Exposure

If I did a pie chart of the many ways I have hated the stuff happening to me this year, the level of physical exposure I have experienced would probably get at least 30%. It comes after pain and fear of death, but it's pretty high up there. More people have seen me naked in the last year than possibly in all the rest of my life. And I didn't like one bit of it.

Even though I am fairly much willing to discuss anything, when it comes to my physical body and displaying it, I'm exactly the opposite.  I'm not just modest in public, I'm usually excessively covered. I don't want people to see me. Sure, at home, I'll sit around in an tank top and shorts, but that is not public attire. I like to be clothed and keep everything under nice layers of blackish material.

However, when your physical heath problems are stemming from your reproductive system, suddenly your modesty is out the window. I've found myself taking off my clothes in doctor's offices and hospitals and covering up with sheets more often that I would ever want to. Ever. I have had fingers and medical devices and cameras inside me. I've had my body discussed and looked at and talked about on the telephone. And when I see my doctor in November, again, I will have to take off my clothing. And when I get my radiation treatment, again, it goes inside my vagina. So more exposure. More time naked in front of other people.

And yes, I understand that medical professionals don't really care. They see naked people all the time and see various body parts every day. To them, this is nothing. It's just part of the job. It isn't personal for them. And that is great! The fact that I'm just another person to them actually makes the whole thing slightly less mortifying for me . . .but only slightly.

Because it IS personal for me. They may be used to seeing bodies everyday, but I'm not used to SHOWING my body everyday. I'm not used to letting people look at me and probe me and pull stuff out of me. That isn't who I am. I'm a private person who likes to keep her stuff to herself.

This past year though, that hasn't been possible. As much as I didn't want to (and believe me, I DID NOT WANT TO), I have had to just force myself to strip down, sit under that sheet, and open my legs when instructed. I've had to endure fingers and instruments and pain. It wasn't my choice, any of it, but it's what I had to do.  Going through all of that exposure was emotionally tasking for me. I feel stripped of my dignity and stripped of small pieces of myself. It was so much in such a short period of time. This exposure is another one of the things that happened this year that will change who I am.