I started changing how I thought about being fat in my late teens. So fifty years ago. Lots of analysis. Many epiphanies. Every year I feel like I settle deeper into an authentic sense of who I am, which includes being fat. I am fat. I'm a lot of things. Fat is one of them.
I'm surrounded by women who talk about weight loss and preference for thinness. Some of them are my age. There are days when I just feel tired. In the pool. In the dressing room. So much chatter about weight. I over heard talk about plastic surgery for arm waddle. I mean. Sigh.
Maybe because of my age or maybe because I buried the mommie and got on some kind of mailing list, I get a lot of information abut burial planning. I think about how I want to be buried. I'd like to do it with some ethic. Cremation is hard on the environment. You can be buried in a biodegradable fabric, which means you're just compost. There are forests in the east where you can bury your ashes and there will be a bronze plague with your name om a tree. Sounds peaceful.
The other day I got information from a group who has levels of service. They will handle everything. Or you can handle the service. The prices go down with the amount of stuff you do. The cheapest level is donating your body to medical science and then the ashes are sent to you family afterwards. In fact it is free. I had a really odd reaction to it.
I have a scar on my right ankle from having been under the wheel of a truck. Long story. It's a pretty big scar. The surgeon cut a sort of flap to cover a hole on the side of ankle. Then took two pieces of skin from thigh to cover the opening created by the flap. It was a six hour surgery. I was on something that cut off feeling where they were working. Maybe a spinal block? And I was put under. I came up from time to time. The anesthesiologist would ask if I was OK and then put me back under. I think that might have been because of the length of the surgery.
At one point, when I surfaced, there was a discussion happening about what a shame it was that I was so fat. I was young and had a pretty face. The anesthesiologist noticed that I was awake, gave me a look of apology and knocked me out again.
That memory came back when I imagined medical school students cutting up my body and making fat jokes. It shook me up.
Why?
I'll be dead. I probably wont be there. I like the idea of medical science having a way to learn about bodies. But so far I can't get over that image.
Most shocking of all was that I felt this way. It's like all the years of inner work wasn't enough to sustain me. I already deal with how little impact I've had in in the world in terms of how fat bodies are seen. Especially these days.
I probably have some time to work through all of this.