"You've come a long way, baby ..."
Boy, oh, boy, have I ever.
I have been going through pictures as I've been preparing for the insurance battle. Insurance rarely covers liposuction for lipedema because liposuction is typically considered cosmetic in nature. This is grossly unjust. No one would dream of saying that breast cancer survivors should not get breast implants because they're usually cosmetic in nature, but this is exactly what the insurance companies are saying to us: because so many women and men use liposuction for cosmetic purposes, those of us who need it for medical purposes cannot get it covered.
And make no mistake: We do need it for medical purposes. It is not easy walking around on lippy legs. They are heavy, they are painful, and, at stage three (where I am), the joints are all out of alignment because of the fat deposits and fibrotic tissue.
It hurts my heart to see how far I've come.
I've always battled my body because I hated my legs.
Hated isn't even a strong enough word for how I felt about those shapeless masses at the bottom of my body.
But I would give anything to be where I once was.
But in another way, I've not come any distance at all because I still sometimes struggle with the same self-loathing that plagued me 20-some-odd years ago. And you know what? That's what bothers me more. I can't help my legs. That's a disease that I did nothing to bring on myself. It's a disease that I didn't ask for, I didn't cause and I sure as hell didn't want. But the self-loathing? It was destroying me bit by bit, and if I allow it to, it will destroy me.
Boy, oh, boy, have I ever.
I have been going through pictures as I've been preparing for the insurance battle. Insurance rarely covers liposuction for lipedema because liposuction is typically considered cosmetic in nature. This is grossly unjust. No one would dream of saying that breast cancer survivors should not get breast implants because they're usually cosmetic in nature, but this is exactly what the insurance companies are saying to us: because so many women and men use liposuction for cosmetic purposes, those of us who need it for medical purposes cannot get it covered.
And make no mistake: We do need it for medical purposes. It is not easy walking around on lippy legs. They are heavy, they are painful, and, at stage three (where I am), the joints are all out of alignment because of the fat deposits and fibrotic tissue.
It hurts my heart to see how far I've come.
I've always battled my body because I hated my legs.
Hated isn't even a strong enough word for how I felt about those shapeless masses at the bottom of my body.
But I would give anything to be where I once was.
Yep, that's me. Don't judge me. It was the 90s.
I really thought I was grotesquely fat there. I was wearing a size 2/4 up top (which you probably can't tell because I'm hiding my "gross" body in a bulky sweater). In truth, I weighed a whopping 115# at 5'7" and was, at the risk of sounding overly dramatic, fighting for my life against bulimia. I was taking fistfuls of laxatives and water pills at a time and throwing up everything I ate. I felt horrible emotionally and physically.
According to Dr. Stutz, a lipedema surgeon in Germany, as many as 74 percent of all women with lipedema have struggled with eating disorders at some point in their lifetimes. Three out of four. I wasn't alone, but I sure felt alone. I was starving myself and hurting myself constantly in my battle against my legs. (Lipedema wasn't solely responsible for my eating disorder, but it certainly didn't help matters any).
I've been "clean" since I was 24.
A healthier, happier version of me
But I still struggle with my ED temptation on a pretty regular basis. Those disordered eating thoughts are never far from my mind. Yes, even though I'm fat now and even though my legs are even bigger.
Bigger.
Because these are my legs now.
Horrifying, aren't they? It looks (and feels) like I'm wearing a "fat suit." My feet are still as thin and bony as they were when I weighed a whopping 115#, but my legs are probably three times the size they once were. My right leg is several inches larger than my left leg. The dimpling you see isn't cellulite but scar tissue. You can see where the lipedema fat cuts off right at my ankle. You can see how my calves are nearly as big as my thighs. What you can't see is how painful my legs are. You can't see how they ache and throb at the end of the day. You can't see all the bruises trailing up the sides of my legs from where I brush up against things during the day.
You can't see the body hate that has been absorbed by every fat cell in those legs.
You can't see the hate.
Yes, I've come a long way physically. I used to be so much thinner. So much fitter (not healthier -- fitter). I'd spend hours a day at the gym. I had a physically active job. I was always moving, and I *loved* it. Now two miles of walking is about the extent of my ability, and even that requires heavy-duty compression to manage.
But in another way, I've not come any distance at all because I still sometimes struggle with the same self-loathing that plagued me 20-some-odd years ago. And you know what? That's what bothers me more. I can't help my legs. That's a disease that I did nothing to bring on myself. It's a disease that I didn't ask for, I didn't cause and I sure as hell didn't want. But the self-loathing? It was destroying me bit by bit, and if I allow it to, it will destroy me.
That self-loathing is what led me into seven years of bulimic hell, and it's what has left so much hurt in my heart. There is no healing or peace in self-loathing. The only way out is acceptance and love. You only take care of the things you love. I have to take care of myself.
I've come a long way, baby, but I still have so far to go.
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