I found this in my blogging file and have decided "better late than never" and put it up. This post was written before my separation and moving, changing jobs etc etc etc, so there are references that are out of date. My diagnosis is now formal, I have started treatment, and my chances of having biological kids is far less than it was.
I have spent years on body positivity. Most of this has been a deliberate embracing of my body as it is. Rather than pretending I am not fat, or ignoring my skin condition, I love myself as I am and demand that others respect that. Body and mind working together for a holistic sense of self has been really important to me.
Recently I have been dealing with health issues around my body. This afternoon I came home with a tentative diagnosis and had a good cry. It’s not a big deal; I’m not going to die (until I normally would). I don't even know how much worse it will get.
Excuse the vagueness, it’s just that the condition that I have is rare enough that like my job, and volunteer work, I won’t be disclosing it on here for fear of outing myself.
There is a possibility that over time my body will become less functional faster than I would like. This comes with pain and difficulty moving, and the idea scares the shit out of me.
This body I love... It’s fucking failing me.
How DARE it!
The HOURS I have put into exercising, and feeding it well, and loving it, and only letting the BEST most wonderful people give it cuddles and love. This body has been nourished in every sense of the word, and now I find out that 30 years of good times with it, is all I may get? I am so ANGRY. I am well aware that there are people out there with prognoses that are a million times worse. With limited time, bigger pains and sadder stories. There are people with perfectly good bodies but hurts so great that they deliberately end their lives early. I’m one of the lucky ones and once I get past this news I know that I will realize that fully.
But right now I’m pissed off, and frightened, and sad.
At the moment I can’t really safely get down the stairs in the morning until I’ve had a hot shower and my pain has decreased, and that is totally ok. But what will I be like in 5 years, when I want to (the fates willing) be getting up at all hours in the cold, to a hungry baby?
What about in ten years, when I take my kids canoeing down the Whanganui river, and I want to crawl in and out of tents scaring 7 shades of shit out of them.
What about in 20 years when I want to boogie at my birthday and embarrass myself trying to dance the old school styling’s of the Macarena?
But I don’t know. The future may not be much different to what it would be without this diagnosis.
Worrying won’t make a damn bit of difference, and even if I never had this, I could get something else in a weeks’ time. If life has taught me nothing else, it has taught me that shit happens, and all you can do is roll with it.
My new challenge will be to continue to be body positive even when it doesn't do what I want it to. To love it when it hurts me, to love it as it fails me. I think I'm up to the challenge.
But give me a few days of tears and anger before I settle into this, ok?