Yesterday was not a good day emotionally. Not only did the number on the scale taunt me, but other things were screaming at me as if to say "nya nyanya nya nya". The facial hair is getting heavier once again,leaving me to consider giving up the fight with that and gradually shifting into existance as a bearded lady in the circus. I also observed that the male pattern baldness is increasing to the point that in a week or two I may actually have a crome dome, or what could pass as a bad tonsure. These two features are old friends- some of the other pieces of the PCOS equation. The others that include numerous skin tag growths, skin discoloration and infertility don't seem to be as much of an issue at the moment. However when they all gang up and become good buddies with the insulin resistance ( and resulting inability to lose weight) , they really make one feel special. For the record, in my past I have tired different drug therapies to bring these symptoms into control and for me they do not work. They do not always work for all people. PCOS has no cure and it's cause is not known, yet something like 10 percent of all women deal with it, and the ridicule it often brings.
So I dusted myself off, was in an ugly mood and went grocery shopping. I stuck to my lists, I focused on making nessisary healthy substitutions where required ( I really wondered if I had enough veggies on the list for the week plan, so I added more cabbage, broccoli and romain lettuce just in case) , and my husband was being very sympathetic to my black mood. He is wonderful in that way- my best cheerleader and supporter). We finished the first store and I was begining to feel sort of upbeat. We spent less than expected and I found some good finds. And then the universe decided to send me a message that I am not normal, no matter what I do. One of the employees of the store, a girl who is either Aspergers or some other developmental delay was gathering carts. Normally she cleans the restroom and I have smiled at her and said hello a few times. She recognized us , came up to collect our cart and say hello, and then out of the clear blue she asks me "is that a birth mark or did you get hit in the head ?"
I have a large Port Wine birthmark above my right eye. Through my whole life it has been my distinguishing feature, and there are times I am really reminded of it- usually anytime I attempt to wear make up without serious cover up applied first. When I was younger my parents consulted a plastic surgeon to have it removed, and they were told that because of it's location it was too risky- I could lose sight in my right eye if it was done. As an adult, when they came out with laser technology I investigated and the answer was the same, so I decided it was not worth it. Normally it does not bother me ( instead the reactions kind of amuse me) bt there are those days when it feels like weight loss is not important because even if I was the most normal of normal weight and proportions, I would still have this mark and be thought of as different. This day became one of those. I answered her questions and we drove away, but I was left feeling like I am either some kind of target landing or satellites from space or another type of fluke of the universe. That song from National Lampoon popped in my head and I laughed.
We got home , put away groceries, cut up veggies and I found myself thinking about a line from the movie "Julia and Julie" that goes something like no matter what kind of day I have had I come home and put flour with eggs and butter and it gets thick. What a comfort ! With me I am finding that no matter what happens in the world if I put two unrelated pieces of fabric together , cut and add thread, something new and interesting co mes out of it.I sat down to start to play with fabric in an attempt to work on a baby shower gift, and I created 5 baby boy bibs and the pieces to make an applique baby quilt. Scales , calories, exercise and appearance for me have gotten pulled into some kind of vortex that I am not meant to understand for some reason at the moment for my body, but fabric makes sense. When we went to bed I began considering parting with some important but outgrown facets of my life to make room for fabric arts. Not only would it provide gifts, but I could conribute to various charitable organizations once again. The last thing I did in that area was to make burial gowns for premature babies who did not make it. Sounds like gruesome work, but with my stillbirth and miscarriages it was very cathartic.
The miscarriages could have been attributed to the PCOS- having this makes miscarriage a great likelihood. Not only do you struggle to conccive, but you struggle to keep a pregnancy because of the effects PCOS has on the endocrine system. Nothing in your body operates as normal and the do not know why. Hairy, fat, infertile, blotchy , acne ridden and weird growths. And yet, if you are lucky, the experience can lead you to learn great compassion for others who suffer. It's something like The Fisher King- the wounded healer. In order to get to the deeper levels of healing you must first learn what it is like to be sick. It led me to herbs and nutritional medicine, and from there it led me to Reiki. Cursed to have the ability to heal everyone but yourself. Yet I am begining to belive that it may be leading me to healing through fabric. Sometimes our waking intentions get in the way of the goals of our higher selves, and then it steps in to force us back to the path we are meant to be on. Perhaps that is true here.