A little poem called FRISSON. And some context…
In all its light cuteness, this poem is really about attempting to come to terms with my cortisone-encumbered body, which I admit is a bit of a struggle.
I have an intestinal autoimmune disease that seemed to be under control for quite some time, so I stashed it away in a corner of my mind, thinking it was behind me, while also knowing that it could resurface at any time.
Well, it resurfaced in the last few months of 2023 and gradually got worse in the first two months of 2024, so much so that I had to see my doctors again. When initially diagnosed, I’d steered away from the cortisone prescription my gastroenterologist prescribed, and set about fixing it through diet and acupuncture. I lost a lot of weight, too much for my height at my age, and learnt later that many people thought I was seriously ill. Which I suppose I really was back then, having suffered non-stop for four months. And although my illness isn’t life threatening, it still needs to be kept under control.
I did research, found a forum, did some food sensitivity testing which came back finding me reactive to almost everything under the sun! You name it, I couldn’t eat it!
So, I lived on lamb, sweet potato, avocado, broccoli and stewed apple for four mouths. I no longer eat gluten or dairy (to this day). I stopped drinking alcohol (I drink a little wine now). My condition improved, my weight continued to fall. I got to a stage where I developed an unhealthy fascination with losing weight, and remember hitting 60kgs and wondering whether I might be able to drop below. I became so thin that I had to buy an entire new wardrobe, and loved being able to fit into tiny sizes. In the spring of 2023, I fit into a size 34 at Massimo Dutti, which is basically the smallest size the brand tends to carry.
Was I heading for an eating disorder? I don’t know. Maybe if my husband hadn’t convinced me to try to eat more variety I might have.
Despite more variety in my diet, initially my disease didn’t flare. I put on a little weight, and felt really good when my daughter got married in September 2023.
Unfortunately, in the following months, my mental health slowly deteriorated. I’d been on anti-depressants for a few years, initially because of sleep issues linked to peri-menopause, menopause and post-menopause. But the medication didn’t do much for my sleep unless I topped it with something else that made me groggy the next day. So I’d gradually tapered the medication during summer 2023, and eventually stopped.
In the meantime, my autoimmune disease began to resurface and cause trouble, possibly due to a naturopath/alternative doctor I’d seen for chronic pain deciding I had Lyme disease, and prescribing all sorts of things to eliminate it from my system. Now I don’t believe I ever had Lyme disease, and hate that he convinced me to take things that drastically upset my microbiome again, causing me a lot of mental stress.
Alarm bells should have gone off far louder than they did when he spoke of chemtrails… Whatever!
I didn’t notice my slow slide into depression until it hit me like a train when I got Covid for the first time ever over Christmas. Covid wiped me out for three weeks, and my mental health fell apart. I felt horrible. I had no joy, no enthusiasm for anything. I was happy to see my children who visited during Christmas, but I simply couldn’t function. I hated myself, and felt guilty for feeling this way because I’m so lucky and privileged. My thoughts worried me.
I contacted my psychiatrist who gave me an appointment early in the New Year, and put me on a new medication that also helps with chronic pain. The effect on my mental health has been phenomenal. I sleep better than I have in decades, and my brain is clear and sharp and I feel wonderfully creative.
However, despite acupuncture, my autoimmune continued to flare. I didn’t return to my strict mega-limited diet, but became more careful with what I ate. It made no difference. I saw my GP for my annual check-up, and he suggested I try cortisone to see if it helped, because life’s too short to worry about getting sick due to food. So I caved. I felt better (although so far not completely) but my weight immediately shot up, despite not eating much.
I’m now ten kilos or so heavier (I’ve actually stopped weighing myself because what’s the point?) than I was at my lightest…which makes me feel horrible... but of course it really shouldn’t. I have another month or so on cortisone before I can stop, and I hope my weight will drop afterwards. I also hope I don’t have another flare…
It’s not so much the weight but the bloated-puffiness that is irritating, and of course not being able to fit into so many of my clothes. I now have a wardrobe for 60 kilos, 65 kilos, and 70 kilos! Which I know I’m lucky to be able to have…
I'm thankful for the anti-depressant medication, because without it I know I’d be a mess. My creativity is also an incredible gift, keeping my brain busy and happy, and stopping me from obsessing over these few kilos and this little bit of extra padding that, on the grand scale of things, are really no big deal.
Thanks for reading!
Here, at last is the little poem!
FRISSON
A little swim
A glide through blue
A little frisson in my suit.
The pool is yikes!
But I am brave!
My newfound padding insulates!