You know those sunshine-y blog posts where you pretend everything is fine even if the world is crumbling to bits around you?… This isn’t one of those. So if you like to believe that the world is a fabulous place filled with only good things, just stop reading now.
I realized that when I said “tendon,” most people probably assumed I meant the Achilles tendon. I didn’t. It’s actually in my hip. The upper inner thigh, if we’re going to be precise. And it means that I can’t do anything. Not in the “I can’t run so I am riding / swimming / going to the gym instead” way; more like, sitting down or standing up, getting in or out of bed, stepping over the rim of the tub to get into the shower are all excruciatingly painful. I have not left the house since Tuesday, and frankly, I don’t feel like going anywhere ever again. Because it was Rosh Hashanah, I only missed two days of work instead of four, but it also means that my sole activity has consisted of moving from my bed to the bathroom to the couch to the table to stuff my fat ugly face and back again, day after day.
After all of the experience I have with injuries, you’d think I would know how to handle this better, but apparently I don’t, because I am kind of completely falling apart. I tried being patient, but it’s hard to be excited about graduating from crutches to a cane when it still hurts just as much… and I still don’t even know what’s wrong, because my doctor is a total idiot and didn’t give me a referral for an X-ray since he insists it’s not a stress fracture, it’s a tendon… but he wouldn’t give me a referral for an MRI, either, so I had to get that from my endocrinologist, only my insurance company rejected it because it needs to be preceded by an X-ray that shows no abnormalities. In other words, I am screwed.
And I need a new doctor. Which I already knew. Except that I can’t be bothered right now, considering I don’t want to ever go anywhere again. Even though I am avoiding mirrors, I don’t have to see myself to feel the unwelcome and unnecessary layer of fat that’s draping itself over my rapidly atrophying muscles. My skin is practically crawling with revulsion, it is driving me insane, and I can’t do a damn thing about it because I can hardly move; I just get to sit around all day ruminating over what a useless waste of space I am, good at nothing but taking up even more and more and more of that space.
I can’t go through this again. I really, really can’t.