I messed my knee up doing... nothing. It gives out on me and twinges with pain for no discernible reason. So I went to the doctor's because I was afraid of falling on my face. He moved things around and poked and prodded, but couldn't find the source of the problem so he sent me for x-rays.
There was some weird standing positions, and moving this way and that, then the technician tried to get everything lined up and had to ask me "where is your knee?" Yeah. My leg is that fat. I wasn't insulted, necessarily. I know I'm that fat. But it was depressing. Because, well, I'm that fat.
Over the last however many years my world has gotten smaller and smaller. I don't do a lot of things outside of the house, or things that require a lot of walking in the heat (I'll still walk in ok weather, but I'm beat afterward). There're places I don't go because I know the chairs are uncomfortable or furniture is too close together.
I am a bit of a homebody, so it's not really bothered me until lately. Kennywood Amusement Park is one of my favorite places in the world, but I haven't gone there in YEARS because I know I'm too big for the rides. If I'm not doing things I love to do, and I'm not going on new adventures, I'm not living my life.
There's only so much of it, so I'd better get on with it. There're a lot of things I look forward to after surgery. Not wearing clothes with outrageously big head holes (plus size designers--what are you thinking?), not wearing tents, having more energy to do things, and now not having x-ray techs asking where my knee is.
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