Two weeks before I was hospitalized and began the fight of my life.
I admit I hate my body. I hate that it fights with itself, I hate that is destroys platelets and my joints. I hate the way I look after almost eight months of heavy steroids. I can’t fit into my clothing, I feel disgusting and I’m ashamed of what has happened because of those evil white pills. I lost every sense of my ‘healthy’ self, and the process of getting back to where I use to be is extremely slow.
The family Christmas picture, taken in the middle off my Rituxan treatments. Say hello to my giant moon face!
The truth is, the weight gain is the hardest part of my ITP treatment. Long after the night sweats, acne and rage issues have gone, the weight remains. I would be lying if I said it wasn’t a sensitive subject, and I’m reminded of it every time I step into my closet and see all the clothes I cannot wear.
Today was the straw that broke the camel’s back.
Imagine my joy in finding out I need to dress professional on Wednesday for an exercise that doesn’t really require a suit (it is not advocacy related, it is for school). I was instantly bummed, reminded of all the suits from my lost career that are collecting dust. My professor asked what was wrong and I told him, I can’t fit into my suits. He snapped back with some very insensitive commentary about weight and clothing.
If only it was as simple as going to the mall and buying new clothing. If only I could just starve myself for a few weeks and be back at a size 2. If only my pain level would lower so I could return to working out. If only, if only, if only. That’s what rare disease patients say to themselves over and over again.
A grim reminder of how much I hate my body. Thanks prednisone.