Re: “Hypochondriasis”

It’s odd because thinking I have hypochondriasis is part of the problem, right? I assume that’s more serious (and medicalization erects another border), that’s a defined condition, that’s a condition. Something for which I must qualify.

Who, me? Disabled?

At the beginning of this class’ section on disability studies, we created a list of a variety of disabilities that may or may not be recognized by society. We listed the ones most people think of, like physical and mental disabilities, but when we began talking about “invisible” disabilities, something struck a chord in me.

TW: Blood mention

Learning Vulnerability

          My cat Taiger died three weeks ago. He was my first and only pet, and we had him for 12 years. He was a scrawny little stray when he wandered onto our property, and from the very start, he and I were thick as thieves: he would come trotting up to me whenever I called his name, he followed at my heels wherever I went, and he would occasionally leave a dead squirrel for me in my slippers (gross, I know, but that’s true love right there). On October 25^th, we had to put him to sleep.

No, She’s Not Just Tired.

          It’s extremely difficult to write about my relationship with my mother’s illness because I have lived with it for so long that it is simply a natural part of life. Many of my memories of growing up revolve around playing games with my siblings seeing who could be the quietest while my mom rested. At the time I didn’t really think about it – it seemed perfectly natural that she needed to spend long hours in the day lying down in her room with the lights off – and we were just happy to play together. Only looking back do I realize the reason my mom needed to spend so much time resting; she has a relatively unknown disorder called Chronic Fatigue Syndrome (or CFS).

What the F**k is a Diva Cup?

So this past summer I made a very important purchase, an investment.

I bought myself a Diva Cup.

When I told my mother this she literally replied with “¿De que carajo es una Diva Cup?” – literal translation: What the f**ck is a Diva Cup. She was still confused when I explained it to her, no longer about what it actually is but why I would even want to use it. She said it sounded “dirty” and “gross”. She wasn’t mean about it but I could hear the judgement in her voice. It made her uncomfortable and I understand that. I’m not going to lie, her reaction hurt my feelings and I felt defensive. Yet her response is exactly what I expected to hear.

(Talk of Menstrual Blood to come!)

Faking Disabilities

I was reading the news the other day and came across an article that got me so angry. A man had been using the medical condition of epilepsy to get out of paying for his expensive meals. Luckily he got caught but his punishment is a very small punishment; a slap on the hand if you will.

The reason why this story got me so riled was because of the fact that my mother has been living with epilepsy for 26 years.She has to deal with the repercussions of her disability daily. For someone to mock and mimic an invisible disability is a despicable act. She has had to recently stop driving because her seizures have gotten so bad. Her seizures have taken a toll on her memory slightly so the small task of reminiscing becomes a difficult task of the realization that her disability is becoming more and more relevant each time we talk.

The man who decided it is acceptable to skip out on paying for a meal by faking a seizure makes me sick. It is disgusting and I wish he could understand epilepsy more in depth; this disability is no joking matter. Since he used the disability to his benefit, it makes me worried for my mother. If she has a seizure in the grocery store, restaurant, and any other public place, will people be less likely to help her if they think she is faking. I hope that if people see someone having a seizure they can recognize it and stay by that persons side until they come out of it. I hope that this mans acts did not make people want to turn a cold shoulder to a person actually having a seizure.

“Table for one, please” “Waiting for someone?” “No”

Why is it so wrong for a body to be alone during a meal time? Why does a body have to be around other people during meals? It might seem strange but I have always enjoyed the occasional “out to eat with myself” for breakfast lunch or dinner.

One time I went to Waffle House for breakfast, since my boyfriend isn’t a morning person I decided to go alone. When I got there the perky little seventeen something hostess asked how many. I said one. Her demeanor changed from chipper to confused, to sympathetic as she led me to my corner table. As I was ordering she asked if anyone else will be eating breakfast with me for the second time I said no, just me. She asked me why go out when you are not meeting anyone. I replied “I enjoy eating by myself from time to time. Then I don’t have to worry about meaningless small talk or comfortable silences. It is some time for myself” after my  little chat with her she left me to get my pancakes I pulled out a book and started to do homework. I got my food, she refilled me coffee more times that I needed, I left her a nice tip and I left.

I don’t understand why a person needs to eat around other people all the time. It may be a pack mentality, where we need to strive for a sense of belonging as we down greasy burgers and french fries.  I have no idea why eating solo was a big deal for my waitress that day but it just got me thinking why we view someone as lonely, sad, standoffish, bitchy,or depressed when they choose to have some time for themselves.

Whew, well that felt good to vent.

Retarded.

My sister is mentally retarded. I’m not sure what the ‘politically correct’ term would be for this these days. I’m pretty sure it’s “mentally handicap”. Retard literally means to slow down. At the end of the day that’s a pretty accurate description of my sister. She is 24 years old and has the mentality of a twelve year old. She isn’t stupid by any means. She just got slowed down. My 6-year-old son and she are such good friends. I fear the day he intellectually passes her.

Let me explain a little more about her condition.

The limits of pain; the creation of a unique desire

My back hurts. Every day, all the time. For the last five or so years, I have shifted in my seat every few seconds, taken the elevator to the second floor. I have declined invitations to go hiking or biking, trips I normally would have jumped at the opportunity to participate in. Sitting and standing and lying down are mostly unbearable, which really sucks, because those are pretty much the basic three positions my body can be in.

Ouch.

Sickness and Body Borders

There was a week, once, where I slept near a big glowing cross, and the light shone sideways through thick panes patterned with a wiry crosshatch. The sheets smelled like sickness and clean, and at night you could see the Domino Sugar sign–big for a billion miles away.