Tag Archives for illness

I Have No Ass

This may be the vainest thing I have or will ever write. I have no ass. I just discovered this while trying to find an outfit to wear to a family dinner later today. Since becoming ill my weight has fluctuated quite a bit. I’m a small woman to begin with – average height and slim athletic build – so losing weight is not something that I ever strived toward achieving. My weight has held steady all these years to what I weighed toward the end of high school and at university. I’ve always been active and never gone on a diet, but I’m always mindful that I can lose weight with a bad bout of the flu or extreme stress, so I’ve always tried to eat well. I’m also hypoglycemic, which adds another layer of concern about always keeping my body fueled.

Last year a friend I’ve known since university came to visit me while he was in town for a few days. He told me some months later that after he left my home he cried. He cried because of how thin I was from my illness. He said the shock of seeing me so thin and sickly overwhelmed him, and his emotions overcame him. It surprised me when he told me that and it frightened me a bit too. Surprised because in all the years I’ve known him he never once before told me of any situation that made him cry; and frightened because I obviously wasn’t seeing what everyone else was. I knew I’d lost weight because my clothes, especially my pants and jeans, didn’t fit well and I was always pulling them up, but I didn’t’ think I looked so thin it could evoke that kind of reaction from someone.

Now I’m not as thin as I was last year, but as I try to find something to wear, sorting through my clothes to find clothing other than jeans, sweat pants or shorts, it’s upsetting that I can’t find anything that doesn’t make me look like a pole. I’ve lost the shapeliness of my body. I no longer look fit and athletic. Realistically, I probably haven’t looked that way for a long time. The fact is, because of my pain I’ve been more concerned with comfort than looking attractive when I dress over the last couple of years, so noticing how my body looks as I try to find clothes that fit well today is a bit of a shock.

My body has changed so much and it happened right in front of my eyes without me noticing.

 

Thomas Rhett – South Side

Sow Together’s Shocking Suicide Statement

Last night I came across a blog posting that I suppose the author meant to be helpful to people feeling suicidal, and the families and friends who support them. Shockingly, the writer started with this statement

“Suicide is the ultimate act in selfishness.”

How the !@#$ is that supportive? Farther down in the post she writes, “My intent is not to rip on people who have these thoughts but to explain their thought process and how loved one’s can help.” Ripping on people who have these thoughts is exactly what she did with the opening statement, and it shows that she doesn’t understand the thought process of anyone who might feel suicidal. The post contained quotes from WebMD about mental illness and some basic psychological self-assessment tools about suicide. This information barely touches the surface of what someone who attempts suicide might feel or think.

I can’t remember the last time something I read made me this angry and feel the need to respond. I kept thinking about the opening statement as I continued to read the post. How can someone make such a harsh, judgemental statement and expect anyone who feels or has ever felt suicidal to keep reading. How could the writer expect someone who feels buried by the weight of depression and hopelessness, to see that shocking statement and feel comfortable reading further? To read on to learn what the writer considers helpful ideas about how to communicate with friends and family, when it feels like nothing but death can end the pain. How can the writer expect, someone like myself, who attempted suicide multiple times because I’m a survivor of horrendous, unspeakable things, to connect with anything she shares after that opening line.

The sad thing is that this isn’t the first time I’ve heard or read a statement like this. I’ve had the misfortune of sitting at a dinner table with people who openly stated that anyone who attempted or was successful at committing suicide is a weak coward. I felt myself shrink as the conversation continued around me. These people weren’t aware that I had attempted suicide. After hearing their callous, unfeeling, self-righteous statements about someone else’s suffering, I would never tell them about the pain I experienced that led me to believe that death was the only thing that could end my pain.

The people who make these statements don’t understand how hard it is to find resources; whether it is good doctors or therapists, or the right combination of medications to help someone who feels this kind of pain to cope. They don’t understand how deeply, someone living with depression, can feel shame because he or she believes they should be mentally stronger and tougher, and “snap out of it” because that’s the message sent by the society we live in. The people who make these statements don’t understand how hard it is to live day in and day out feeling detached from the world. Feeling like nothing you do can close the divide of the separation you feel from everyone in your life.

People who make these statements don’t understand hopelessness. They don’t understand someone feeling that he or she has tried everything in their power to get well, even when what they suffer from – bipolar disorder, schizophrenia, PTSD, depression, anxiety, or other mental health and chronic physical illnesses – has no cure and might only be manageable, at best. They don’t understand someone who has tried to “get over” whatever it is that hurt them. The thing that continues to split a person open over and over again because it has become part of their DNA. The people who make these statements don’t understand what it’s like to live feeling physical and/or psychological pain, shame, and self-blame for something you couldn’t stop from happening to you and now can’t control. They don’t understand how exhausting it is to live in a continuous state of hypervigilance because a disease or someone took away your sense of safety and well-being.

The writer who wrote, “Suicide is the ultimate act in selfishness,” needs to educate herself about why people attempt suicide rather than spouting off basic one-fits-all psychological information that she read on websites about how to prevent it.

 

Leona Lewis – Fireflies

The Last Post-Surgery Check

I’ve hit the six-week mark since having surgery without any major complications: my incision is healing well and I didn’t have any infections. I had my last check yesterday with the gynecological specialist who pushed to get something done to get me better and was a part of my surgical team. From his perspective, everything looks good. He reviewed the pathology reports he requested on the growth he removed from my pelvis, my fallopian tubes, and all the adhesions that stuck that growth to my rectum and my fallopian tubes to my ovaries. All the reports came back with no sign of cancer, endometriosis, or any other diseases for concern. He also assured me that there is very little chance of the growth recurring.

However, he wasn’t happy to hear that the surgery didn’t help to reduce, or what he had hoped, end my pain; or the fact that I’m now taking three times the level of pain medication I was taking before the surgery. He examined my incision; ordered some tests, and then scheduled my next appointment for six months from now. We also discussed the pain clinic’s plan to manage my pain moving forward. In the near future, my pain specialist will attempt to manage my pain with acupuncture. The gynecological specialist assured me that my pain specialist is a very skilled acupuncturist. As much as I like her, feel comfortable with her, and trust her many years of experience; it was comforting to get that vote of confidence in my pain specialist from one of her colleagues.

I left my appointment feeling confident, which has only happened a handful of times during the past two years. Everything isn’t perfect, but now that my surgery is behind me, the growth is no longer in my pelvis, and it was clearly benign; my doctors and I can focus on my pain. We can focus on finding a solution to eliminate it because now we know that the growth may not have been the direct cause of my chronic pain, although, it might have been the catalyst that triggered it. The discovery of the growth also raised awareness about the unusual way my body processes high levels of pain. Now my doctors just have to figure out what to do to make me pain-free again.

 

The Police – King of Pain