Vulnerable

I’ve felt physically vulnerable lately, as my stomach went on strike and decided it could not "stomach" corn, chocolate, coffee, nuts, and multiple other substances that I usually prefer. It’s not unusual for a person with celiac disease to have stomach problems, but I am careful about what I eat and so the freefall that I recently experienced is not a common event. It’s happened one or two times before, usually a stomach virus lingers for far longer than normal, then a stressful event or events compounds the problem, and physical activity can either make things worse or provide sanity – or both.

In this most recent episode of about six weeks, I had all of the above factors, and my weight and energy dropped crazily – eight pounds (in six weeks) that I did not intend to let go. Part of the problem this time was a series of intense workout sessions at the gym that I signed up for and enjoyed, but that seemed to take a huge toll. I vaguely remembered, about six weeks in, that one of my doctors had told me not to work out with any intensity for longer than forty or so minutes . . .which I was regularly exceeding. I blocked out a lot of memories from the time of my diagnosis; though it was a huge relief to know what I had (after three years of getting steadily sicker with no answers) I heard a lot of news that was unpleasant. No wheat, gluten, dairy, limited alcohol and sugar, reduce your exercise and oh, by the way, don’t have any more children.

I also recall visiting an internal medicine doctor for a regular physical – just before I got my diagnosis from another doctor’s office. The IM put me on the scale and whistled at the number. He said, “I have so many patients who would just love to have this weight.” I was aghast. I felt so sick and my clothes were falling off of me. For my height and activity level I was underweight – and he was complimenting me! That felt sick and distorted to me, and I never went back.

We all have vulnerabilities and weaknesses, though they may not show. I guess if I look strong and can perform certain acts of strength, I must be strong? To some at the gym perhaps this appears to be the case. But I feel fragile, and occasionally hurt that my expression of vulnerability (and fear and worry) are not taken seriously. It was a good reminder to me to really listen to people around me, to hear their fears and concerns. It is easy to look good on the surface – but we all have wounds underneath. It also needled me into remembering this quote by John Wooden: "Never make excuses. Your friends don't need them and your foes won't believe them."