Again, like a terrier with a bone, I have been gnawing on the "I hope this happens to you" with an intensity that is not healthy, as for all appearances, it seems like I am on the path to her curse becoming a reality. Clot in leg, agonizing foot pain, reduced activity as a result of both, being depressed and morose. Yep! Looks like it's happening!
But here's the catch: She may have cursed me and hoped that I'd be as depressed and immobilized and miserable as she was; however, one thing she lacked which I apparently possess is RESILIENCE.
Instead of getting overwhelmed and putting my head in the sand as mom did for decades, I am trying to do something, ANYTHING, to just keep moving. My gastric bypass in 2011, and my hip replacement in 2022 were tools to keep moving. Researching the hell out of which dietary supplements will help me achieve my goals. Trying to take care of myself. Trying to be gentle with my inner narrative. Trying to find the answers that she never bothered to find for herself. Trying to do the things I want to do for as long as I am able to do them--even if that means being able to go to the store and pick out the perfect tomato, melon, or pineapple! Trying to maintain my independence!
On the surface it would appear that my best efforts were not enough to fight against genetics (factor five leiden mutation, and possible Chronic Venous Insufficiency) or fight against Father Time (menopause). Who knows how much worse things would have been for me had I not opted for the interventions of surgeries or supplements?
Every day that I do not weigh 300, 400, or 500 pounds is an accomplishment. Yet all some doctors see is just another out of control fat woman. I am more than what other people choose to think of me, and that includes that shitty, sizeist, misogynistic vascular asshole, as well as my now dead mother.
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