Even walls fall down

"Because any brokenness in me isn’t any greater than any brokenness in you. The difference is in how we’re treated."

For years, I refused to believe that I was treated any differently because of my size and appearance.

I also used to believe in unicorns.

Earlier this week, I was at the podiatrist for an ingrown toenail. As I was filling out the paperwork for the appointment, I hesitated at the blank beside "reason for appointment". Although I was there for the toenail issue, I had also been chasing down an answer to this at times debilitating pain in the joint of my right big toe. I decided to mention it. Couldn't hurt, as I was already there.

Now, for close to three years, I have had this pain. I had seen another podiatrist and two orthopedists about it. I was told that the cause of my pain was a birth defect, that this little bone called the sesamoid, wasn't in one piece, but in two. Had been that way since I was knitted together in the womb.

So, I sat in the office of this new podiatrist, knitting away, not expecting anything more than to get the side of my ingrown toenail cut off.

I got x-rays taken of the offending foot. I winced as I positioned myself to the tech's instructions.

Then I went to wait some more.

The podiatrist came in. I was pleased that he was easy on the eyes. I noticed he had my x-ray up on his iPad. As he sat down on the stool, I braced myself to be told that there was nothing wrong.

To say I was surprised when the doctor told me that I had an actual injury to that foot is an understatement.

Turns out, I had broken my sesamoid bone almost three years ago. And the bone has never healed properly. And now the bone is dead in places. I have arthritis in that joint. I have cysts in that joint.

The relief I felt at hearing that there was something wrong with the joint was overwhelming. I felt tears pool in my eyes to be reassured that yes, there was a concrete reason for my pain and that the doctor was going to try to fix it, instead of dismissing me.

I thanked the Lord for answering my prayers.

And as I sat there, listening to the options before me me to try to resolve this issue, anger began to overtake me.

If I had been taken seriously when I first went in search of an answer to my pain, I wouldn't have suffered for as long as I did.

Instead, I have been walking around with a broken bone in my foot, hurting, limping, all because I felt like a hypochondriac for trying to get an answer to a problem I was told did not exist.

And as much as I'd like to deny that the reason I was dismissed was because of the fact that when I injured my foot, I weighed close to 300 pounds, I'm afraid that my girth was the reason that the doctors I had seen didn't see the injury.

They looked at me, saw my size and figured that the reason for the pain in my foot was the fact I was morbidly obese.

So I was dismissed.

Almost three years and close to one hundred pounds later, I had an accurate diagnosis.

I have the Lord to thank for this, but I also think I have a lower BMI to thank for this as well.

Prior to surgery, I had many heated exchanges with someone I work with on how it's easier to be thin than to be even slightly overweight.

Of course, I tried to convince the little punk that he was wrong.

Of course, I knew in the deepest part of my being that he was right.

As I had had brief trips to skinny town before I ballooned out of control.

And now, at the size I am, I notice how differently I am treated.

I notice men watching me with something that might be categorized as lust in their eyes, instead of the disgust I used to see.

I realize how much I long to be invisible, as at times, the attention I receive is too much for me to bear.

I pray that when people I know, people I love open their mouths, I will not cringe at what they say. That I won't feel judged. That I won't want to curl up into a ball and hide.

I'm at this odd point where I can't always process what people tell me. I take compliments as criticism.

I look in the mirror and I still see the Darcey that was there prior to March 2, 2015.

I get asked what size t-shirt I want and I have no idea how to answer. I was given a size medium at church, after asking for a large, as the gentleman handing them out told me the large would be too big.

I was stunned when I put on the size medium and it fit loosely.

I put on a pair of shorts from last summer and didn't understand why they were falling off me.

I got a pair of jean capris to replace the ones that I lived in last summer. I went with a size 8. I lived in fear until they arrived in the mail, as the company I got them from had no size 10s. If the 8s didn't fit, like I assumed, I would have to go shopping in actual stores to find a pair.

The 8s fit perfectly.

This is all part of it though. Prior to surgery, I had no idea just how big I was. Over a year post surgery, I have no what physical size I am.

Body dismorphia is so much fun.

Just as much fun as admitting that losing weight has changed the way I get treated.

And as much as I want to believe it's because of how much I've changed on the inside, it's not just that.

And as much as I want to believe that my weight loss has not caused others to look at me differently, it has.

Unfortunately, in American society, thinness is prized. The obese are made fun of relentlessly. We are fodder for jokes. We are a class of people that is is okay to ostracize, as we have earned it with our size, our inability to practice self control and be thin.

And it bothers me that this is the way things are. It bothers me that I look at an obese person and judge them. For after all, I have taken significant strides to improve myself, so I don't understand others that are content to remain fat. Or my heart aches for them, because it's hard to be that size. My mind is a twisted roller coaster of a place.

Then I wonder how I have become this person.

All I know is this: I am a work in progress.

All I can do some days is pray.

Some days, that doesn't feel good enough.

I just wish that the bias did not exist in our world.

I also wish that the anger I feel over this misdiagnosed injury would subside. I wish my anger over the way I was treated in the past would subside. I pray that I can get all this anger under control.

I just wish that I didn't have to become smaller in order to be seen.