On Not Wishing Away Time

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.