To hospital

On Sunday August 30, I woke up to find that the right side of my face seemed to have 'fallen' down my head. It looked horrific. I had little feeling in my cheek and it appeared as if I had had a stroke. I was terrified and realised that I would have to go to the hospital and find out if anything was seriously wrong. I phoned my boss at work and asked if he could get one of the girls to work for me on the Monday so that I could go and have my face xrayed. Unfortunately, no one was able to work for me, so I did what was so normal for me. I woke up on Monday morning, covered my bruising as best I could with make-up and went to work. I worked through yet another day, telling everyone the 'door' story. Brent rang me at work and asked if I would like to go out with him that night for dinner. I actually laughed. It felt incredulous. A great joke being played on me by some greater power. I simply answered, I don't think so!

Brent rang again Monday night. I realised then that it was his birthday and he wanted me to play normal. When I said that there was no way I could go out with my face looking as it did, he simply replied, 'I'll get a bottle of wine and come over then'? For Brent, it was as if nothing had happened. He had simply no idea, or he was in such denial, or he knew that if he could get to me, he could rely on me to cover things over. He had no idea what I had said at work but as far as he was concerned, it seemed, he couldn't see what the fuss was all about. I told him that night, that I was going to the hospital to see if my face was broken. He replied, I'll ring you tomorrow.

On Tuesday, September 1, I sat in the emergency dpt of Tauranga hospital and waited three hours to be seen, and another two hours to be xrayed. Of all the people who came and went in that time, I was the only one who 'looked' as if I had been in a war zone. When my xrays finally came through, I was called to reception and told that they had made an appointment with a surgeon who I was to see immediately. My cheekbone was broken and I would need to have an operation. The doctor I saw at the hospital was horrified. She was adamant that I press charges and explained that my injury was quite serious. I left the hospital and went straight to the surgeon. Again, he was horrified at the sight of my face. Before he even began an examination, he sat me down and impressed on me the need to go to the police. He impacted his opinion by saying, if the clothes airer had hit my face, even a fraction higher up, he would never have heard of me, except maybe the front page of the paper.

I went home. I did not want to go to the police. I was frightened, ashamed, and felt that if I stood up and told the truth, no one would believe me. The only people I trusted to support me, love me and believe me were my mother, who witnessed Brent's verbal abuse that night, my friend, Ian who also heard Brent yelling at me that night, and my children, who had both witnessed Brent's abuse to me. I went to Ian's home and realised that I would have to tell my children, who both lived in Auckland, that I would be going to hospital for an operation. It was one of the hardest things I have ever had to tell my children, as I had kept so much of Brent's abuse a secret from them. I was scared and wanted to retreat into myself and pretend it didn't happen. But it did!

I had two glasses of wine and out of the blue, I told Ian, I had to go to the police now! If I didn't go now, I knew I wouldn't.