Day 4 of 31 Days in August
The Chronic Illness Collection of the PTSD Poetry Project
“Pushing the Limits”
Attempting to see the limits
The morning look in the mirror
Is still a reflection of a woman
One I don’t recognize
She’s a bit familiar now
In spite of the hormonal confusion
Creating a body I don’t recall
I kinda sorta recognize her
My hair has grown
No more bald spots
No more breakage
I finally have a growing full head of hair
I feel it across my shoulders
It moves across my back
Slowly I’m getting back to me physically
Slow and steady I push my limits
Each planned workout
Each planned run time
Each planned lifting time
Gets me closer back to the me
I remember seeing in the mirror
Today I pushed my comfort zone
I talked to a stranger with his dogs
I smiled and chatted
Then I moved on to run
With no thought to my jiggling body
With it’s breasts bouncing
Skin jostling inside my shirt
No thought but to move
The joy like no other
Is to simply move
No matter how slow
I am still testing the limits
Of how far I can go.
August 4, 2017
Looking in the mirror each day is always a surprise. The brain injury took away the years of menopause and the, considered by the doctors, a small weight gain. Those who see me and knew me from years ago think I’ve ‘gained all my weight back’. Not even close. But the woman I see is becoming much more familiar each day. I push my body to get it back under my control. I push and push to see the limits. I know I’ve had a relapse of sorts with the M.S. This I do understand. The trembling hand, the stutter I get when I’m tired. These things are all familiar to me.
But this body with it’s larger breasts, steep yet round curves and especially the thickness in my legs? Okay, this is a struggle every day to see. I can read over and over the journal entries to better understand what was going on during this lost time. Hormone therapy that went awry with estrogen being added in, then taken away without any argument allowed by the Hematologist. See, estrogen in that arena is seen as ‘feeding’ cancer and this is the first thing they do. Take away the hormones.
To add in to the weirdness I’d been on testosterone so I was put back on it to get ‘things back in line’. Apparently this caused a lot of ‘issue’ at the doc office I was to be a regular at for the rest of my life. I read and read to better understand the insanity of that time. Hormones, seizures, and all kinds of madness directed at me in my personal life all added up to an unsettled body trying to keep me alive. This body with it’s extreme malnutrition whose blood work read as an anorexic’s and yet I had gained weight.
Yeah, my life couldn’t have made an less sense.
Getting some control back was key to finding a balance I’d lost.
So today I ran out by the lake with my dog and talked to a stranger with two yellow labs. I’m not a ‘runner’ I’m more what they call a ‘wogger’. I walk and have periods of jogging. Sometimes I sprint but I’m not fast, I’ll never be fast. But the joy of the endorphin rush afterwards is the high I seek.
I think most take the walking, jogging for granted. But for me it’s a gift each day I get up and can walk without the cane. Every day is truly a gift as I walk out near the lake with no fear in my heart or mind. I walk and simply enjoy the moment as I push my limits to see how far I can go.