Sneakykitty

I’ve just come back from a bit of traveling, and several things happened that i want to talk about here. This is going to be a very long post.

First things first: i’m very protective of certain aspects of my private life: there are some stories that are not mine to tell, and for those situations, i will be as vague as possible. There are other situations where i am protective of the people involved; regardless of whether or not i have valid reasons to be posting about the situations involving them, they would most likely not appreciate seeing their words or actions posted on a public blog (even if it doesn’t get much traffic). In those latter situations, i am going to try to address them from the viewpoint of how their words or actions impacted me, rather than speculation on their motives.

For context, a brief overview of my travels: took a plane to Detroit, MI, to spend a few days with my husband’s family; took a train from Ann Arbor to Chicago to spend time with my own family; returned home via plane from Chicago to Atlanta. I left Atlanta on September 2nd and returned September 10th.

I got to the Atlanta airport with oodles of time to spare. One of the things about traveling with chronic pain is making sure you’ve got more than enough time. I once found myself dreadfully late for a flight – i literally ran from the security checkpoint to the gate, and it caused one of the worst flares i’d ever had. Completely ruined that trip for me.? So i get to the airport at least 1-2 hours early, and i make sure i’ve got something with me to help pass the time (book, game, etc).

Situation #1

While waiting for my flight to Detroit, i sat at the gate for about an hour before my hips started to ache. So i stood up and found a wall to lean against. While standing there, another woman came by and stood about 10 feet from me. She was standing just fine, no fidgeting, nothing. About 10 minutes later, an airport employee came by with two wheelchairs, both intended for some people who were getting off of the plane that was to arrive shortly. He left them there and walked away. Five minutes later, this woman was sitting in one of those wheelchairs. When the plane arrived, the airline employees had to keep someone waiting on the plane while they found another wheelchair, which delayed boarding for the next flight. When that was finally allowed to occur, this woman allowed herself to be wheeled onto the plane first – ahead of everyone else.

This put me into a rather uncomfortable situation. I had seen the entire thing, but there was a lot i didn’t know: did she have any kind of invisible illness that created a valid need for that wheelchair? Had she requested a wheelchair already, but not been able to get one until then? Or was she taking advantage of the situation? I wanted to go to her and ask her those things, but i felt it was not my place to do so. I could have gone to one of the airline employees at the gate and informed them of the situation, but without knowing whether or not she had valid reasons for use of the wheelchair, i didn’t feel like that was the right thing to do. Looking back, i’m still not sure if i should have reported the issue or not.

Fast forward a few days to situation #2.

A member of my husband’s family was involved in a situation whereupon a child was to be born and ultimately given up for adoption. My husband and i had very strong opinions on the matter that we tried to keep to ourselves – it was not our decision to make; ultimately, the best thing we could do was be supportive and available. I admit that i did not do so well with the availability bits in the past few months, mostly because i didn’t think it would go well if this person and i got into any in-depth conversations on the matter.

This child was born while i was in Michigan, and i was present during the birth (not in the room, mind you – i was sitting with other friends and family in a waiting area). This was incredibly distressing for me: sounds of labor from one direction, sounds of mothers with their babies from another direction (there was a class or meeting being held in a nearby room). All around me, pictures of babies. Reminders of what i lost, and what i will most likely never be able to do or have. I tried my best to be calm, and stepped outside for cigarette breaks when i found myself losing that calm.

(As a side note, my uterus decided this was just the right time for me to go menstrual and hormonal. I do not appreciate its sense of humor or its sense of irony. Either way, it gets no love from me.)

On one hand, i was glad i was able to provide support for my loved ones. On the other hand, it hurt me in ways i’ve not had time or space to process, and i don’t know what the recovery from that will look like. It might involve quantities of rum, it might involve tears and hitting pillows, it might involve lengthy diatribes here or with other family members. Whatever that reaction will be, i know that i cannot have it until i feel safe to do so. And right now, there’s just too damn much going on for me to allow that level of breakdown. So it sits, and it waits. It’s not going anywhere.

Situation #3

One of the older members of my family (read: not of my generation) felt it necessary to let me know that they thought my husband was having a negative impact on my life, that he was holding me back or stifling me. That i was letting his opinions carry more weight than my own, and that his decisions about our life and lifestyle were more important than mine.

There was also some discussion that perhaps i should start thinking about what i wanted to do with my life, and that it would be a disappointment if i reached 40 (i’m 33) without having figured out what i wanted to do. No pressure or anything.

I do not think i handled this conversation particularly well, perhaps because it caught me off guard. I felt that it was presented in a way that left me no way to respond without sounding like i was making excuses. I ended the conversation by stating that i have been trying to figure out What To Do With My Life on and off for years, and that i had been heavily focusing on these things within the last few months – and that this trip was to have been a vacation from that process.

This hurt. It hurt a lot. Prior to this, Ben and i thought that these folks understood our lifestyle, that they understood our reasons for our particular choices. I say “these folks” because there was implication that other members of my family felt as they did. So this is not a “shoot the messenger” sort of situation. I’m feeling hurt by all of them, in varying degrees.

Given that contact between me and other family members tends to be sporadic at best, it feels as if there is little interest in keeping up to date with who this Lindsay person really is. I do also recognize that there is more than a little responsibility for that on my shoulders. There are some aspects of my life that i don’t discuss with them because i don’t want them to worry, or i don’t want to come across as a hypochondriac. I don’t talk about my fibro with them because it just not fun to talk about; i don’t want my letters to them to be all about my aches and pains. I don’t want to talk about my body issues with them, because i have trouble talking to my husband about them, for pete’s sake. It’s easier to write about these things semi-anonymously on a blog than it is to discuss them face to face with people who’ve known you for any length of time.

Situation #4

The setting: a high-end brass and ferns restaurant (you don’t have to dress up, but reservations are recommended if you hope to get a table when you get there). It was not my idea to go there, but one of the family had been raving about it and pushing the issue a bit. So reservations were made a day or two in advance and we (me, my brother, his girlfriend, and our parents) all met at the restaurant for dinner at the time of our reservation.

More information about the setting: i was told it was not an overly loud place, and that the noise levels wouldn’t interfere with conversation. I did not find this to be the case, and was regularly asking people to repeat themselves. I got tired of that (as did they, i imagine), and just accepted the fact that i would miss half of what all was being said. Also: the chairs were excruciating. My hips were yelling at me within five minutes of sitting down, and my back starting complaining within 15 minutes. So the discomfort i experienced was audible, physical, and emotional (which i’m just about to get into).

I decided to splurge a bit: i wanted to get ribs. I love ribs. Love love love. We have them relatively often at home, because one of the nearby grocery stores sells them in bulk ($15 for five full racks of ribs, yes really). They’re ludicrously cheap, and the bones make excellent dog treats. But since i hadn’t ordered ribs in a restaurant for several years, i couldn’t remember the size of a full rack, and was debating between the full and half rack order. My father told me to just order the full rack, and if it was more than i could eat, i’d have leftovers for lunch the next day (which is exactly what happened).

When the food arrived, my plate was put down second. My stepmum looked at it, then looked at me and said, “Moooooooo!”

Yes. She mooed at me. Really. I don’t recall if i’ve ever had that happen before.

My reaction: i blinked. A lot. Partially to attempt to cover up the shock, partially because my stomach immediately cramped up and i was trying to not vomit on the table, and partially because i recognized that this was One Of Those Moments. I knew that no matter what i said, i would think about it later and wish i’d said something else. So after a second or two, i responded as politely as i could, “No, i don’t think these are beef ribs.”

(As luck would have it, my husband chose that moment to send me a text message telling me he loved me. He is made of awesome and win. I responded by texting him back and telling him that i had just been mooed at, and he responded by asking if there was an alien takeover. “Do we have a foot-hold situation?” I snickered to myself and resolved to get through dinner as quietly as possible.)

It didn’t help that no one else at the table seemed to have any reaction; i will admit that i was so stunned that i didn’t think to observe the people around me immediately after the mooing. But no one said anything. There seemed to be a bit of a pause while folks were waiting for my response, but that could have just as easily been them waiting for their own food to be presented to them.

It also didn’t help that the rest of the dinner conversation rotated around diets and a “funny” story about a small child reacting to fat woman getting out of a pool (“She’s BIIIIIG!”); i responded by saying i didn’t find it particularly amusing, but was informed that the funny thing about it wasn’t her girth, but the child’s reaction. I think my eyeball twitched a few times at that, but i don’t recall responding out loud.

I have already relayed the moo story to several friends, and the best response suggested would have been to wait a few seconds and then respond, “Woof.” Perfect on SO many levels, and i plan to burn that into my brain in the event that anyone should ever moo at me ever again.

I have dealt with a LOT of my body issues over the past decade or so, but the hardest one has always been dealing with people who feel compelled to remark upon what i’m eating, or how much i’m eating. The minute someone says anything even remotely derogatory or disapproving of the food in front of me, my stomach clenches up and it’s a fight to get (or keep) anything down. It’s the hardest one to work on because i never willingly put myself in that kind of situation, and most of the people i choose to associate with during mealtimes are the sort who would never have that kind of reaction towards me or my food.

Honestly i’m still in a bit of disbelief. It felt incredibly disrespectful and demeaning, and i really don’t want to think that was what was intended. This is not someone with whom i have always had a good relationship, but i thought it had improved in recent years. I don’t know if i need to re-evaluate that. I don’t know how to respond to them right now, and i imagine it’s best that i don’t respond to them for the time being. I know that my family tends to interpret radio silence from me as a sign of anger or hostility; while that hasn’t been true for many years, it just might be true now. I think i’m more hurt than angry, at the moment.

Summary: when a vacation requires time to emotionally recover from it, it no longer qualifies as a vacation.