I fell off a horse.
I was pretty badly injured. I’d come crashing down onto a cement road, my ankle smashing against it. I was convinced that I’d broken a bone. I managed to get back home. My X examined my swollen and purpling foot and leg like a seasoned doctor. He declared that it was bruised. By that point it had swelled up to the size of a grapefruit.
I insisted on going to the hospital.
At the emergency room, my X pulled me aside and covertly whispered that all of the doctors at the hospital had malpractice suits, that they were going to gauge me with the bill, and that I should give them a fake name and address. Under no circumstances should I show them my I.D. Hours later, my foot wrapped in medical tape and a tensor bandage, and a set of crutches under my arms, we headed home. The doctors were unable to see in the X-rays if I had any breaks due to the swelling. They wanted me to come back in two days.
My X lamented on the way home about the level of incompetence at the hospital. He insisted that I’d just wasted my time and money, and that his diagnosis had been right all along. If only I had listened to him.
I called my mom for support, but when she became worried for me, I felt the need to protect her from the truth, and acted like my X was taking great care of me. I made him out to be a hero, when in actuality, he had gone back to work. Propped up on the couch and in great pain due to my X’s belief that pain killers were toxic, I iced my foot on my own.
I never went back to the hospital. It took weeks before I could put weight on my foot.
Dear one, there is always someone out there who will love and support you. Who will believe you. You do not have to do everything on your own. It is just as brave to ask for help. Always ask for help. You are loved.