I Cannot Stay Here

I received a phone call from my doctor yesterday.  “ASCUS cells,” she said.  Questionable cells, these found in a cervical swab.  I got that same phone call three months ago, same results. Today’s phone call delivered the follow up results and as any good doctor will tell you, this is not great news.  Two bad paps in a row for a woman aged 43 who also has HPV – this requires a biopsy. 

I was walking out of the gym with a friend when I got the call.  I was calm and rational.  I didn’t believe then and I don’t believe now that I have anything about which to worry.  I am fine.  However, to prove that I am fine, I must have tissue from my cervix snipped off. There is nothing that be done about that, no numbing of any kind.  Just a snip or two or three with an instrument that looks a lot like a tiny ice cream scoop and some doctor at the end of your body with his face planted in your vagina saying, “It just feels like cramps.  Small cramp.”  Fuck you, doctor.  You have no idea what it feels like.  I do.  This will not be my first biopsy although it will be my first at 43 with an HPV diagnosis.

My friend stood silently by while I received the news and asked my questions of the doctor.  “Let’s go get something to eat,” she said once I hung up the phone.  “My treat.”  Of course we went because how would I cope with any bad news (or good news) without eating something?  How would I get through anything, at all, without cramming food into my face until I can feel nothing but self-loathing and disgust? 

That point, right there, is why I am here. I’m 5’10”.  I weigh close to 250 pounds.  By close I mean 247 or so although I should know my exact weight because no one likes to read a blog where vague photos and numbers are all you get for a starting measure.  I’m more muscular than most women, particularly in my legs, and my frame is large for a woman.  Despite this, I am considered obese. When you get a look at my stomach and back, you will agree.  I’ll have photos up soon, and measurements too.  I won’t like it but I’ll do it anyway. 

After dinner, and by dinner I mean chips and salsa and a taco salad, shell included, my friend and I parted ways and I drove home.  I called my mother and sister to talk to them about this news. I did not cry.  The drive home took approximately twelve minutes.  I disconnected my call as I entered the house and then dug out a box of macaroni and cheese, not the good kind but the kid kind with the powdered cheese food.  Add milk and butter and waa-lah! A delicacy! I set the water to boil on high flame because I wanted the water to boil faster.  I cut a slice of whole grain bread as thick as my hand and covered it in butter then ate it.  I ate a slice of cheese.  I ate some M&Ms.  When the macaroni and cheese was done, I ate the whole pan.  I burned my finger on the stove top to get one noodle that fell over the side. The burn did not stop me.  I ate that noodle, too, plain, with no powdered processed cheese food. 

I went to bed with my jaws aching.  The M&Ms were of the peanut variety and chewing that many of them made my mouth hurt.  I was breathing heavily and could not get comfortable in the bed. I  can only sleep on my side anymore because it’s the only way I feel like I can hold my fat in, with a pillow between my arms and legs and along my stomach.  I read a book for a long time, until my eyes watered.  I got up to pee once or twice and knew that the movements to propel me from the bed were not smooth or graceful.  I had to heave a little to get out of bed because my stomach was so full.  When I finally did sleep, I woke myself up snoring. The snoring bothers me a lot because I’m taking a trip with some friends soon and we will share a room.  When they see me, they will see the weight gain, and when I wake them up with my snoring, they will know I am having trouble because I am fat.

If you are reading this and you conclude that the two events above are related, thank you.  Thank you for believing that I have problems dealing with emotions and that fear and sadness drove me to eat until I loathed myself.  I appreciate the kindness there, even if you sneer or feel horror or revulsion at what I’ve done, at who I am. The truth is, though, I’m not sure you are correct in your conclusion. I’m not sure that I eat anymore to avoid emotions or celebrate events.  I think I’ve done that for so long that now I just want to eat to eat.  Now anything is just an excuse for more food.  I don’t know what to do about that.  I have no idea how to find a root cause anymore. I’d love to think I could dig deep and gouge it out, as painful as it might be, so that I can finally begin to heal.  What terrifies me is that a root cause is no longer there.  I’m terrified that I’m just this – obese, with HPV, facing a biopsy from a doctor I’ve never met, knowing that he will be staring at my fat, really fat, disgustingly fat vagina and I have nothing to say about it except, “This is me.  This is who I am. I am sorry.”

So that’s why I’m here, writing to whoever reads this.  I don’t want to stay here.  I don’t want to be just this, just another fat statistic, a person looked upon with derision and sadness.  I want to be more than that. I want to conquer this.  I want to win. 

I cannot stay here.