The Sandbox Writing Challenge 25 — Defenseless

In this new Sandbox Writing Challenge from Lady Calen, at Impromptu Promptlings we’re looking at vulnerability.

The Question: What makes me feel vulnerable?

If undone is my middle name, then vulnerably is my first name.

I feel like I am beginning to sound like a broken record. My question in response to this Prompt is, what doesn’t make me feel vulnerable?

I know I can’t speak for the youngest me. I have no memory of it. I was told when I was only three years of age, I had my first, albeit minor, surgery. Just a simple tonsillectomy.

Somewhere when I was around seven years old, I have the vague memory of being run over by a neighbor on a bicycle. He didn’t see me, I didn’t see him, and I ended up sprawled on the sidewalk, my nose smashed, and bleeding all over the place. I was graced with a deviated septum. Any further work done to repair that would have to wait until I stopped ‘growing.’

At twelve, I was rushed to emergency with a burst appendix. At fourteen, a result of the previous surgery, I developed peritonitis, and while the doctor did not know what was going on, when I asked him if I would have to have another operation, he said no. You can see why, when I was told I’d be going in for exploratory surgery, I felt betrayed. My own doctor didn’t know!

Finally at sixteen, I had grown as much as I’d ever grow, and was back in the hospital for that ‘fix’ on my crooked schnozz. I got a brandy new nose, and eventually was breathing just fine, not stuffy anymore.

It seemed I was done with that relationship with the medical community. But you can bet it left me feeling very uneasy. The shift over to psychological conditions flew in on the coattails of that period in my life.

While my panic disorder wasn’t diagnosed until I was many decades older, I did have a first panic attack when I was a pre-teen. Those, on some level, turned out to be worse, as they continue to this day to be an unwanted companion. I lived in fear, which flowered into a full blown malady during the time I was in college.

But I already had begun ‘treating’ that fear with drugs. It worked. Of course, it also left me 40 plus years later with a life threatening condition for which I am currently undergoing treatment.

So, I reiterate… what doesn’t make me feel vulnerable?

Mr. Quantum points out, however, regardless of the overwhelming sense of paralysis, when in the midst of an episode, I actually do push through, after picking myself up off the floor, from the heap I was reduced to, and past my fears, and get on with my life.

Recently I came across an idea which I had heard about several decades ago. It is called Pre-birth planning. It made sense to me then, and still does, perhaps more so. I have never thought, oh why me? when going through any of this stuff. My cry, instead, was simply “make it stop.” Thus, while the earlier situations were not of my own doing, the place I find myself in now, was.

Without hesitation I can say that the part of life I trust least is associated with the allopathic medical community. This is why I fought for the past year, at least, having this treatment. It was also why I refused it in 2008 when I was diagnosed. If treatment is successful, it won’t take away the damage I did back in the days of SDnR. But I sense I will keep on feeling vulnerable, with a brash irreverence for that which doesn’t really help, but instead simply covers up the symptoms.

Signed,

Vulnerably Undone