(TW: Ableism, Medical Abuse, Neglect, ED (Weight), Ableist Language)
Three years ago, a 6-year-old Seattle girl called Ashley, who had severe disabilities, was, at her parents’ request, given a medical treatment called “growth attenuation” to prevent her growing. She had her uterus removed, had surgery on her breasts so they would not develop and was given hormone treatment. She is now known by the nickname her parents gave her — Pillow Angel.
The case of Ashley hit the media in January after publication of an article in a medical journal about her treatment. It reappeared in the news recently because of the admission by Children’s Hospital and Regional Medical Center that the procedures its doctors had performed to stop Ashley from growing and reaching sexual maturity violated state law. In Canada (as in Australia), a child can be sterilized only with the consent of a court.
At the time of the initial publicity about growth attenuation, Ashley’s parents wrote on their blog: “In our opinion only parents of special needs children are in a position to fully relate to this topic. Unless you are living the experience, you are speculating and you have no clue what it is like to be the bedridden child or their caregivers.”
I did live the experience. I lived it not as a parent or caregiver but as a bed-ridden growth-attenuated child. My life story is the reverse of Ashley’s.
Important.
tw: abuse
Damage
This is not my usual post. But it’s something I had to share. As you read this, imagine how your reaction would differ if this story were being told by a woman, talking about how her husband treated her.
I have been separated from my wife for over a year, though we continue to share a house. We live on separate floors. We share the house because we need to parent our son together, and because we can’t afford to maintain two households.
I’d like to tell you a story, illustrating one reason why I am divorcing her. This is an example of the treatment I have received over the past fourteen years.
This evening, while she was drinking her wine, my estranged wife took exception to the fact that I wanted to talk about how tense she’s been. She said she didn’t want to talk about it.
I left the room (so as to comply with her request).
I went upstairs to use our tiny guest bathroom. She began to yell and throw things around the kitchen, then eventually charged up the stairs and into the bathroom, just as I was finishing and getting ready to leave. She confronted me there, holding her half-full wine glass in her hand. Her voice got louder, her gestures wilder.
She complained that I had upset her by wanting to talk when she had told me she didn’t want to talk. As I began to feel uncomfortable, I said, “You’re saying it’s my fault you can’t express your emotions responsibly like an adult?”
She said, “Yes!! It’s because you want to go off and take a vacation with your girlfriend!” Then she threw the contents of her glass in my face and smashed it against my bare chest.
The results are pictured here.
I stood there, with shattered glass at my feet, glass shards sticking in my skin, bleeding, for five minutes or so. I asked her to move so that I could leave. She waved the broken stem of the glass in the air and said, “Leave!! Who’s stopping you?”
I told her she was standing between me and the door. I felt threatened.
She laughed and said, “You’re 6 foot 3 and 250 pounds! You can’t feel threatened by me!”
I said, “You just broke a glass on my chest and cut me. You’re standing there with the stem in your hands. Yes. I feel threatened.”
She said, “No, you don’t.”
I asked her to move out of the way and let me pass. I didn’t want her to think I was pushing her or threatening her.
She held her ground, waved the broken stem and shouted, “Go on! Leave! I’m not stopping you!”
After I asked her repeatedly, she finally moved a bit and I left, carefully stepping over the broken glass.
I have posted this here as evidence, and to help those who may think that size and gender make a difference when abuse is concerned. People who, like my estranged, think some have permission to feel threatened and some don’t.
Abusers come in all sizes and genders.
She and I went to a half dozen therapists over the years. At each initial session, every therapist took a look at me, then at her (5’4” 150 lbs.). Then he or she would gravely ask my wife, “Do you feel safe?”
None ever thought to ask me.
Thanks for listening.
I will reblog this every time I see it.
Abuse is abuse.
If you think it’s not a big deal if it happens to a man, you’re dead wrong.
This is very testy waters I’m treading on but while I agree that domestic abuse is just as grave when it happens to men, it happens far more with women and often the results are much worst. Maybe it’s just me, but it feels like this is trying to say “Well hey, ladies, you’re not the only ones facing abuse, stop taking your shit out on men when some of us go through the same shit too!” – Which leads to this, please please PLEASE report your estranged wife to the authorities with your evidence. Not that it’s not a big deal, it is! I just keep getting that vibe from this post.
Thoughts anybody?
I don’t think that’s what he’s saying, at all.
Merely that- as he said- abusers come in all sizes and genders. It’s not doing to do any gender any good to ignore that.