Coming back from FDRS 2016 in STL is like coming down from a sugar rush.
Not that I'd know that. Sugar is something of a big sin along the lines of, oh, I dunno, cocaine or something, in the lippy world. That stuff is bad news. It triggers inflammation in our poor legs, and that inflammation gets those angry little adipocytes all ramped up to do even more damage.
Because they haven't already done enough?!
As I said, though, whew, it's been a lot. A lot to process. A lot to think about. So much information.
I met lots of wonderful women and learned lots of new things. I learned about taking care of myself in ways I hadn't known before. I heard from health care providers who talked to me -- and others like me -- with respect. Do you understand how freaking HUGE that is? RESPECT!
Fat people don't often get respect from health care providers. I guess they see the fat and assume we're non-compliant. We're fatty fats who fat. They don't see us as people. They see us as diseases waiting to happen. They write us off. And I get it. You hear hoofbeats, and you assume you've got a horse. You don't bother looking for a zebra. (And writing horses off is just as problematic, but we will discuss that in a later post. As far as I'm concerned, any time you have doctors treating people disrespectfully, you've got a bit of a problem).
But that means that sometimes, zebras are missed. I'm a zebra. My name is Andrea, and I have a fat disorder. I have lipedema, and that means I have big fat legs (and a big fat butt and big fat arms, but who's counting?). My lipedema went undiagnosed for 30 years because doctors assumed I was a noncompliant fat person. They didn't believe me when I told them I had been on a diet for more than 20 years. They didn't believe me when I told them I exercised regularly. They didn't look at my tiny hands or my bony feet. They didn't notice my (comparatively) slender upper body or my visible collarbone. They didn't see any of that. All they saw was the number on the scale. And my fat.
And so that's all I saw: my fat. I have a really hard time seeing my body as it is. My body image is so distorted that I can't even recognize myself in pictures or in the mirror sometimes. That's hard to admit. It's even harder to live.
But this weekend, I was surrounded by a group of some of the most amazing women I've ever been around. And many of them had the same disease I have. They were humorous and graceful and you know what else they were? They were beautiful. I was inspired.
Now I have a huge binder full of notes and print-outs and pamphlets, and I hope you'll excuse me as I go study them a bit more. Also, I have sore legs from all the walking and no-pumping and no-compression (because I really packed light and lived to regret it), so I need to put them up.
Not that I'd know that. Sugar is something of a big sin along the lines of, oh, I dunno, cocaine or something, in the lippy world. That stuff is bad news. It triggers inflammation in our poor legs, and that inflammation gets those angry little adipocytes all ramped up to do even more damage.
Because they haven't already done enough?!
As I said, though, whew, it's been a lot. A lot to process. A lot to think about. So much information.
I met lots of wonderful women and learned lots of new things. I learned about taking care of myself in ways I hadn't known before. I heard from health care providers who talked to me -- and others like me -- with respect. Do you understand how freaking HUGE that is? RESPECT!
Fat people don't often get respect from health care providers. I guess they see the fat and assume we're non-compliant. We're fatty fats who fat. They don't see us as people. They see us as diseases waiting to happen. They write us off. And I get it. You hear hoofbeats, and you assume you've got a horse. You don't bother looking for a zebra. (And writing horses off is just as problematic, but we will discuss that in a later post. As far as I'm concerned, any time you have doctors treating people disrespectfully, you've got a bit of a problem).
But that means that sometimes, zebras are missed. I'm a zebra. My name is Andrea, and I have a fat disorder. I have lipedema, and that means I have big fat legs (and a big fat butt and big fat arms, but who's counting?). My lipedema went undiagnosed for 30 years because doctors assumed I was a noncompliant fat person. They didn't believe me when I told them I had been on a diet for more than 20 years. They didn't believe me when I told them I exercised regularly. They didn't look at my tiny hands or my bony feet. They didn't notice my (comparatively) slender upper body or my visible collarbone. They didn't see any of that. All they saw was the number on the scale. And my fat.
And so that's all I saw: my fat. I have a really hard time seeing my body as it is. My body image is so distorted that I can't even recognize myself in pictures or in the mirror sometimes. That's hard to admit. It's even harder to live.
But this weekend, I was surrounded by a group of some of the most amazing women I've ever been around. And many of them had the same disease I have. They were humorous and graceful and you know what else they were? They were beautiful. I was inspired.
Now I have a huge binder full of notes and print-outs and pamphlets, and I hope you'll excuse me as I go study them a bit more. Also, I have sore legs from all the walking and no-pumping and no-compression (because I really packed light and lived to regret it), so I need to put them up.
I'm so glad you liked FDRS, I went this year!
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