By Jerusha Borden
Hello, 2-year old me
I see your wide-eyed wonder. I hear your peals of laughter. I see the joy bubbling up inside of your soul. I see your happiness. I’m so glad you held onto all of that as you forged through life’s journey. Stay strong, little girl. It’s going to be okay. You’re in for a rough ride but you are building a spirit of resilience with every step that you take.
Hello, 10-year old me
I see you rocking that oversized t-shirt as you lounge around the cottage on a rainy day, reading a book. I’m glad you never lost your love for reading. It will help you a little later when you’re struggling with overwhelming emotions and you just need to write about it. Write away, girl. It’s good for you. You’ll visit doctors and specialists this year to try and figure out why you can’t lose weight and why you’re so chubby when your siblings aren’t.
Hello, 15-year old me
It’s been a while. Looking so cool and confident, loving your place in life. Hold on, my friend. Your world is about to get torn out from under you. You’ve grown to be chunky, but no matter how much you try to diet and exercise it just isn’t working. You will develop unhealthy eating habits in desperation to just look beautiful, normal. If only you knew you already were.
Hello, 25-year old me
I see that joy from 2-year-old me still lives on. Good. Keep laughing, girl. You’ve been married for a few years and have the cutest little toddler. You don’t know it yet, but before the year is up you’ll have another baby boy. But buckle up, buttercup. Things are going to get harder. You’ll go to specialists again who won’t have a clue what to do with you. You’ll be on wait lists for weeks, months, years. You won’t get any answers as to why your legs are the way they are. You’ll find out why you can’t seem to stop gaining weight. You’re worried about why your legs are so sore and you’re fearful for what is to come. No one wants to help you. You’ll decide to give up.
Hello, 30-year old me
It’s been an awful year so far. And it’s going to get worse. You’ve been told your chronic illness is killing you and you have mere months to live. One day, completely out of the blue, your oldest son says, “Mom, why don’t you find a doctor who can fix your legs? That is what doctors are supposed to do!” Those piercing blue eyes looking at you so sweetly, so innocently light a fire in you. You have two small children that need their mother. This chronic illness can’t claim you, no matter what the medical professionals say. You seek a second opinion, receive a proper diagnosis, start MLD treatments and compression. It will be a long journey with lots of waitlists and long periods without treatment. But that’s a genuine smile. And there’s a hope in your soul that cannot be tamed
You’ve been told your chronic illness is killing you and you have mere months to live.
Hello, 40-year old me
You’re finally comfortable in your own skin and don’t really care what others say or think about you. You’re the biggest you have ever been. Your legs weigh about 150 lbs each. Some days are harder than others. Days where you need assistance getting undressed because your pants are stuck to your legs and don’t want to pull off. Days where you can barely roll over in bed. Days where your legs are so hard and swollen you can’t even walk down the hallway without effort. Days where the pain is so intense that you can’t seem to function or keep focused on any tasks. You have had a heartbreaking year of the hope of lipedema surgery that was dashed because you’re just too big. Your case is hopeless. If only they had caught it sooner. If only you hadn’t given up. If only you’d known then what you know now.
