I’ve really been feeling myself lately. As I wrote in a recent post, I’m cute as fuck! Which is nothing notable, except I spent all of my life before going into the hospital either absolutely hating myself and thinking I was grotesque and ugly to determinedly neutral (but not really neutral) about it. I was able to say that I liked my hair and my eyes and maybe my smile, but that’s it. I hated my body even when I tried to be neutral about it.
Then I ended up in the hospital and unconscious for a week. When I woke up, I was scared, confused, and freaked out. I wasn’t thinking about what I looked like, obviously. After several days awake, however, after being informed of all I went through, I felt so much gratitude towards my body for carrying me through that frightening time. It did it without a hitch. Seriously. I have scars on my arms from all the needle pokes and a patch on my right leg that was numb for months and is now waking up with painful pins and needles. I have a bit of short-term memory loss, but it’s very little and I can compensate for it. That’s it. That’s all. I do more Taiji every day than I did before and my biceps are something to behold.
Some years ago, the change from hating myself to feeling neutral slowly started happening. I started appreciating little things like my hair, my eyes, and my smiles. Also, my biceps. And at some point, I noticed that what I had always called my flat yellow ass had gotten a bit of a curve to it. Then a bit more. At some point, I could definitely see that I had some junk in the trunk and I had to quit saying ‘My flat yellow ass’.
I still didn’t care for my body overall, though, nor my face. I was happy to reach the point of neutrality, just appreciating that my body allowed me to do most of what I wanted to do, especially concerning Taiji weapons. As for my face, well, I had to wear a mask when I went out any time in the past few years, anyway, so who cares?
I really was as neutral as I had ever been about it before I entered the hospital. I didn’t want to look at myself, but I didn’t waste any time moaning over it, either. I just pretty much ignored it and acted as if it didn’t exist. Not the best way to deal with it, but not the worst way, either, by far.
Once I was fully awake and not drugged to the gills (roughly two weeks at home), I noticed that all my self-hatred (at least for my physical self) was gone. I had a sore on the bed of my head from lying motionless in bed for a week (and mostly confined to it the first several days I was awake. I didn’t see myself very much in the first few days, obviously, and I was still druggy when I left the hospital.
My vision was blurry when I left the hospital. I couldn’t read any fonts (trying to read the menu in the hospital was…interesting. Read something as ‘Puppy Diet’, and I was hoping it was a diet for puppies and not a diet made of puppies. I think it turned out to be Liquid Diet or something like that. People’s face were melted as if they were in a horror movie. Everyone had one eye blob rather than two distinct eyes and their noses and mouths were welded together. That was horrifying to say the least. It happened to my cat as well. In fact, he was the first one to have two eyes again once my brain unscrambled itself.
Also, when I was in the hospital and under the influence of heavy drugs, I experienced something called tickertape synesthesia. It’s this thing where when someone was speaking, um, how to explain. Ok. This is how I explained it to my heart doc. Let’s say you like dogs (he said he did like dogs. as he was speaking, his name would come up as he spoke, and it would be in a font related to puppies. Maybe paws or something. And there would be dog-related pics next to the words. Like little dog bones or paw prints or chew toys. Actually, it wouldn’t be his name. It would describe him somehow, so in his case, it might be my heart doc or his mother’s favorite son. This happened with everyone as they spoke, but only for the first few days I was awake. It was really cool, actually, but i wasn’t sad to see it leave (because it was distracting, too).
After I got home, I wanted to take care of the head sore. I normally wear my hair in a high bun, but that meant covering the sore. My nurse’s aide (who washed my hair for me once a week for a few months) suggested wearing my hair down or in two chunks rather than one. I decided to do the latter since it’s to my thighs and I didn’t like wearing it down. The problem is that I have very thin and fine hair so doing it in two bunches meant each bunch would be pretty skimpy. On impulse, I decided to do it in Chun-Li buns minus the turkey leg wrappers. I divided my hair into two bunches, then pulled one to the top of the side of my head and secured it. I braided the ponytail and then wound it around the base. I di the same to the other side and voila! Chun-Li buns!
I had an eye doctor appointment in early November, which was years overdue. I had planned on getting my eyes checked in April of 2020, but then, well, you know, the pandemic happened.
After I got out of the hospital, we (my mother and I) tried to make an eye appointment. They were full up and told us it would be at least a month before a slot was available. My mom went all ‘my daughter almost died!’ on them, which embarrassed the hell out of them. That’s not something they’ll care about nor why should they? It had nothing to do with my eyes (which were getting better by the day). I explained what happened to me and he was sympathetic, but said it wasn’t really something that would get me in sooner. I understood and scheduled an appointment for early November. By the time the appointment rolled around, I could read fonts if they were enlarged and the melty faces/tickertape synesthesia had gone away. I did explain to them briefly what I had gone through because a few of their questions led me to think it was better to be open about it. I don’t mind any of my medical team knowing about what happened to me, by the way. Come to think of it, I don’t actually care if anyone knows, but I don’t want to make other people feel uncomfortable. When I talk about it on Twitter, I get a lot of heartfelt condolences and “omigod, I didn’t know. I’m so sorry!”, which is appreciated, but not necessary. And it’s awkward to bring it up casually. K keeps saying it’s part of my life and I can bring it up whenever I want. Intellectually, I know it’s true, but it’s really difficult to comprehend–even for me.
In addition, it’s both the most important thing that’s ever happened to me and, simultaneously, it doesn’t affect my daily life at all. I’m damn lucky that I can say that, which I fully acknowledge. I need to find a way to normalize it in as much as it’s possible. I’m not sure how to do that, but I’m hoping I’ll find a way soon.