Damnit!

By 27 Sep ’05My Life

I am currently trying to write a letter to my insurance company begging them to pleasepleasePLEASE approve my request to cover a breast reduction mamaplasty. I’m not quite sure what to say. It’s not fun, it’s not sexy, it’s not in any way enjoyable. I can hardly walk, I’ve gained twenty pounds in the past nine months, and part of that is because the simple act of walking leaves my back so tired and aching that I don’t have the energy to work out by the time I get to the gym. I could lose 1500 grams of tissue per side and still be in a full C, possibly a D-cup. I feel like a freak.

So I’m reading success stories and tragedy stories and all these accounts of other women who’ve gone through the same process, and I haven’t even come across anyone who’s as bad off as I am. Yet I’m still worried about my insurance not covering me. It’s reached a point where if it comes down to choosing between paying tuition and housing or paying for this surgery, I’m just going to have to sit out a semester, because the physical stress of simply getting around campus is too much for me to handle. I don’t want to do that because I just finished taking time off, and I’ve made such good progress getting myself back into the swing of things… I just don’t know what to do anymore.

As I go through all the possible risks, nothing seems so bad that I would consider not doing it. Not being able to breastfeed? I probably can’t have babies anyway. I don’t care about scarring, because it’s not like this surgery is going to magically improve my love life (although it will improve my self esteem, and I will probably be surprised at how attractive feeling attractive can make you). To be honest, my tits could shrivel up and fall off and I think I’d be okay; those little plastic cutlets look like they can handle anything I’d have them do. I put this shit off for so long because I was so afraid of not having any appealing features anymore, but who the hell cares? I seriously feel like I am going to die every day of my life… just so I can think I look appealing to someone else? This is just too much bullshit to go through, for any reason.

Traveling these past few weekends made me realize how difficult it must be for a lot of disabled people, especially those who don’t have a visible disability (like chronic fatigue). Just because I can’t carry heavy bags doesn’t make it any less necessary for me to have luggage when I go someplace, but there’s like, no help for weak-limbed people like me. It’s like pulling teeth to get someone, at least at a train station, to allow someone else to help you carry your bags, much less for them to do it. The other morning, they wouldn’t let my mom take my things to the train, so they drove me over in a golf cart, but once I was on the train I still had to lift it myself, lug it to my seat, and when I asked a conductor if he could help me put it in the overhead bin, I got a bitchy eyeroll and a smart assed comment. (That actually happened twice, on two different trains, with two different “gentlemen.”) I’m not sure if I’ll be able to make it through the airport to DC, and honestly, I don’t even want to go anymore. I won’t be able to go out dancing or anything, nor will I be able to find anything acceptable to wear once I’m there. I think I’m just going to ask LaShaya to sell the tickets she’s already gotten me and forget about it.

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