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I'm interested this morning in the stories i tell myself about my health.
I'm prepping for my colonoscopy tomorrow. I had my first colonoscopy and sigmoidoscopy before my first mammogram. When i had my turning-forty mammogram i was mystified: that process bothers people? The story for me of the colonoscopy is one of practical health care. I have a family history, but this is how to detect such a cancer early. Odds are that if anything has happened in my colon, it will be simply the development of polyps, which will be removed at that time. It's conceivable that there will be surprises, just as it's conceivable i'll be in a fatal car wreck on the way to the doctor.
My main worry is whether i will be VERY BORED with apple juice by the end of the day and how fast i can get a real meal after the procedure.
The story i tell myself about my "reactivity" is different. I was taught to ignore physical discomfort in my family of origin, indeed, the constant story was that the apocalypse was coming (not the religious one but the science fiction one). We all needed to be strong to survive. Put up with that discomfort because if you were in a forced march out of a disaster zone, you don't want to be the one left behind. We were under siege by the threat of siege. My mother reminded us of how my Dad had experienced a fall from Edenic plenty as a child, but she made no effort to counter-balance his survival focus. She was in survivor mode herself.
In such a world, rashes and sores and runny noses mean nothing. Depression doesn't mean anything either.
My mother's belief about health has a medieval meets new age foundation to it: the outer is a sign of the inner. Her raw red hands of her inflamed skin is all due to the stress my father causes. Medicine just treats the symptom: the cause is her stress, and she can't do anything about her stress because it's all my father's fault.
This belief pattern has several issues, but how it affects me is the story i believe she believes: that all my physical issues are due to the stress of being in relationship with Christine.
I don't believe that, but i do find myself spending energy defending against that story.
I don't have a good story about all my irritations. Currently i believe that suppressing my awareness of my discomfort played a significant part in my experience of depression. By not being conscious of how much congestion, poor breathing, and discomfort i was working hard to ignore, i could not correlate how it affected my mood, energy level, and cognitive ability.
***
At this point, i had to participate in a management meeting.
I'm prepping for my colonoscopy tomorrow. I had my first colonoscopy and sigmoidoscopy before my first mammogram. When i had my turning-forty mammogram i was mystified: that process bothers people? The story for me of the colonoscopy is one of practical health care. I have a family history, but this is how to detect such a cancer early. Odds are that if anything has happened in my colon, it will be simply the development of polyps, which will be removed at that time. It's conceivable that there will be surprises, just as it's conceivable i'll be in a fatal car wreck on the way to the doctor.
My main worry is whether i will be VERY BORED with apple juice by the end of the day and how fast i can get a real meal after the procedure.
The story i tell myself about my "reactivity" is different. I was taught to ignore physical discomfort in my family of origin, indeed, the constant story was that the apocalypse was coming (not the religious one but the science fiction one). We all needed to be strong to survive. Put up with that discomfort because if you were in a forced march out of a disaster zone, you don't want to be the one left behind. We were under siege by the threat of siege. My mother reminded us of how my Dad had experienced a fall from Edenic plenty as a child, but she made no effort to counter-balance his survival focus. She was in survivor mode herself.
In such a world, rashes and sores and runny noses mean nothing. Depression doesn't mean anything either.
My mother's belief about health has a medieval meets new age foundation to it: the outer is a sign of the inner. Her raw red hands of her inflamed skin is all due to the stress my father causes. Medicine just treats the symptom: the cause is her stress, and she can't do anything about her stress because it's all my father's fault.
This belief pattern has several issues, but how it affects me is the story i believe she believes: that all my physical issues are due to the stress of being in relationship with Christine.
I don't believe that, but i do find myself spending energy defending against that story.
I don't have a good story about all my irritations. Currently i believe that suppressing my awareness of my discomfort played a significant part in my experience of depression. By not being conscious of how much congestion, poor breathing, and discomfort i was working hard to ignore, i could not correlate how it affected my mood, energy level, and cognitive ability.
***
At this point, i had to participate in a management meeting.
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