Rose Miller 
The healing journey is mysterious. Sometimes, it’s slow and steady, sometimes it comes in full force. You just have to believe that healing happens when it’s supposed to.
On September 18 of this year, I had oral surgery, it took a few years to get me in the dentist’s chair and I finally built up the courage to follow through on it. It was a long and brutal procedure and at the end of it, I looked like the possessed doll, Chucky with blood splattered all over my face. As the oral surgeon held the mirror while I wiped the blood off, he reviewed the post-surgery care instructions and warned me that I would bruise.
I had many stitches, and I knew the recovery would be brutal and I planned accordingly. I scheduled the surgery for a Wednesday morning knowing my kids would be going to my ex after school for the night and I did it close to the weekend that he takes them as well so I can have a few days to myself.
When the kids returned to me on Thursday evening, half my face swelled and they were worried. I stayed on top of my antibiotics and pain management and rested as much as I could. When they left for school on Friday I told them my face would bruise when they returned on Monday.
I picked them up on Monday after school and I felt better. My youngest son got in the car and I was so happy to see him that I managed a smile. He stared at me a bit and then said, “You’re a liar.” Taken aback, I stared right at him
“Why do you say that?”
“You said, you’d be black and blue.” He pointed at my face. I adjusted the rear-view mirror and looked at my face. He was right. I didn’t bruise.
“I don’t know what to tell you,” I shrugged.
We pulled into the driveway and my son jumped out of the car leaving me there to stare at my reflection in the mirror. I don’t bruise, it wasn’t the first time someone didn’t believe me.
Years ago before I left the marriage, my ex attacked me and the cops were called. My ex chased me down the stairs of our apartment, grabbed my wrist, and tried to take my cell phone from me because I was begging my mom to call the cops. When the cops showed up, he turned the whole thing around and managed to convince them I’m unstable, and surprisingly enough the cops sided with him.
“If he hurt you the way you’re describing, then you’d have marks or bruises.” The cops eyed each other and I could feel the mockery so I kept quiet. What was I to do?
He attacked me, and they advised him to file a temporary restraining order against me and he got the kids and kicked me out of my house for 7 weeks. For years I walked around questioning if I was going insane. Maybe my reality was faulty.
I wish I could go back and tell them. “I don’t bruise. I went through oral surgery, I had dozens and dozens of stitches in my mouth, and the doctor warned me I would bruise. But hey, look…. I don’t bruise. Do you believe me now? Do you believe me now that he attacked me the way I told you he did? Do you want to review all the police reports that have been filed since then? Do you want to see the civil restraint the judge granted at my divorce? Do you want to hear the audio recordings I have of all the threats and verbal abuse I endured?
I don’t bruise, you were wrong. You were very wrong. He attacked me exactly the way I described. After you left, my middle son told me he saw the whole thing. A five-year-old boy witnessed the attack, is he delusional too? Never again will I doubt my own experience. Now I know without a doubt, that I was attacked and I don’t bruise.
