My dear friend Mark, who I’ve known since I was born, has a wife, Candy, who is just awesome. And when she had her first kid, Mark’s parents were right there in the delivery room filming it. I always thought “Hmm, that might be just a little more family togetherness than I would care for” which is why I did all I could to keep my mom out of the room when my oldest nephew was being born.
And yet, here I am at 34, with my cooter and its disfunctions being the topic of conversation all around my family. It is, in a way, more family togetherness than I would care for, but what the hell?
Apparently my cousin A.–not the younger one who I talk about regularly, but the older one who acquired a divorce after hearing stories from her four year old about Daddy’s girlfriend*–also has PCOS, as I’ve learned it’s referred to by medical folks. And I emailed my younger cousin, A., just in case she might want to have her doctor check her for it.
I’ve been kind of dwelling on it all evening and most of all, I just feel really relieved. On the one hand, I have no problem with being fat and hairy, and so if that changes or it doesn’t, fine. I have mixed emotions about my weight as it is–I love the shape of me. I know people say that and other people think “Oh, she’s just saying that because she’s fat and what else are fat people supposed to say?” but I really do. I love having great big boobs and chubby fingers and cute fat toes and I like being soft and ample. It makes me feel substantial in ways that are hard to explain. I know it’s not for everyone. Neither are tattoos. And yet tattoos can be really beautiful.
But I hate that it’s always an issue. That my family makes it into an issue of whether I’ll ever find a man who’s willing to put up with it, that it renders me practically unlovable**. That doctors assume all my health problems are caused by fat. That even this gynecologist, who I really like, assumes that, of course, I’ll want to lose the weight if I can. The assumption that being fat must be something that I hate, rather than something that just is a part of me.
Being fat has always been looked at as the cause of all my problems, current and future, and something that I must bring under control, for that reason. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve sat down with nonfat people and listed for them how much I eat and how much I exercise because… I guess because I just assume that, if they know that I’m trying to lose weight, even if I’m failing, at least I’m trying as opposed to not. As if I should run around justifying the way I look to anyone. As if I have to get their approval.
But when you give that up–the urge to justify–that’s considered weird, too, like you’re some kind of militant lunatic committing slow suicide in front of everyone.
And fuck people for thinking that, that I just don’t care about myself the same way “good” “normal” people do.
I just don’t ask my body to do something I’ve never had any luck making it do–lose weight. But I do want my body to do the things I know it can do–like sleep through the night and not cause me pain–and so that’s brought me back into the realm of medical science.
And here we are.
I have a disorder in which my body, along with producing too many hormones, doesn’t process insulin correctly. Being fat is not the cause of it, but a symptom of it.
All my life, other people have told me that being fat meant there was something wrong with me.
And it turns out, they were right, kind of. Except that it didn’t mean that I lacked willpower or value as a person or dignity or self-respect. It meant that I had a medical condition that went untreated for… well, if I started menstruating in my early teens, about two decades.
I still don’t think there’s anything wrong with being fat. But I feel… I don’t know… something that’s like if anger, regret, and resignation had a baby… about the fact that my whole life my being fat has been seen as and taught to me as a sign of personal failing and not seen as a potential symptom of a problem that should be dealt with.
I don’t know. I’m going to have to think on that some.
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*And gentlemen, may I just say, if you’re going to cheat on your wife, perhaps you should find a sitter for the children, because they will blab, especially if you take them to do something novel like visit your girlfriend.
**Being too bossy is just the icing on the unlovable cake.
Tiny Cat Pants 
Oops. I forgot to say what was on my other hand, which was that I’m glad to have a diagnosis for the bleeding and the pain and a plan for making it stop.
I’m glad it’s something so easily dealt with. But as for the losing weight thing, I think you are sufficiently B (and thus, by definition, sufficiently loveable) to remain yourself whether the meds take weight off you or not.
“I still don’t think there’s anything wrong with being fat. But I feel… I don’t know… something that’s like if anger, regret, and resignation had a baby… about the fact that my whole life my being fat has been seen as and taught to me as a sign of personal failing and not seen as a potential symptom of a problem that should be dealt with.”
Amen to that.
But….
Not to kick you when you’re down, but be forewarned about doctors, even endocrinologists who should really know better, who still see fat as a cause of PCOS and not a symptom. Or, more ridiculously, a symptom that you must focus on eradicating in order to be cured.
I still remember with painful clarity the endocrinologist who drew a diagram of PCOS being caused by an unspecified hormonal problem, causing insulin resistance, which then causes weight gain and retention. He then stated that clearly I needed to eat less, exercise more, and lose weight in order to treat the PCOS.
But wait, I said, pointing to the diagram, you just showed that the weight is a symptom, so how would losing weight treat the PCOS?
You have to lose weight, he said, grumpily.
You’re not helping me here, I said.
It’s like telling someone with chicken pox that all they have to do is get rid of those darn itchy blisters and then they’ll get better!
I will hope that you have a good doctor, and get to skip over the fatphobic ones. :-)
OC, believe me. I am scared to death that this is going to turn into an ongoing version of the conversation you’ve just described. A number of the websites I’ve looked at today have been all about saying in one sentence “weight gain and retention, even when on a strict low calorie died is a symptom” while in the next sentence encouraging you to lose weight. It really is literally like they cannot get their heads around the difference between symptom and cause.
Well, I see that you link to Shapely Prose, so I’m figuring you’re up on size acceptance and “health at every size”, so you’re no doubt better equipped for this than most people! :-)
Oh, and if you’ve got facial hair? Get Vaniqua! Vaniqua is GREAT! It costs a lot per package, but very little per use, and it’s woooonderful.
Hang in there. Don’t worry too much.
And like I said before, I don’t know you, but fell into your blog through “Confessions of a Community College Dean”. I like your attitude! You make me want to come live amongst sharp, poorish, cool people in Nashville. And I mean all of that as compliments. :-)
O.C. pretty much said everything I was gonna say about the PCOs diagnosis. I was kind of afraid you’d get that diagnosis because it’s right up there with diabetes in a lot of medicos’ minds as being fat-driven simply because it is fat-adjacent.
I’m glad, though, that they’re putting you on a drug program for it and not just handing you the infamous 1200cal diet sheet and telling you that weight-reduction will automatically regulate the insulin and take care of the problem.
My wife has PCOS, and has had a bit extra weight since when I met her. I love her, and I’ve known that PCOS involves her being heavier than I might like for her health and our relationship. Not because of any issue of attraction, but for her body image, and the fact that I am an extremely active person and it constrains her activities.
And I don’t help by my insistence she try.
yep. I’m one of them…. and the sad thing is I *KNOW* better.
I just care about her, and the fact that she smokes and is carrying extra weight simply *IS* a worrisome medical issue. It’s not blame, and she is actually insanely healthy given those things, but it still concerns me. I just don’t know how to express it in a way that won’t hurt her, so I vacillate between not saying anything and blurting things in stupid ways.
Yeah, but she knows she’s fat. I mean there isn’t a woman out there who doesn’t know she’s fat. So what does mentioning it to her accomplish?
If she’s not as active as she’d like to be, that’s a problem, regardless of her weight. But if she is able to do what she wants, then leave it alone.
And what about you? Have you considered what you can do for your wife? I think I speak for us all when I say that your wife needs you to do more house work naked. That, I can almost guarantee, will improve her well-being. ;)
Oh, wait, that’s me who needs more naked folks doing house work for me. Sorry.
It’s not that I think it will do any good, and I know it as it leaves my mouth… it’s just one of those times where I wish for mint socks. She’s not the only one with an imperfect body, that’s for sure… I keep the blinds down around my house most of the time when I’m home.
And seriously, naked housework? sheesh, it’s not like I can do MORE naked housework.
(my far from perfect body isn’t the only reason I keep the blinds down around the house ;P)
Well, if you ever wanted a vote from someone who appreciates “soft and ample” as an aesthetic (and who thinks you’re gorgeous!), you’ve got it here. :)
I’m not entirely sure your parents would find that reassuring, but hey, it’s not their body, is it?