It has taken more than half my time on earth for me to learn the lesson that I must embrace life when and where it happens and not wish it away. I learned the lesson the hard way, mostly after I conceived my son nearly 25 years ago. By then, I’d spent a lifetime believing that there were things I couldn’t do or have because of who I was: a fat lesbian and a smart woman who scared the shit out of patriarchy. Limits were set by society and for many years I accepted some of them. Becoming a mama was something I feared would be unavailable to me. Against that particular perceived limit, I fought back. When I became pregnant, I vowed that I would raise a child who always knew his value and worth and needn’t wait to love, or be loved, or live the life of his choosing. In the subsequent years, I learned to take on other limits and not feel that I had to wait to enjoy the full measure of life. I came to embrace wearing a swimsuit despite my imperfect thighs. I came to love doing things on my own: movies, dining out, going to the gym, going to parks and museums on my own, even vacationing by myself. If I wanted to do it, I could and I did. It was empowering.
Then came the wonky hip. Since last August, when the pain became suddenly unbearable, I have faced a world of limits brought on by doctors who denied me care because I’m fat. I’ve rarely been a fan of modern medicine and this circumstance has turned my lack of enthusiasm into palatable dislike and distrust. I am a woman who does not hate but if I made an exception to that rule, it would be for the medical field, which has almost never been my ally. As I restricted food to lose weight and qualify for the hip replacement surgery everyone agreed would cure me, my dislike of doctors grew as their withholding of treatment shrank my world. I resisted as much as I could but pain and sleeplessness are a toxic combination. The last 6 months have mostly been miserable. No longer able to walk very far, I have been confined to a life of home and work, my independence limited outside of my home (and even within it….going downstairs to do laundry is very hard for me; everything takes longer when you are disabled and in near-constant pain). I have found myself wishing away my current existence in exchange for a future when things will be better, the exact approach to life I rejected so many years ago.
With just under two weeks until surgery, I finally see light at the end of the tunnel. With a hip replacement, I believe I will regain my independence. I will once again be able to live my life on my terms. Whether I will be able to let go of my anger at the 6 months of my life lost because of the denial of medical treatment remains to be seen. I’m only 56 years old. I have many years left on earth, though not so many that I welcome my time being wasted by doctors who don’t seem to understand what an oath like “do no harm” actually requires of them.
