So I am sitting here, listening to Shubert, and I realized that I only skimmed the surface of what is going on with me in my last post. I sometimes have to come at things obliquely to be able to recognize them, you know?
I used to be, not proud, but satisfied with my body. I liked the paleness of my skin, the smoothness of my arms and legs. It was comforting to me.
Now, I no longer have that. The blood thinner has left enormous bruises all over my body, giant black marks everywhere. The tape they use for my procedures tears up my skin, leaving scabs up and down my arms.
In my right arm, my vascular access grows, lumpy like a giant aberration.
I understand that this is all only vanity, but it makes me sad. The stares I get, they suck. And there are so many bruises that there is no way to hide them. I have no idea how I even got most of them.
I feel like, at 46, my body has given up on me. And it is making me feel sorry for myself. So, I am allowing myself them morning to feel icky, no doubt all of which is spurred on by the prednisone, and then I’m off to dialysis, because nothing says normal like needles in your arm.