I haven’t written for a couple of weeks for several reasons, but the main one is that I was trying to figure out which direction to go next. Every time I started to write, I’d start off on a path but that path didn’t make sense.
How does reviewing codependent traits help me help myself now?
Are these codependent traits defense mechanisms from past trauma, or are they part of who I am?
How do I distinguish unhealthy codependent traits from personality traits?
Are codependency and trauma related, and if so, how, and how does that help me help myself?
What about the physiological and spiritual components? They overlap, so how can I answer one question without considering how the other two parts of me are interacting?
Maybe I need to go through more of my story before I’ll understand how it all fits together.
Way back, when I first started on my healing journey, I had no idea how complicated and multilayered healing was. For the first several years, all I focused on was trying to figure out how to be independent as opposed to codependent, and how to regain my self-worth.
The loss of my self-worth wasn’t just due to one thing. It was a combination of family dysfunction, congenital birth defects, years of bullying by my peers, and the idea that no one would ever want me, and then fifteen years of being married to an addict.
Doctors had told me and my parents that I shouldn’t have children. They said that my pelvic bone malformation was genetic and that I would pass the horror of multiple surgeries and excruciating pain onto a child if I had one. Additionally, they told me that if I were to get pregnant, the pressure on my pelvic area might do so much damage that I would never walk again!
There was no way in hell I was going to give birth to a child and have them go through all the hell I had, so I accepted the fact that I would never have children, and I took birth control for decades to prevent that. Many years later I learned the consequences of decades of birth control, and I also learned that genetics had nothing to do with congenital hip dysplasia and that there was never any risk of never walking if I had gotten pregnant. I could have had children if I had wanted to.
My dad was afraid that no man would want me because I couldn’t have children. At least, that’s what he told me, so whenever one was interested in me, especially what I considered to be good-looking men, I felt like that was a fuck you to my dad. It’s ironic now looking back. When my dad learned I was taking birth control, he accused me of being a slut long before I was one. I wonder if he ever realized that his incessant need to control and his relentless criticism was a major contributing factor to my promiscuity. I had no idea at the time, and only now in reflection can I see how his behavior drove me to prove that men did want me. Of course, I didn’t realize at the time that men didn’t want me - they wanted sex. Not to mention, all of the men I attached myself were equally as emotionally broken as I was.
None of the therapists or psychologists I saw over the years ever once mentioned that physiological imbalances could affect how I thought, and oddly, none of them ever asked me about my disability, or how that impacted my self-worth. No one asked if there was trauma outside being married to an addict and the obvious family dysfunction that created the codependency.
No one talked in depth about anything spiritual either. That’s the problem with specialized care. The focus is so narrow not a single health professional I saw could see the forest that made me sick, they only saw one tree.
As always, I learned the hard way just how integrated human beings are when my body gave out in 2012 and I nearly died.
THE ROAD TO 2012
I moved out the following year after graduating grade 12. I couldn’t take dad’s controlling behavior and constant criticism any longer. Dusty had moved out a few years before so I was the last one to leave. Mom was so angry with me for moving out, she didn’t talk to me for months. MONTHS. Now, when I think back, I wonder what was behind that anger. Did she feel I abandoned her or betrayed her? Unfortunately, I’ll never learn the answer to that question.
I moved in with Susan, my friend from the beach. She has been living on her own for quite some time and had been living quite a wild life. I had no idea what an addict was. To me, Susan just liked to party. She took risks that I wouldn’t have taken, but she always seemed to land on her feet.
Shortly after moving in with Susan, I met a man I instantly fell for. He was the brother of Susan’s mechanic and several years older than I was. He was having marital problems and decided to step outside of his marriage – with me. He was extremely good-looking, and it didn’t take much coaxing for me to go out with him. At the time, he said he was separated from his wife, but now that I think about it, I’m not sure that he was. Hindsight is always 20-20 and this relationship would eventually have karmic consequences.
I fell hard for him. He was blonde, blue-eyed, and rode a motorcycle. Some nights he would pick me up from work on his bike and we would drive around the city. He came around the apartment nearly every morning and we would make love. He told me he loved me, and I believed him. More than that, I wanted to believe him.
One day, I don’t recall why exactly, but I knew we couldn’t go on. I certainly didn’t want to end the relationship although most of my friends accused me of not believing I was good enough for him. That wasn’t it. Deep down in my core I knew this relationship was wrong. My moral compass was telling me to end it. He had kids for crying out loud! What was I doing?
Not too long after, I met Rob. He was the stereotypical bad boy. He was tall and muscular with long dark hair. When I met him, he was driving a Corvette, but he didn’t have that car for much longer. Rob was a tough guy on the outside; he had spent time in jail, but he was mushy on the inside.
At first, I wasn’t interested in a relationship. I was heartbroken and wasn’t ready to start seeing anyone, but Rob was insistent. He chased me until I finally gave in. Then he moved in and that didn’t go over well with Susan, who was trying to straighten out her life.
Again, hindsight is 20-20. Rob didn’t have anything when he moved in with me, but I was so grateful to be wanted, I didn’t see the glaring warnings the universe was trying to send me.
Rob didn’t introduce me to his family for a long time. His dad was an alcoholic and a mean drunk and he wasn’t close with his mom either. Many years later, I learned that Rob had attacked his dad one time when he was drunk and threatening the family. They were hiding in a bedroom and his dad had threatened to break the door down. Rob had had enough, opened the door, and started beating up his dad. Bill was so drunk he couldn’t defend himself anyway, but then the unthinkable happened. Rob’s mom called the police on Rob. He was arrested and put into a home for juvenile delinquents.
I remember this one time early on in our relationship when Rob had spent the day with his dad. I think they were drinking together. Rob came home quite late and there was something ominous about him. Honestly, I swear his eyes were black and hollow. He was empty. We went to bed that night and sometime later, I was awakened because I couldn’t breathe. Rob’s legs were around mine and he was holding onto me so tight I couldn’t breathe! I tried to elbow him to get him to loosen his grip but he wasn’t letting go. I squirmed and turned my head toward his. His eyes were glowing red and he uttered a deep guttural laugh that sent shivers down my spine. My heart started racing, I broke away and ran out into the living room. I chain-smoked half a pack of cigarettes sitting in the chair wondering what the hell I just saw. Whatever it was – it was evil.
That incident scared me but my rational brain talked me out of believing what I had experienced. I couldn’t have seen what I saw because those things didn’t exist. I told myself I must have been dreaming, even though I knew I wasn’t. Despite that huge warning from the Universe, I married him.
We didn’t have enough money to get a house yet, so we lived upstairs at my grandma’s house for a while, then we lived in my parent’s house while they were building a house at the beach. Eventually, we bought a little house in an okay neighborhood on the outskirts of the hood.
Our marriage was up and down. Mostly everything revolved around his drinking binges. When he was good – we were good, but when his drinking took over, things got bad. I had four major hip surgeries while we were married. I couldn’t rely on Rob for much because when the going got tough – he got drinking.
The surgeries were not easy ones and worse yet, the first two did nothing but cause more pain – physically, emotionally, and spiritually. On the upside, I learned a whole lot more about reading x-rays, the how’s and why’s of reconstructive surgery, and how to care for a wound with a gushing hematoma from a change room nurse that was amazing.
I missed my grandmother’s funeral because I had a gushing hematoma and they wouldn’t give me a day pass to attend her funeral citing infection risks. I swapped hospital stories with other patients, met a doctor who was a patient with fascinating medical stories and dealt with a boss who for some reason thought I should hurry up and heal so I could get back to work. I have no idea what Rob did while I was in the hospital because he rarely came up to see me. I suspect he was drunk most of the time.
In fact, now that I’m thinking about it, I didn’t have many visitors at all when I was in the hospital for either of those surgeries.
Long before I should have, I did return to work. On crutches. If you can believe it, I drove myself to work even though I could barely walk, plus, I had to go up a flight of stairs to get to my studio. What the hell! Looking back I’m stunned that everyone – my husband, my co-workers and friends, and my boss thought that was reasonable.
A couple of years later, mom had a stroke. I was a wreck and Rob drank. I arranged to take a week off of work. I found a sub-teacher so I could be up at the hospital with my mom. Luckily, I knew some of the nurses, so I was given access to mom’s chart. All that free education I had as a kid living in the hospital came in handy.
Mom was lucky. She had had a minor stroke in the night, and dad had taken her into Lumsden to see a doctor the following morning. She had a major stroke right there in the doctor’s office. That doctor administered meds right there and then, and called an ambulance. Initially, mom lost her entire left side, but because she got meds immediately, she regained most of her mobility on her left side. She was never quite the same though. Her gait was labored, and her left hand never opened again.
I was running the office and teaching for three nights. It was way too much and Rob’s drinking was getting worse, so I quit teaching and just ran the office. Sharon was not an easy person to work for. My job was stressful. My life was stressful and my body wasn’t right either.
The following year, my left hip gave out again. One day, after work, I was sitting at the kitchen table having a cigarette, heating up dinner in the microwave, when it happened. I stood up to check on the food and fell to the ground. I couldn’t get up. The pain was unbelievable. Eventually, I managed to get myself back on the chair but I couldn’t move. My mind was racing. What the hell was going on now? When Rob finally got home he asked what to do. I told him to run a hot bath and then carry me to the tub. Thankfully, Rob was physically strong. He could easily carry me and got me into the tub. The heat helped a little but something was really wrong.
I called into work the following morning and said I wouldn’t be in for a few days because I couldn’t walk and was in a lot of pain. I had to figure out what was happening. I went to my GP who arranged for me to see Dr. Froggatt. Dr. Sherman, the orthopedic surgeon who had performed the previous two surgeries had already moved to the US. The pins had already been taken out and a cyst removed from my hip, so Dr. Froggatt had no idea what was causing the pain, or what to do. The x-rays weren’t revealing any problem either.
Every Wednesday morning, all the orthopedic surgeons would meet at the hospital to discuss complex cases. Dr. Froggott suggested I show up to this meeting. He referred to it as a kind of show and tell. His hope was that maybe together they could come up with a plan, but no one had a clue what to do. Six surgeons in the room and nada. They all stared at the x-rays, but no one could determine what was causing the pain, and none of them had any experience with congenital bilateral dysplasia anyway.
Dr. Froggatt told me to go home and stay there until he figured out what to do. He instructed me not to go to work and filled out an entire page of don’t do this so that I could get disability payments from my work insurance. Dr. Sherman was Dr. Froggatt’s son-in-law, so he said he would call him to discuss it and get back to me.
I went home and called my parents to let them know what happened. To my absolute shock, my dad was furious with me. He couldn’t understand why I was so willing to give in and give up without fighting to stay on my feet.
“What are you going to do?” he spat. “Stay at home and live on insurance for the rest of your life?”
I was beside myself! I didn’t know what to do or to say. I was in so much pain I couldn’t think straight.
“I can’t move for fuck sakes!” I screamed at him. “It’s not like no one’s trying to figure out what to do, but for right now, I can’t go to work.”
We hung up and he didn’t talk to me for weeks. WEEKS. I’m being punished because my body gave out. Something that I cannot control. Wow.
What was worse, I couldn’t manage on my own and I had a very energic dog to look after. One of my friends wasn’t working and offered to come over to help me out until I could move better. She was stunned when I told her what my dad had said to me. “Can he not see how much pain you’re in?” She asked. “No. Apparently not.” I replied.
It took three weeks before I could hobble around with only a little bit of pain. To say I was stressed would be an understatement.
I was married to a drunk and increasingly unhappy about that. My body has given out again and no one knows what to do to fix it. My dad wouldn’t talk to me because my I was in pain and my mom, ever loyal to my dad, didn’t call to see how I was either.
Again, hindsight is 20-20. Every time something went wrong with my body, doctors immediately looked at my hips. No one really considered anything else could be creating the problem. No one looked at musculature or considered how much damage had been done when the pins broke and cut their way through the tissue. No one wondered if the angle of pull of the muscles in my entire pelvic area was correct or if they might be causing pain. They just looked at the glaringly obvious structural problem.
Again, that’s one of the many downsides to our medical system. It’s up to the GP (family doctor) to refer you to the right specialist and healing is limited to that specialist’s knowledge, so you’d better hope you end up with the right specialist. Knowing what I know today, and after four more surgeries, I wonder if internal adhesions or spasms were to blame for that pain.
A few weeks later, Dr. Froggatt called to say that he had talked to Ray (Dr. Sherman), and he suggested contacting Dr. Alan Gross in Toronto. Dr. Gross had invented the very surgery I needed, and Ray had studied under him. Between Drs. Froggatt and Sherman, after several phone calls and my entire x-ray file being sent to Dr. Gross’s office, I was contacted by a social worker who worked for Dr. Gross. She let me know that Dr. Gross was willing to do the surgery and that I was on a waiting list.
Several weeks later, I got the call that a bed was available. My parents would both accompany me to Toronto and luckily for me, they would also pay for the flights.
Thanks for taking the time to read this post.!