

Two years later I have a Drop Foot, weakness in my legs and trapped Femorogenital and also Ilinguinal Nerves. As well as a trapped Pereneal Nerve. This causes horrendous abdominal pain. Hours on end every few days. Much like when I nearly died in 2015. I have been Cat scanned. No obstructions. No hernia. It is the MESH. It bonds with anything near it. It traps nerves and severs them. It causes horrendous injury to so many people and yet it is still being used today

I was fortunate to see a Professor of Neurology who admitted a lot of my issues were likely the mesh. That is highly unusual as there is usually a conspiracy of silence and of intimidation of patients. A few weeks later I saw a Pain Specialist and he confirmed nerves are trapped. He gave me a drug cocktail which remarkably is helping the nerve pain in legs and abdomen. However I will need breakthrough pain meds and Surgical Ablation of these large nerves yearly

In 2015 I asked if the mesh was safe to use. Even when I was readmitted to Hospital with sepsis a week after I had returned home, the surgeons were not saying anything about the mesh. Then on a Saturday a youngish British born surgeon came in for the second time. He sat on the bed and said he had a very bad feeling about this. He said these things go horribly wrong. He was very very strident about getting it reversed.

After he left I burst into tears. I had been through a really traumatic event. A very painful surgery and was facing a removal of mesh and a bigger op to repair hernia? I returned to my son’s to recover the next day. With three months of antibiotics.  A week later I saw the stoma nurse and the surgeon who operated on me. He asked why he had not been informed that I had been readmitted with an infection

He then examined my wound which had quite a bit of infection draining still through areas that had opened to release it. He reassured me the infection was below the mesh as the wound was so deep. So no issues. Yet he arranged to come in for my next checkup on a Public Holiday. I saw him on the ward which was also highly unusual  he also said I could stop the antibiotics

It took six months to recover properly from the surgery and infection and then I started having similar waves of pain to the left of my Stoma. Where the mesh is. Long story short the mesh has caused horrendous pain and suffering. It has cost me my ability to be as independent as I like to be. I am fiercely independent by nature. Hate with a passion being seen as ill or different in any way. For over a year I had to use a walker to get around. Was even contemplating giving in and getting a wheelchair

The Nerve cocktail of Cymbalta and Lyrica in low doses is working miraculously. I can walk again. Still cannot stand for long periods. But the improvement is nothing short of life changing. My memory is much better. I am sharper now after reducing the huge doses of Lyrica I was on. What is surprising to me is that I had no idea how much pain I was in. My son knew. He caught me in an unguarded moment. And was horrified of what he saw on my face. The Neurology Professor was right when he was brainstorming why I was having trouble walking. Imagine being in so much pain you just cannot walk. It’s astounding even to me

I have recently joined some proactive groups on Facebook and their blogs. Things are changing. New Zealand has banned all mesh. Senator Derryn Hinch is supporting banning of Transvaginal mesh. The next big wave of Lawsuits against the Mesh manufacturers is going to be Hernia mesh like mine. I will be joining the class action lawsuits as the ONLY way to stop this is to hit them where it hurts

Unfortunately what we have discovered is that a lot of younger surgeons do not know the older methods of operating without mesh. It’s a nightmare for so many already affected people and we need more visibility to protect others from having mesh. It is possible to have surgeries using “own tissue”. If one can find an older surgeon skilled in this

My mesh is unable to be removed now. No idea what the future will hold. Any bowel obstructions I do have to go to Emergency as this is really dangerous. However the freedom after over two years of agony and weakness has fostered in me an embrace life attitude. Because we do not know how long we have here. We should not waste a second of it. Be brave. Embrace life head on. Instead of saying “why me” I say who else can I help with this problem? Who can I save from this disaster in the making? It works for me. I am quite content with my life now. Acceptance of my condition while fighting to protect and support others is key for me. Everyone is different however.

Some of the support networks are

Sling The Mesh

NSW Pelvic Mesh Facebook Group

Australian Pelvic Mesh Facebook Group

 

 

 

Betty

My dad moved into a new care home near me in November 2017. Three years after moving into the dementia specific one where my mum was when she died

Mostly ladies in his old home and they loved him as he made sure they were fed and looked after. I often said he was like a school prefect. Which is ironic as he left school at 14

We had a lovely farewell morning tea on the morning he left, with everyone involved in dad’s care for the past three years popping in to see him

I went back a few days later with my son and his friend Gen and a lot of the ladies asked how he had settled. So sweet. But sweetest of all was Betty who had been non verbal for over eighteen months now.  Dad always used to stop and ask if she was all right, if she needed anything and give her shoulder a squeeze

Anyway, as I walked towards her she became frantic  and she is normally zoned out or appears to be.  I walked over and she tried and tried to talk. Only sounds came out but by then I knew what she wanted to say so I hugged her and assured her dad was okay

She settled down immediately after that, bless her face. She obviously knew what was going on, just could not move or verbalise

I have been so privileged to share in the lives of these gorgeous people.  I miss them so much

 

 

 

 

 

Christmas Eve 2012

 

This is part one of a very brief account of what happened five years ago. It does not contain a lot of embellishment. I feel like a witness to it somehow. Am sure all the feelings will come out in the written word one day.

*******************************************************************************

 

Christmas Eve 2012 my husband of twenty nine years disappeared with a young girl from work.

Earlier in the evening our son, this girl and my husband and I all had dinner in a restaurant together. She then came back to our flat and we made fondue. It was a difficult evening as he was extremely cold and cruel to our son and myself. In front of her. Mocking us. Scorning us. When the evening was over, about ten o’clock, he went to see her to a bus. He did not return.

We had been concerned about his mental health since his breakdown several years earlier and we thought he was relapsing. I phoned him several times that evening but no answer. At around three Christmas morning I called his phone again. He answered and said he would be back soon. What happened then heralded the end of our lives together.

He made no excuses. Just blamed me for spoiling his fun on Christmas Eve. It went on and on and around and around. I was crying quietly because I could not believe his coldness. His cruelty. To me maybe but to his son on Christmas Eve. It was unthinkable. We used to work in a church. Christmas as a family was sacrosanct.

So our son took over. Was incredibly logical. One of his questions was “are you having an affair with her?” Which was scoffed at. He then said repeatedly that he had been to The Gap because he was miserable about work. He hurled it at us like an accusation.

After some time I stood up and said Christmas is off for this year. It is over. And I went to bed. Weeping quietly all the way. Our son stayed up most of the night talking to him but he was cold. Merciless. We were spoiling things for him. We were in his way. Mid afternoon on Christmas Day I relented. I was a committed Christian then. I believed in forgiveness then. I no longer know what I believe. If anything.

The next few months were beyond belief. Beyond understanding. I tried to get him to go get help but he would not. He got thinner and thinner. Lost all interest in Cricket etc. His lifelong love. Above all else. And he kept threatening to go to the Gap, a notorious suicide spot, if he did not get his way. He was manipulative and controlling. Nasty and very very cruel. He rejected us in almost every way. Would not sit in the same room with us when he got home.

One Saturday in February he suddenly asked me to meet him at our local coffee shop. The one where I had offered him his freedom several years earlier. And he had panicked and refused the gift. After a few minutes he said that he had been to an EPS counselling service through work. And they recommended marital counselling. I looked at him in total shock and asked if he had told them he was suicidal. Of course he had not.

I was very angry. Probably the first time in our marriage I let him have it. He was very frightened of confrontation. Everyone had to like him. He would run away if told off by anyone. Or have a breakdown as he did at work triggered by his boss giving him a poor evaluation.

I walked out. Went back home, crying. Again. I truly rarely cry. Our son had no idea why I was crying then so I told him. My husband came back and calmly sat down as if nothing had happened.

Our son was talking to him again and asking what was going on. Asking why he was being so cold and cruel. He was standing and his father was sitting and suddenly his father got up and took a pugilist stance. He had studied boxing at a top private boarding school in UK. Neither of them would back down. 6’5” to 6’2”. In the end I used very soothing tones and got between them. I am 5’3”. Held my husband’s hands very gently and asked him repeatedly, very softly, what he was doing.

It took a long time for him to back down. Our son was crying by then. A grown man who had suffered intense pain all his life and had not cried with it. Was sobbing. And the cruelty. The coldness, of his father astounded me. He then said how many times he had gone to the Gap and wanted to jump. I was so angry by then I told him to just bloody do it. To bloody well DO something.

Once I calmed down I said that unless he got proper psychiatric help I would leave him. Divorce him actually. And I left the room. He tried to say he did not want that. To please not leave him. But I turned my back on him. By then it was mid afternoon and he went out.

I went to my best friend’s house in the evening and she said to give him a few hours. Around midnight she dropped me off at home and he still was not home. After a few hours we called the police. I had been calling his phone on and off since midnight and I tried one last time at around three. I left a message asking him to just come home, please. Which he said he saw as he was writing out his farewell emails to myself and his boss. He was at The Gap.

He came back and our son stayed up all night with him, again, until our GP opened and there we were told to take him straight to hospital. There was an incredibly long wait. We were very protective of him at first. But something happened. Something changed in those horrendous hours of waiting.

He would not stop talking. He was offloading his double life and by then we could not even sit with him. Our son went out and retched. I sat with my back to him. All while The Voice was on television in Emergency.

The unit he was admitted to was a Psychosocial one as apparently he told them he tried to jump off the Gap because I said I was divorcing him. After four days the psychiatrist organised a marriage intervention I had no idea was going to occur.

My then husband had a nurse and the Dr. I had myself and no prior warning. The psychiatrist told him to tell me what he had disclosed days before. He refused and asked the doctor to tell me.The doctor made him tell me himself.

He said that “he was no longer in love with me” and could not cope with our health issues. Mostly my colostomy the year before and internal damage from massive vaginal surgery twelve years before that. Our son had bad health since he was three months old. Nothing new there.

I was suddenly really really furious. And unfortunately when I am that angry I cry. So I sat and said things and cried for about forty minutes. I cannot remember much of it but I do remember saying “well I do not like you very much at the moment and who is in love after 29 years of marriage?”

I think i must have called him a few choice names at some stage as the psychiatrist said “careful, words hurt”. I looked at him and said. “Words hurt? How about actions?”

He looked at me for a few minutes and clinically said “you are enraged aren’t you?” I said you bloody bet I am enraged and he stood up and said he was ending the meeting. Somewhere during it I remember him telling me there were many disorders. Depression and anxiety and so very many disorders. And most of all I remember him saying. This was all news to you wasn’t it? And me saying yes.

He turned to my husband and said this really says a lot about YOU. I am still so traumatised from that awful intervention that I cannot remember a lot of things. I do remember asking if I could wash my face. I looked shocking. I needed to try to get myself under control before my son saw me. He was waiting outside. After I splashed myself with cold water I walked out into the common area and my son asked “what did you do to her?”

His father walked past him and said she will tell you.

 

#suicide #control #depression #christmasruinedforever

 

 

What I Have Learned So Far In 2018

I like to learn new things. I especially like researching. And I seem to really like making a fool of myself. So I need to think more before putting fingers to keypad

 

A few booboos already this year

* Not everyone wants to know about my spontaneous orgasms

* Baha’i Religion really not into sex outside marriage so best not to talk to bestie who is Baha’i about said orgasms. So sorry Linda. But thanks for your loving advice anyway. You rock and always have

* Mesh damage sucks. No more needs to be said

* I should not flirt with hot guys online as I have spontaneous orgasms. Yes we are back there again. I have been told my mind works like that

*There is very little my demented dad can ever do that I cannot forgive

* I should never ever trust my siblings. Ever

* It is great fun getting advice on sex from your adult son. Really