Friday Not-So-Fun: Back Pain Sucks!

Monday evening, I had to give Number One Daughter a bath.  Because of her disabilities, I have to do everything for her.  It’s exactly the same as bathing a baby, only this baby is nearly as big as I am (she’s 13!!).  And this (teenage) baby likes to relax in her bath.  (She’s in there again right now, actually, not wanting to move aside from the little wiggles she does to show her enjoyment.)

Now, she’s not been feeling well all week.  Since she can’t talk and therefore can’t tell us exactly what’s wrong, we’re not sure what it is.  We’re thinking she’s caught what Daddy had at the end of last week (lots of trips to the bathroom and laying in bed).  I knew this, but she seemed to really want her bath first (I asked her several times, and every time I got a kiss as a response; as a general rule, a kiss usually means “yes”).  I got the water ready and went back to the living room to get her.  She stood up, stretched, and kept her arms up.  Think a baby/toddler’s non-verbal version of “uppies” – that’s pretty much what she did.  So, laughing, I picked her up and carried her half-way down the hall to the bathroom before I had to put her down and make her walk.

I shouldn’t have done that.  I should not have done that.

Tuesday morning I woke up in excruciating pain.  Which actually isn’t such an unusual occurrence for me (I wake up with back pain every day; we really need a new bed), except that usually within 30 minutes to an hour, it usually goes away.  This?  Still hasn’t gone away.  Just turning my head too far or too fast makes my back scream out in agony.

I’m pretty sure I pulled a muscle.  In the upper back, on my left hand side, between my shoulder blade and my spine.  Hubby keeps trying to crack my back – which usually works, for my every day “oh my god we need a new bed so badly” back pain – and I just end up screaming in agony.

Yet another reason why being the parent of a “special needs” child is NOT for wimps.  Y’all couldn’t handle what we have to do.

Shit, half the time I don’t know how *I* handle it.   Other than the fact that I’ve never known anything different in my life as a mother.  Number One Daughter is called that because she’s my first – first child, period.  (Never did have a boy, although Hubby wanted one near desperately.)

Better go see if she wants out yet… and hope I don’t pull my back again getting her out!

On Comparisons and Food

I found myself quite busy last night, due mainly to it being that time of the month.  I was feeling like shit much of yesterday, and spent most of the morning sitting on the couch doubled over in pain.  By mid-afternoon I was feeling much better, so I ended up doing all my chores late, which took up pretty much my entire evening.  I managed to do some reading, but lacked the mental capacity to compose a coherent comment.  But these issues are things that I deal with daily – even if only in my head – and I feel a pressing need to comment, even if it is on my own blog.

I pretty much read everything in the Fatosphere every day, but Shapely Prose is always where I start out.  Kate and Co. always write enjoyable, thought-provoking posts, and since they update the blog so regularly, it’s just become a habit.  So when I made my daily visit, there was Kate, pointing everybody to Deniselle’s latest entry at Fatly Yours.

And there she was, saying the things I’ve been thinking so often, but saying them so much more clearly than I’ve been able to. 

I have to admit, I’m not gay and wouldn’t presume to say that I understand what it’s like to be gay, dealing with gay-centered prejudice.  But as an outside observer and supporter (just because I’m not “one of them” doesn’t mean I can’t support their right to live full, complete lives just like the rest of us *cough* “normal” *cough* people!), I have noticed the correlations between a lot of what Gay People are subjected to and what we Fat People are subjected to.  And if you happen to be Gay AND Fat?  Bonus!  You get twice the bigotry directed at you!  Aren’t you lucky?

What I don’t understand is how some people can get upset with other people making comparisons.  Comparisons between Fat and Gay or Fat and Race or Gay and Race.  By making a comparison, or using one as an analogy, you’re not taking anything away from either party.  You are simply looking at the things that ARE similar, and acknowledging what is different.

I’m not saying that people shouldn’t get upset – who the hell am I to tell someone how they should or shouldn’t feel?  What I’m saying is that I don’t understand it.  I don’t ‘get’ what it is about making comparisons that gets some peoples’ panties in a bunch.  And for someone like me, I need comparisons and analogies.  They help me understand issues so much better if I have X to compare with Y.  (And I would like to point out that when I say “I don’t understand what they’re getting so upset about”, I’m not in any way trying to invalidate their feelings.  I understand that they are upset, I just don’t understand why.)

Like Rachel said in the comments on Kate’s post:

I don’t think playing the “But my oppression is worse than your oppression” game is beneficial for any marginalized group. When we make judgment calls on which groups are more “deserving” of social justice, we’re only perpetuating the very foundations that form the bulwark of all social injustice.

When I DO make comparisons or analogies (and I do), I’m not saying that one is better than the other.  All social injustice is wrong (hence the injustice part).  But it helps me, in trying to get it straight in my own head and in trying to make what I’m trying to say clear.

And Kate had another good point shortly after Rachel’s comment:

Deniselle isn’t saying, “It’s exactly the same!” She’s saying there’s a lot more overlap than there seems to be at first glance — and it’s useful to look at that overlap, because it shines a light on how much different forms of bigotry have in common.

When I look at it in that view, it makes even less sense that people get all up in arms about it.  But I don’t live in their heads, and I can’t say that I know where their anger is coming from.

(I realize that some people might find this hypocritical of me, considering my post regarding animal rights.  But there is one fundamental difference: Deniselle and 99% of the people I see making comparisons between Gay Rights and Fat Acceptance are not saying that they are exactly the same.  The person I referred to in that post, however, DID come to the conclusion that animal rights and fat acceptance ARE the same.  Big difference.)

But then, just as I thought I had enough food for thought (haha!  I kill me!), I click back to the Shapely Prose main page, and there’s another post by Kate regarding food and the morality people try to put on it.

It really touched me, because although I’ve gotten better at ignoring the evil voice in my head that constantly puts me down, the voice that attributes moral value to food is still there, going strong.  I ate a slice of walnut cake for breakfast?  Bad Fattie!  I had cream cheese and pate on crackers for lunch?  Oh, I’m going to go to hell!!!!

I hate to admit it, but I really am that bad.  Sometimes.  There have been times when I’ve been hungry but refused to eat because… I’m FAT!  I shouldn’t NEED to eat!  I can just live forever off of my fat stores!

But you want to know something ironic?  During my longest diet (which lasted nearly five years and resulted in a total loss of about fifteen pounds), I learned something that I’ve found to be true: when I don’t eat, my body thinks it’s starving.  And it holds on to every single calorie I DO put in my mouth as if it’s going to be the last calorie my body is going to get.  And guess what?  I DON’T LOSE WEIGHT.  So why the hell that voice in my head keeps telling me that I can live off of my fat stores is beyond me.  If I ever actually DID live off of my fat stores, that would result in lost weight.  After over twenty years of dieting and almost never losing weight (or losing very minimal weight), you would think I’d know better by now.  You’d THINK.

It’s become so ingrained in me that a question from The Hubster along the lines of “have you had anything to eat today?” is commonplace.  If I’m dizzy, he asks that question.  If I’ve got the shakes, he asks that question.  If my stomach hurts and it’s not that time of the month, he asks that question.  If I just feel generally ill, he asks that question.  And, I hate to say it, any combination of the above happens pretty much every week.  Knowing that, you’d think I would get it into my head that I need to eat.  But no, the idea that I don’t need to eat simply because I’m fat runs through my head like a broken record. 

I have to say, though, that as I read the post and the comments, I realized another reason why The Hubster is made of awesome.  Whenever we go out to eat (which isn’t all that often, unfortunately), his attitude towards what we eat is wonderful.  If I want a burger, he says “have the burger, then!”  If I want a salad, he says “have the salad!”  He’s one of those “like to see a woman enjoy her food” men.  Besides, if we’re paying for this meal, we ought to get some enjoyment out of it.  And if I ordered what I thought I should have rather than what I truly wanted, I’m not going to truly enjoy it, am I?

He’s the same with desserts (and that’s whether we’re eating out or at home).  If I want some, I’m allowed to have some.  I’m an adult, I pay for my own food, so I can have what I want.

I know it almost sounds like I’m getting permission from The Hubster, as if he’s some sort of controller, but that’s totally not the case.  It’s just that it helps – especially when I’m trying to learn how to not diet and not obsess over my weight and the food I eat – to have someone around me with that sort of attitude towards food.  It would make my life a whole lot more difficult if he thought he was a card-carrying Officer of the Food Police and tried to tell me what I should or shouldn’t be eating all the time.  He doesn’t care – not for me, and certainly not for him.  If I want to make some of my aunt’s chili cheese dip and have that for dinner… so what?  I don’t do it all the time, so why should once in a while be a big deal?  (Now if I make something he doesn’t want and he actually has to *gasp* cook for himself *endgasp* — that’s a whole ‘nother story.  But that’s a rant for another day.  😉 )

But that’s the whole point.  It shouldn’t be a big deal, but it is.  In today’s society, it is.

(You know, it’s funny how it takes something like this to remind me what an awesome guy The Hubster really is.  There are times when something he says surprises me – like saying that it really is okay for me to eat whatever I want – but it shouldn’t.  If he’d had a problem with my weight, he would have had a problem with my food.  But he didn’t have a problem with the former, so I don’t know why I would ever think he’d ever have a problem with the latter.  I guess it’s just societal brainwashing that would make me think something like that, but it’s totally unfair to him.)

One of the comments on that post reminded me of something I’ve seen in Number One Daughter.

I find that as my monthly friend is preparing for a visit that I can eat continously. I’m hungry for something, but never find out what that something is. So, I just eat and eat. It’s a little scary sometimes.

Number One Daughter does that.  She and I both started ours on Sunday (oooh!  Lucky us!!!), and while I’ve been doubled over with pain, this kid just wants to eat.  I’ve kept her home from school the last two days, and she’s done nothing but eat and sleep the whole time.  Today she had four bowls of cereal between 9:30 and 3:00.  FOUR!!!  (She must really like that cereal though… ‘cuz she was actually asking for it over and over and over and over again.)  But that’s not “normal” for her — the only times she’s ever done anything like that have been either when she’s about to go through a growth spurt; or when she’s on her period.  When it happened the first time, I couldn’t figure out what the problem was.  But then I started noticing a pattern, and when it finally clicked… I figured if it only happened once a month, during that time of the month, then it must mean that for some reason she needs more food during that time of the month.  And I will never deny her that — especially when I can see the reason behind it. 

But you just know that if The Food Police found out that I’m allowing my Autistic daughter to *shock!* *horror!* eat whatever she wants when she wants it, especially if it’s that time of the month… they’d swear out a warrant for my arrest so fast my head would spin.