Hi Darling Ones,
Some days I am not in the mood to hear how lucky and fortunate I am. Being the chirpy, very special episode guest star sucks and sometimes I don’t want to play the role.
Yesterday at the neurologist’s office I couldn’t fake it. Hot on the heels of the disability denial, I was not having any of Dr. S’s A++s and Gold Stars. I did not want to hear how excellently I’m doing. How I’m doing all the right things and need to keep on keepin’ on.
No.
I wanted to hear how to fix my brain. My magical thinking makes me believe that if I can explain what my head feels like, my swimmy vision, and the tension in my Floppy Scoop in the exact right words, I’ll unlock some magical solution. The doctor will be all, “Ohhhh, so your head feels wooshy whenever you’re upright and your eyes are swimmy too? Well, then you just need to this and your balance will return and so will everything else.”
Magic and medicine are not the same, but it’d be a lot cooler for me if it were.
I was also not in the mood for the weight-loss discussion, and for the first time in my 52 years I fought back.
“Diets don’t work,” I said. “Doctors put me on my first diet when I was four.”
She winced. “So much of it is genetic.”
“I’m trying Ozempic. I AM trying.”
“Is it working?” she asked.
“I don’t know,” I said. “I don’t ask for numbers. I just want to feel better.”
Ugh. It’s so fucking frustrating. Does she really think I’d do all the things — the medications and tests and therapies and exercises — and just opt out of trying to lose weight? Like it’s one thing I’m unwilling to try. I’ll do anything to get my “normal” back, but I won’t do that!
She was delighted that my A1C was 5.4 and my blood pressure was under control. And I didn’t have the energy to explain that the diabetes has been the easiest part of all the things that happened in March 2023. It’s almost like you can have a fat ass and a really good diet.
“Will my head ever feel normal again?” I asked for the 905th time.
She shook her head no. “It’s just your brain. As, you know, brains are very slow to heal. Most people plateau nine months to a year after their stroke.”
And here’s the thing. This is the epiphany I had today listening to Kate Yeager’s song “Fat.”
She sings, “I didn’t know to hate myself until I learned it from somebody else.”
I learned to hate my body right round 1976 when they put me on that first diet. However, I never hated my brain.
My brain was my best friend. It made smart and funny and able to use words to convey how I feel. It’s good at storing lyrics, random trivia, and memories.
Right now, I’m struggling with not hating on my poor, beautiful, damaged brain. I want it to start acting right. I don’t like being mad at my brain. I’m used to funneling all that rancor at my unruly body. Now, the whole operation is in chaos and I’m unhappy about it.
I know, I know, I know. I should be thankful that my brain did not kill me. Dr. S reiterated the many ways in which I am very lucky and I heard her.
But, damnit, I am not in the mood. What am I in the mood for? A cheeseburger, $100 worth of new yarn, and a LEGO typewriter.
Instead me and my busted brain and unruly body and my $0.00 will pout here with the yarn we already have and eat some leftovers.
Wallowingly,
Jodi