Strength Comes Slowly, Hope Sometimes in Slivers

It was a difficult but necessary conversation. I recently started telling my health care team my story. Not everyone is aware of what I’ve been through. I haven’t shared all of it, mostly just the part about the decades of isolation and being misdiagnosed psychiatrically. I’ve been in the process of reclaiming my life. It’s imperative that the people included in my well-being be on the same page as me. Today I included the sexual aspect of my journey. It was important, I had an appointment with my gynecologist. I trust her and I needed her help.      
     
“I have something to tell you and just to warn you, I’ll probably cry.”      
     
“It’s okay, Mary. Say what you need to say.”      
     
I watched her face as I began. Her look of doctorly concern soon changed to compassion as I told her everything, including being told that I would always be on psych meds, that I would never be able to work again and I would never be able to live independently. I also explained how difficult this past year has been. My psychiatrist and I have talked at length since my new diagnosis of BPD after my overdose last August about his theory that it was the psych meds that gave me the psychotic symptoms I experienced. I’ve been off psych meds for a year and my thinking has never been clearer, my emotions are finally stable and I’m getting my memories back. I told her that the knowledge that everything from the misdiagnosis, to my symptoms, to the decades of isolation didn’t have to happen has been overwhelming.      
     
“When I decided that I wasn’t going to remain isolated, I had to teach myself how communicate with people, how to use a computer, a smartphone and even a smart tv. It’s been a long process. I wanted to be father along than I am, but my heath and these surgeries got in the way.”      
     
“Most people would have given up. You’ve come along way.”      
     
“There’s more. I have an appointment in a few months, a consult with a plastic surgeon for a panniculectomy. I’ll never lose all this fat and skin that’s at my waist. I’ve had other abdominal surgeries and my muscles are practically non-existent. I was going to have the surgery in 2022 but then I got cancer and had my thyroid removed. After that, my metabolism tanked and I gained some of the weight back. I recently lost it again but because of all the weight at my waist it’s pulling on my back and the arthritis in my back is worse, it’s very painful. Plus there’s a few other problems. My Urologist, Pain Management doctor and PCP are sending notes to the plastic surgeon to recommend the panniculectomy so that it will be covered by insurance. I need a labiaplasty also but it’s not usually covered unless it’s medically necessary.”      
     
She knows what my body looks like, she’s my doctor, but I explained that the weight loss, my age, having been through menopause, the estrogen she prescribed and my anatomy have caused problems medically. I also explained that it’s difficult and often painful to carry on with daily activities and sometimes sex.      
     
She reached over for what I assumed was a box of tissues but it wasn’t there. Her eyes never leaving mine, she got up, walked a few steps to the paper towel dispenser, reached behind her and grabbed a handful of paper towels. Then she walked over to me, slowly extended her hand and offered them to me without saying a word.      
     
“My boyfriend raped me at gunpoint when I was younger and when I was isolated I was in a long-term relationship that was psychologically and sexually abusive. Sex isn’t just sex to me. Healthy sex helped save my life. Honestly, I’ve adjusted to the changes in appearance, being fleshy is a turn on for most men so it works to my advantage in a lot of ways. But the weight loss combined with the other changes has made it near impossible for me to feel anything now during sex and I don’t think an insurance company is going to care about that.”      
     
She was nodding her head and asked, “how did you begin to have healthy sex?”      
     
I wasn’t prepared for her to ask me that question, but I took a slow, deep breath and told her.      
     
“When I was in my twenties I was deeply in  love with a man. My life was complete. I was going to move in with him and I had hope that my future with him would be filled with happiness. My family said they would disown me if we continued to date. He was Black and they were against our being together. I felt forced to break up with him. That was in the early 1990’s. A few years after that I had a breakdown and was misdiagnosed with schizoaffective disorder. I went through years of unnecessary ECT treatments and I was on heavy antipsychotics for decades. In 2020, I contacted him on my birthday and we reconnected. I was still in love with him but he only wanted a friends with benefits relationship. We began having sex two months later. He was very patient and with his help I was able to express myself again. It was through healthy sex that I was able to regain my confidence and begin my reintegration into society. My path has been very unconventional. The sex was healthy compared to what I experienced but it was unfulfilling. Our relationship and sex were not healthy but what he gave me certainly was. It’s hard to explain. I had multiple partners because I wanted to learn more and I desperately needed confidence. With his encouragement I began swinging because I was curious and I have an extremely high sex drive. I was nervous but If I have fears I tackle them head on. I don’t let anything stand in my way now. I used to be afraid of everything. Our relationship ended and I haven’t been into swinging for over a year. I also no longer have multiple partners. Just one partner is healthier for me emotionally. It’s difficult because he’s not available as much as I’d like him to be, but it’s teaching me balance and patience. I’m using a lot of self-soothing techniques.”      
     
“One partner is healthier. Have you talked with your psychiatrist about this?”      
     
“Yes, he knows everything,”      
     
“I’ll write a note to the plastic surgeon. Tell him everything you told me.”      
     
“Really? You think I should? It will be my first appointment. You don’t think it’s too much information? Like I said, I don’t think an insurance company cares about my sex life.”      
     
“He needs to know your story. He’ll want to help you.”
 
She got up and hugged me. “I wish I had tissues in here instead of those scratchy paper towels. You really have come a long way, Mary. I’ve never met anyone with the amount of strength you have. You will get your life back and more.”