I admit it. I have a problem communicating my needs to my partner sometimes. I really don’t want to be a bother or a burden. I’ve been enough of that already in our 13 years of marriage. When it comes to things for the house or for others, I have no problem talking to him about those needs or desires. When it comes to my personal needs, especially when it comes to my breasts, I just seize up and turn silent.
I had it stuck in my head that my breasts were ugly, wedge shaped flaps of skin and for my 40th birthday I wanted beautiful breasts. Honestly I’ve always wanted beautiful breasts since the bra fitter at the local store when I was 15 said I should have teardrop shaped breasts and I didn’t. Of course at that age ANY girl is looking in a broken mirror. But that right there is the first incident that set me up for this screaming disaster.
Ken said if I could find a way to have the surgery then I could. So I did. I found a surgeon who was part of our barter network. I checked him out and found that he had no record of misconduct and no pending or former law suits. To my eager mind, it was perfect. So I scheduled the surgery. If you haven’t read my blog before, please go back and read the first post to see what happened.
What is a barter network? It works like this: Say you have a product or service that someone pays you $100 for. You then take that $100 barter dollars and use it with anyone else in that barter network OR its affiliate networks. This surgeon was in that network. I’ve also gotten contact lenses, housekeeping, printing and LOTS of other stuff on barter. So it just made sense to me because I wanted pretty boobies THAT BADLY. I was obsessed.
Of course after the implants came out, the surgeon said he would perform the reconstruction for no additional cost. My bad decision had already cost us enough so I agreed to make Ken happy. I didn’t want to be any more of a burden than I had already been with all the appointments and V.A.C. bandage changes. As mangled and emotionally messed up as I was, I was convinced, even though Ken had never given any indication, that if I made any more waves, I could end up alone.
It took my best friend threatening to kill him while we were up in Atlanta for a visit (goodness knows she was serious) if he took me back to the guy who did this to me in the first place. I just wasn’t brave enough to tell him what I needed. I was just SO terrified that I felt frozen in place. I can only guess that he was going through his own mental issues because he never seemed to notice how terrified I was when we went to see the surgeon. But then, I used to act, so I put on the brave face of a good soldier and just dealt with it. After all, I was damaged goods in my mind. If I made too many waves, he would well within his rights just to leave. That’s how insecure, neurotic and emotional I was.
I would like to think that eventually I would have found the courage to tell my husband what I really needed but I honestly don’t know. I’m grateful that I had someone in my life who knew just by looking at me that there was something terribly wrong.
My point here is that if you’re going through a really difficult time like this, find a way to talk to your partner. If you have to write a letter or even seek out a therapist, do it. Communication with your partner is the most important tool in your tool box. In all likelihood, your partner feels just as helpless as you do.