I recently read an article entitled, “No Fatties”: When Health Care Hurts by Carey Purcell which touched on the biases in care that fat people can face when seeking medical care. As I read the various stories of those whose pain had been ignored, sloughed off as the result of their weight, and sudden, unexplained weight gain being dismissed as nothing more than the result of eating to many burgers, I could not help but recall my own experiences with the medical community that have left me less than thrilled whenever it is time to visit the doctor.
The flurry of emotions raised by this article run strong and deep through my soul like a quiet river that with the slightest rain rises into a ragging torrent. Most days I quietly forget the pain, as I focus my mind upon the daily struggle to keep meaning and purpose in my life along with the battle that comes with living in chronic pain. But there are days that wound rises to the surface and the tears threaten to come rolling down. In order to silence the pin pricks of irritation at being treated as somewhat less than human, I have done the unthinkable in that I have to a great degree shut down the person I once was. I have allowed the battle to alter the course of my life and erase the dream I once cherished.
The change began with simple steps that were almost imperceptible. Little moves such as changing the channel whenever a medical clip or episode of a favorite show came to close to my own experience and threatened to touch a chord I would rather remained silent. Soon I was no longer watching once loved shows like Emergency, Mystery Diagnosis, Quincy ME, programs that had inspired me to hope that one day I might help the suffering and sick too, because to me they had become nothing more than idle tales. Ultimately it progressed to closing the books and shutting down my hopes and dreams of becoming a doctor or at a nurse practitioner.
Even though I had known for a long time that it was coming, the day it finally broke through my thick head that my dream was over, it felt as if my heart had been run over by a mile long bullet train running at full throttle. Tears filled my eyes as I looked down upon the pitiful remnants of the dream that been the driving force of my life since I was five, and finally admitted to myself that like Humpty Dumpty, all the glue in the world would not put it back together again.
I would like to say that when the truth finally knocked its way into my brain, that after a few hours of mourning, I rose from my bed of tears stronger, wiser, more resilient, and with a sweet calmness worthy of emulation. I would like to say that it was such, but sadly for days, weeks, even months I was touchy, moody, and at times only tolerable company as I grieved for the cavernous void in my heart that I had no clue how to ease.
With bitter sorrow I listened to every tidbit of the active world around me. The green eye of envy rising to the surface as I was barraged at every turn by fresh tidbits of my peers success until I dread to hear the phone ring lest it was some loved one sharing news with my Mother that they were certain would bring smiles of delight to our face. News that at other times might have only brought forth a dry smile and a momentary pang of longing that was easily smothered by the abiding hope that one day soon my Mother would triumphantly be able to declare that her daughter had finished premed or graduated from nursing school.
But now that the battle had been conceded, now that I had admitted that my life’s purpose had been defeated by the superior foe of chronic pain and misery, I was like a flimsy dot of a life raft lost at sea. Rising and falling on the storm maddened waves of uncertainty and loneliness and pounded by the beating rains of despair. Like a haunting melody the unforgiving wind declared that I was nothing but a useless blob, a worthless blood sucker sucking the life of my aging parents. With fiendish glee the flashing lightening and earth jarring thunder would announce that my future once so bright and hopeful was doomed to ignominy and failure.
During this bleak time my pain was made more acute as imaginary images of my frightful fate, terrorized my dreams and haunted the most peaceful moments of my days. Like the midnight sectors of Dickens strange Christmas tale, my eyes were tortured by the fearful realization that one day the comforting arms around me would be no more, and that I would be left pale, friendless, and jobless to face a future wandering the streets begging for the stale crumbs of human sympathy.