Other than nuns, monks, or other old world clergy, is there anyone who doesn’t look at themselves in the mirror on a daily basis? I know people who look at their own reflection EVERY time the opportunity presents itself. But think about it. How bad would it really be to not look in a mirror for a few days? A week? A month? Well let me tell ya….
When you are bedridden, especially in the hospital, your own reflection is never a priority. In my case, as is most I’m sure, how I looked was not even on my radar. I was too busy being in pain, being in a drug-educed haze, bitching about something, or begging someone for my next caffeine fix. Since I have fully recovered, people who visited me (either at the ICU or at home) have all shared the revelation with me that I looked dreadful. Well, thank god now I know.
I realize when people say that it’s not to be an asshole. It’s just easier than saying, “You looked like you were going to die”. Only a few of my friends actually had the balls to tell me they thought I was dying. And I guess that was a plausible conclusion, since my brain was swollen like a bloody blowfish inside my skull.
I remember the first time I saw my own reflection after the stroke. I was in the step-down unit off the ICU and they had finally removed my catheter. Man that was a happy day. I think anyone who has ever experienced catheterization can relate to how unfabulous a process it is, getting put in and then removed. Both equally uncomfortable and annoying. Anyhow, I was able to get out of bed with the help of another person and Esther, (my walker, yes she was a joy we will discuss in another post). On this particular occasion I wanted Keane to help me to the bathroom. He held me up while I slowly tried to maneuver Esther into the bathroom towards the toilet. It wasn’t purposeful, as my main objective was to finally pee on my own, but I caught my own reflection when I passed the sink. I stopped. And I looked. I looked for so long I almost didn’t make it to the toilet to pee.
What I saw astounded me. I looked like someone else. It didn’t seem like me. Not at all. My face was pasty. My skin looked so tight, like I was stuffed in it. My sharp Italian features were lost. I couldn’t find my cheekbones anywhere. My chin was really rounded. I was bloated beyond belief. I looked like someone shoved a garden hose up my ass and turned it on high. I was round. Really round. Even though I could see my hands, feet, and body all along, this was different. My face was foreign to me. I looked tired. Well I was tired. All the time. I felt as if I looked like someone who had let herself go. Not cared for herself, not been kind to herself. I felt pretty crappy that I looked as bad as I’d felt and dreaded knowing that it was probably the best I’d looked in awhile. As stunned as I was at my appearance I was pretty happy to have a reflection to look upon at all.
My appearance has changed a lot over the past two years and yet sometimes it’s still difficult for me to see those changes. People tell me all the time how healthy I look. My regimen of yoga, running, and working out seems to be helping me get into shape. It’s hard to see though. Some days I can’t get past that initial reflection I saw in the hospital bathroom. Other days I can look at myself and be accepting and kinder to what looks back.
I had to get a new driver’s license photo three months after I got out of the hospital. And it should say “Angela A. Blowfish”. I still on occasion show it to people who don't believe how bad I looked. Most people hate their driver’s license pic. I kinda like this one. Keeps things in perspective for me. God knows if I ever have a “fat day”, I whip that puppy out and take a look. That photo reminds me where I was, how lucky I am to be here, how far I’ve come, and excites me to see where the hell I am going.
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