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I'm beginning to lose patience with a certain category of people. Oh, I'm not proactively rude, but I no longer accept some pronouncements unquestioned.
"I can't swallow pills," someone said to me once. Well, I carefully didn't say, you better not live to be much older. (NB: This person had no dramatic anatomical weirdness. She could swallow food and drink.) Seriously, who lives to middle age without learning to cope with swallowing pills? Heck, who gets to COLLEGE age and hasn't learned to cope with that one? I felt like she was bragging that she was still five years old inside, and a spoiled five at that.
I remember a recent comment in a friend's journal about not dealing well with needles. I can relate. I used to faint -- no kidding here, FAINT -- at the sight of needles in use. I now inject myself daily. I don't LIKE it, don't get me wrong, but I DO it. There are certain special-snowflake attributes that I simply no longer have the luxury of keeping.
"Restrictive diets don't work for me," said a coworker of mine at lunch today, referring to what I don't eat on the Lyme/antibiotic/yeast-control diet. And this time, I spoke up.
"They don't?" I said. Like you're so special, I didn't say, that if you got this disease you would somehow be above managing it. "What if you knew that eating ice cream would make you pretty sick?" I asked instead. "What if you knew it would land you in the hospital, what then? Where's the line?"
He readily rephrased, saying he has no strong motivation to lose weight; I agreed that I could totally understand that, and we rambled off on side topics.
I think I'm beginning to see that in some cases, "special snowflake" translates to "I've been very lucky in certain ways and I take it for granted." I don't have nearly as much patience with that as I once had.
Bad me, for having little patience? Maybe, but y'know, I'm not at all sure of that.
"I can't swallow pills," someone said to me once. Well, I carefully didn't say, you better not live to be much older. (NB: This person had no dramatic anatomical weirdness. She could swallow food and drink.) Seriously, who lives to middle age without learning to cope with swallowing pills? Heck, who gets to COLLEGE age and hasn't learned to cope with that one? I felt like she was bragging that she was still five years old inside, and a spoiled five at that.
I remember a recent comment in a friend's journal about not dealing well with needles. I can relate. I used to faint -- no kidding here, FAINT -- at the sight of needles in use. I now inject myself daily. I don't LIKE it, don't get me wrong, but I DO it. There are certain special-snowflake attributes that I simply no longer have the luxury of keeping.
"Restrictive diets don't work for me," said a coworker of mine at lunch today, referring to what I don't eat on the Lyme/antibiotic/yeast-control diet. And this time, I spoke up.
"They don't?" I said. Like you're so special, I didn't say, that if you got this disease you would somehow be above managing it. "What if you knew that eating ice cream would make you pretty sick?" I asked instead. "What if you knew it would land you in the hospital, what then? Where's the line?"
He readily rephrased, saying he has no strong motivation to lose weight; I agreed that I could totally understand that, and we rambled off on side topics.
I think I'm beginning to see that in some cases, "special snowflake" translates to "I've been very lucky in certain ways and I take it for granted." I don't have nearly as much patience with that as I once had.
Bad me, for having little patience? Maybe, but y'know, I'm not at all sure of that.
no subject
I never a had a problem taking pills, but I never liked them, either. Until I watched my best friend take his anti-AIDS medicines: 22 pills. He just shoveled a handful into his mouth and downed it with a glass of wine. (I suppose now isn't the time to talk about alcoholism, is it?) I routinely take four or five vitamins at once and think nothing of it.
I once shared an office with a woman who'd been diagnosed with multiple sclerosis in her mid-20s. She walked with a cane and occasionally had to be in a wheelchair. Her (old world, unemotional, diapproving) father thought she was just pretending. It was sick.
After having lost a bunch of weight myself, I find myself translating “I can't lose weight” to “I'm not trying hard enough to lose weight,” with the knowledge that what we culturally believe to be true about losing weight is often completely wrong. I give people a pass and only try to educate when they truly ask. Unless I'm in a bad mood, when suddenly I begin to perform the mental equivalent of piercing voodoo dolls with red-hot pins.
But that's just me.
no subject
I useta worry about things a lot more. Then I worked with a guy who had post polio - he had one hand and one claw. He got around in a scooter and could walk three steps on sticks on a good day. He made me realise I could get a lot more out of what I had, and that I should just get ON with it, whatever it was.
And yeah... I saw a wonderful shrink for about a year and a half, and she mentioned that she was very careful of her health. And didn't say more than that. And then I noticed I'd never seen her stand for more than a few minutes and I'd never seen her walk more than a few steps - MS. And she found a way to get on with life, even though it certainly isn't what she might have wanted.
Some physical problems are very very real. I have a lot of respect for the people who live with them and have made lives. I want to learn that ability.