Which brings me back, to what is quickly becoming, a repeating topic. Topics that is. I do not get to choose. When I protested the bugs I got the bee hive. So, I don’t control the topics, got it. I guess I’m OK with that, I don’t really think I have a choice, so I’ll go with the flow.
Gallbladder. Mmmhh. One of the first things I felt was embarrassment. I pride myself in my health. I exercise regularly, cook from scratch, and expect no pain or discomfort from anywhere. Like my early guidance system. Anyway, I got sick and I felt ashamed. We have developed an industry, essentially run by the sale of products, that has convinced us there is a certain right way to behave. Wear seat belts, don’t eat bacon.
When we do become ill, it is as though there was always a way to avoid all illness completely. I still believe some think if they follow the rules they will never die. I have read several essays done by never-smokers who ended up getting lung cancer and shunned for doing something socially unacceptable. OMG
But it was more than that for me, the illness thing. You see, my mother faked illness to get attention. It was a dysfunctional thing that she had learned, likely quite innocently, when young.
She was the youngest girl of a clan of children and something was wrong with her left foot. From a very young age she got a lot of extra attention because she had to be helped with crutches or pulled in a wagon. As she got older, she developed new illnesses that brought attention and she had learned how to fake a heart attack. Until I was old enough to fact check that one, I actually believed she had had dozens. Think of the math there. That is quite a frequency, wouldn’t you say, over the years of my memory?