health

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Retarded.

My sister is mentally retarded. I’m not sure what the ‘politically correct’ term would be for this these days. I’m pretty sure it’s “mentally handicap”. Retard literally means to slow down. At the end of the day that’s a pretty accurate description of my sister. She is 24 years old and has the mentality of a twelve year old. She isn’t stupid by any means. She just got slowed down. My 6-year-old son and she are such good friends. I fear the day he intellectually passes her.

petergriffiin

Let me explain a little more about her condition.

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The limits of pain; the creation of a unique desire

My back hurts. Every day, all the time. For the last five or so years, I have shifted in my seat every few seconds, taken the elevator to the second floor. I have declined invitations to go hiking or biking, trips I normally would have jumped at the opportunity to participate in. Sitting and standing and lying down are mostly unbearable, which really sucks, because those are pretty much the basic three positions my body can be in.

Sciatic_notches

Ouch.

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Whatever Happened to Embracing One’s Curves!?

So after going through the Fat Bodies section in General Women Studies Class, I was left a bit uneasy.  And you can’t blame me, like how can I accept the fact that the media wants to control what women put in their mouths and constantly blame regular women for the way they look?  It’s all pure nonsense.  Whatever happened to embracing one’s curves, however they look, big or small?  I just don’t understand it.  It frustrates me greatly.

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Ugh, I’m sick: Flu, strep, flep?

     Since we’re talking about unruly bodies, I’m going to take some time to talk about how unruly the bodies in this house have been this week. Let’s start with mine.

     Monday: I’m fine. It’s like every other day. By the time I’m ready for bed, my throat is a little sore. I figure it is probably nothing, worst case scenario the start of a cold. Who hasn’t been there? I am mistaken. Sleep eludes me that night (and many that follow). I must have a high fever because I have vivid, lifelike dreams about real life things (I am talking to Kelly about my bad resume in one… in another I receive a package I’ve been waiting on but I misplace it… and in another I forget to write a paper… ok, so these are nightmares). These dreams are clear fever indicators for me because my body always reacts to high fevers with dreams so real that I never know when I’m awake or sleeping. I keep getting out of bed, wandering the house looking for that package, wondering when I’ll fix my resume and trying to remember which paper I’ve forgotten. If it sounds fun, it isn’t. If it sounds more like hallucinations, it probably is. I “wake up” feeling more exhausted than when I laid down. My joints ache, from my knees and elbows to each individual knuckle. My head throbs. My throat feels raw and tingly. I feel like I can’t get myself out of bed. There is just an overwhelming sense of ickiness that I still can’t explain that makes me feel both like I should stay in bed, and like I should head to the doctors… Continue reading →

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Don’t Censor the Bush/The Politics of Pubes

Today I want to talk about pubes.

For many people, deciding how to groom their pubic hair is an issue fraught with anxiety, and women in particular are bombarded with images of completely smooth, hairless thighs and bikini lines that we are supposed to emulate and admire. We’re told to shave it, pluck it, wax it, sculpt it—it doesn’t really matter what method we use, as long as we’re rid of our unsightly hair. This standard is so pervasive that women’s pubic hair is now widely slandered as unhygienic (patently false), barbaric, and, above all, pornographic.

*pics of pubes after the cut* Continue reading →

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Note of Absence for 10/9

I’m not going to class today.

I can’t say that it’s because I have a fever, or because I had a dentist appointment, or because anybody died.

I’m not going because of the sensations I feel when we talk about fatness. The sickness and the overwhelming feeling of inadequacy (that has always been pushed in to my mentality from various points in my life) always crop up as we talk about our fat, or not so fat bodies. It’s inevitable, this distinct sucking feeling, as if my gut has become a vacuum, and I can zip myself away like a fancy reusable grocery bag.

We talk critically about the hegemonic institutions that create these body ideals. We complain together, air our grievances, we nod and shake our heads together. We are a good class, a good group of people who can empathize and understand each other’s problems, but that’s not enough to save me from wanting to shrink into my backpack and cry in a bathroom stall.

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Imprisoning Addiction

I recently ran across an article, and a comic describing an experiment that redefines how we think about addiction. The basic gist is that it isn’t a personal flaw, that addiction is more about environment than anything else. It was really eye-opening and I invite you to check it out.

But it got me thinking…

(TRIGGER WARNING: drugs, addiction, incarceration)

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Yearly Exam

I silently sign my name on the sheet telling the front desk staff sitting at the computer that I am here, and sit down in a generic, but expensive-looking chair.

Aiming for comfort.

Aiming for comfort.

Women are glued to their copies of Parenting or Marie Clare. A couple sitting cattycorner to each other look up at me, and then glance back at each other talking. An instrumental version of Memories from the musical Cats plays softly in the background. I don’t have a magazine, so I take up Candy Crush. After 10 minutes the woman at the front desk calls my name.

“Hi, Amelia! We just need to get a urine sample from you, so if you could just go down the hallway and to the second door on the left and leave that for us in the metal cabinet, then go to room number two, that’d be excellent!”

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