I currently hate my body.
Not in the "OMG I am so fat and society hates me!" (though I am not going to deny there is some of that going on as well...) It is more in the whole Sjogren's Disease is taking over my body kind of way.
Charlie was recently so nice as to share a stomach bug with me. Sweet, huh? It was a 24 hour deal for her. And for my mother-in-law, with whom she also shared. It took me twice as long to recover. Hell, I am still not fully recovered but I am pretending that I am because if I don't I will just break down and cry. Again.
I hate my body.
I hate complaining about my body. But by God, I almost never do so I am going to do so now before I lose my fucking mind.
I hate that the medications that I take to keep my immune system from attacking my body are the same ones that lower my immune system so that I can't fight off illnesses as effectively.
I hate the judgement that I get from my boss every time that I call off because I am fucking sick. Again. Getting points, and possibly written up. Again.
I hate that I now have to, at the ripe old age of 33, get FMLA papers filled out for a health condition.
I hate that I go into work when I shouldn't, that I push myself beyond what I should, and pay the price later, because that judgement does not just come from her but from others around me and people think I am whining when I describe the throbbing joint pain. The unrelenting fatigue. The stomach that occasionally will decide to throw a fit and rebel against everything that I eat, even in the absence of micro-organisms that cause this. The not being able to eat much gluten because it makes it that much worse. And do you know how many things have gluten in them? The irritated, dry eyes that never really feel like the sand comes out of them. The dry mouth that makes the three hours I am at the jail for work, where I am not allowed to have anything to drink to relieve it, sometimes a unique hell of its own (aside from the whole, hey I am locked in the jail at the mercy of the officers to let me out thing.) The dry skin, and, ahem, other areas. The tingling and numbness and coldness that comes with Reynaud's, that is secondary to the Sjogren's. The fear of getting a blood clot, again, related to a condition secondary to Sjogren's. The very real fear that no matter how well I take care of my teeth, that some day I might lose them. The very real fear that the next time I go back to the rheumatologist, this is going to be the time she tells me I have Rheumatoid Arthritis. Or Lupus. Or some other kind of autoimmune disease, because let's just see how many I can acquire because I apparently have nothing more to do than to add to my list of diagnoses and medications...
The very real fear that some day I might die like my father did, drowning in the fluids from the lungs. I joke about my cat-like fear of water; it is quite ironic that this could realistically be the way I died some day.
I hate the fact that to complicate all of this, I am now having some problems with my reproductive system and am losing, at certain times of the month, the equivalent of two+ pints of blood over the course of a week (and yes, I am able to quantify this. Diva Cup) Totally helpful for the fatigue. Oh, and the calling off sick thing because I have had to leave work because I was bleeding so much that the front and back of my pants were soaked through.
TMI? Probably. But I am describing that to describe the hell that it has been to be me lately. I don't want my children to remember me as being sick. Or my employer. Or anyone. I don't want to be sick. I did not ask for my body to turn on itself. For my uterus to decide to turn the crimson tide into the crimson tsunami. For my life to be run by physical limitations that only I can feel.
I want to go back to the time where I could abuse my body and know it would spring back. Where I had unlimited, boundless energy. Hell, I want to go back two months ago when things were somewhat under control.
I can wish in one hand and shit in another. Wonder what will fill first?