Mostly small things:
- Updated first two “Day in the life” articles
- Added “Search site” to the site header
- Added how to email me to the site footer
via Living ~400lbs https://ift.tt/KmwUck1
That’s when I started this blog. At the time I was in my (early) forties, married, owned a home, and worked in software testing.
Now I’m definitely in my fifties. I’m still married. We have a different home. I retired from the software grind. Instead of busing or driving to an office building, I’ve been focused on physical therapy exercises, house maintenance, and reading (this year’s project was Agatha Christie). But I also still weigh about 400lbs, still wear some of the same clothes, and it’s still not a tragedy.
Going forward I’m going to be updating some broken links, revisit the “Day In The Life” series, and … maybe … unpacking some of the lingering boxes from the house move 5 years ago. (I want my red-and-black hoodie back.)
Hospitals are not neutral spaces for fat or queer people. Frequently they are places of immense judgment and mockery. Despite efforts to change, healthcare offices for many are reminders of what kinds of bodies and sexualities are most comfortably in tune with dominant patterns of social life. Like every other fat and/or queer person I know, I have had doctors diminish unrelated health concerns due to my fatness (“You just need to lose weight”) and stumble awkwardly over my sexuality in advice about sexual health and wellness. The shame felt in medical spaces is a real danger to queer and fat populations, causing us to avoid them precisely when they are the most needed. These contexts never come up in “The Whale,” to its detriment, as they could have invested the film with the breath of true challenges and barriers facing queer and fat people in the world.
Some doctors send me a post card asking me to make an appointment. Others send me a text message, or has a robocall tell me it’s time to make an appointment.
So now I’m on hold waiting to make an ob/gyn appointment. I’ve got a sleep doc appointment for next week, presumably to check I’m using my CPAP. Then I should probably call the pulmonologist to renew asthma meds….
Sometimes I wonder if the late 80s/early 90s call center jobs are the reason I hate these sorts of phone calls, or if it’s the anticipatory anxiety that making the appointment means I’ll be seeing the doctor. Me, the really fat woman.
(Yes, I have self-coaching scripts to help me manage the anxiety. Yes, I’ve met all these doctors before. Fear is not logical.)
I now have an ob/gyn appointment. Going to make another call before getting more coffee. How’s with you?