How nice it must be when you don’t have to worry about illness. When you don’t need more than one type of medication to treat some disease, condition or symptom. Extremely nice to not have to worry about surgery being your only option for certain things. Or my all time favourite, not to have to go to the GP or emergency room for medical help. (Other people make me feel like a repeat offender in this regard…and not the good kind).
A few weeks ago, I had to (repeatedly) list previous surgeries, medications I’m on and listen to the opinions of medical staff on how “I’ve certainly had a busy time of it health-wise“. I sometimes wonder if I shouldn’t just shut my mouth and pretend that I haven’t had the surgeries I’ve had. Or, maybe I should just disregard any pain my body inflicts…(Good luck with that says my inner voice).
I’ve even had moments where I feel guilty for having all the prodding, prying and cutting. Guilt over being at the mercy of a public system and being made to feel like I’m getting a “freebie“. (If I could pay, I would in a heartbeat – God knows it’s the better alternative for speedy action and relief. Drum roll Financial burden).
On too many occasions to remember, I’ve had people jokingly say I’m a “druggie” because of all the medications I’ve taken over my lifetime. How I must “like being cut and staying in hospital” or how I “seem to like going to the doctors“. At times, these statements have been received with a certain amount of joviality. But, there have also been times where they have cut to my core and left me feeling pained. Being the serious person I am, I’ve reminded myself at certain times to “not take myself so seriously because no one else does“. I’ve remained open and accepting…(This being the reason why I laugh at some things that people say).
My husband often “jokes” and compares me to a thug because of all my surgical scars. And, just recently, someone at work with the same sense of humour as my beloved, referred to the burr hole at the top of my head as a “trapdoor“. It was funny at the time, as I pictured an actual trap door and could make the correlation.
The thing about it all is, with a dipping self-esteem and low confidence at times, it’s not that great for my psyche. Any woman needs to feel sexy in her own skin, a bit desirable and attractive (at least). My scars are what I see every day right before taking a shower and I can’t help thinking, “I’ll never be able to be with anyone else like this“…life happens right? Death, divorce, etc…
My colleague tried to make up for what he said by saying “Chicks dig scars” because he has a few too. I asked him if guys dig scars on chicks and he said, “Hell yeah!“. I’m not so sure about that.
However, all these things have me thinking…at what point does it become too much? When is it not funny anymore? When is it just plain poor taste and inconsiderate? How do you nip it in the bud without biting everyone’s head off? (I’m known for doing that. In fact, my ex-boss whom I love dearly used to call me a chihuahua).
I’ve found that people tend to say things in poor taste when they don’t know what to say. The saying “If you don’t have anything nice to say, then don’t say anything at all” comes to mind.
I wish people would find a way to “walk in another’s shoes” before they pass a comment. I am willing to bet most people I know personally, wouldn’t have been able to handle any of the crap I’ve been through. With this in mind, I look at them and just go “Meh!” because…I’ve earned my stripes (literally).
And, I don’t need to justify anything to anyone. I give full support to the statement, “When other people are mean to you, it’s a reflection of who they are. It doesn’t mean there’s something wrong with you but more so with them“.
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