I have diagnosed medical ptsd that contributes a large amount to my tomophobia. when i talk about it to family or therapists they all act like its like when a child says theres a monster under the bed. Its something I can just get over in a snap. It's been 11 years. Ive had the fear and phobia and ptsd for 11 years and its still shrugged over and none of my peers/family anybody is careful with medical topics when they are literal disassociation/panic attack triggers no matter how mild it is. The topic of doctors offices in general make me anxious, and anything else makes me react much worse.
they all just say it hurts for a second or you feel numb soon and they're all liars I feel it forever.
One of the most important and, for me, addictive aspects of space camp is the importance of team building. You live and "die" as a team. (Sometimes, you hold fake funerals as a team if you kill somebody off during a simulated mission. It's a whole thing.) It's no accident that the only time I've ever been absolutely sure I fell in love was at space camp.
(And I will never, ever, tell them, because I also learned that for me, love does not have to have any sexual or physical attraction whatsoever. It's purely based on trust and shared interests and my ideal relationship is probably just a friendship dialed up to about fifteen on a scale of one to ten.)
(But I digress.)
One of the things they make you do at space camp, at least if you're a high school student, at least when I went back in the early 2010s, was some highropes exercises. This includes climbing a rock wall while tethered to a team mate (made much more difficult and honestly sadistic by positioning the rock wall in direct sunlight in ALABAMA in the summer), going down an uncomfortably loose zipline, and the Pole.
The Pole is a 25-foot telephone pole. It has gigantic staples in the side. One by one, each teammate takes a turn as the "climber" or as the belay assistants. The climber wears a harness and is attached, by two very long ropes, to at least four other campers and also, I think, a counselor. The climber is supposed to climb to the top of the pole, stand on top of the pole, and jump off into space.
Even if you do not have a fear of heights, I'm pretty sure most sane people fear this kind of bullshittery.
Over a decade later -- good lord, it's been 14 years, how the hell did that happen -- I can still vividly remember the fascinating trivia that telephone poles shake when a high school student is attempting to balance on the top of one. Like, kind of a lot? Nobody straight up fell off, you have a LOT of incentive to hold on VERY tightly, people tend to fall off of tall climbing structures a lot less than you might think because some part of our brain remembers our ancient arboreal pasts, but still. It's unsettling.
Out of the three years I climbed the pole, I only jumped off the first time.
The second time, I had a minor panic attack because I remembered the first time. I was not the only returning camper who had this experience.
The third time, I mentally rehearsed for months. I actively worked on the fear. I visualized jumping. When the time came? I couldn't do it. I refused to try to stand on top. I nearly stayed calm. I htink I would have stayed calm if the counselors hadn't kept trying to coax me to ignore my own limits. Had they respected my limits, I think I would have done it. I think I would have been able to work with myself and jump, because I really wanted to. But I couldn't.
I'm not especially scared of heights. Honestly, as long as I'm on something pretty stable? I'll cheerfully hang out on top of something tall all day. The top of a tall mountain, looking over the valleys below? Happy place for me. A+. What I'm scared of is the instability, of knowing that now you've gotten up, the only ways down will be unpleasant. Very unpleasant. It will involve completely surrendering control of yourself and your situation to other people. Even if you trust those people, even if you say you trust those people with your life, it's quite another to actually put your life on the line and prove it.
This isn't about the telephone pole or space camp, not really.
This is about trust, and surrender, and helplessness. This is about what I actually am scared of.
The scariest shit I've done in the last year was getting a hysterectomy. I'm still having trauma reactions to everything that went into that. All of the doctors but the very first were wonderful. Truly, truly, wonderful. Everything was smooth. I am physically in better condition now than I have been for a long time.
It's one thing to intellectually know you trust your doctors.
It's another to actually let them have a poke around at your insides to remove a spare organ.
And now, I'm trying to scale another telephone pole, because I'm trying to pursue top surgery. I had such a bad panic response talking about it in therapy today, I feel nauseous. I want this, I do, but... this is a lot more visible than a hysterectomy. I spent most of my life able to ignore that I had a uterus, really, until it started hurting, constantly, sometimes agonizingly, and I couldn't anymore.
I still have pelvic pain, by the way. I still have polycystic ovarian syndrome. It hurts. I have hope that if I keep taking estrogen and keep exercising, then eventually the cysts will go away and it'll stop. At least I can exercise now.
I never wanted to be nonbinary. I never wanted gender dysphoria. I tried so hard to ignore it. I tried so hard to repress it. I never wanted to climb this particular pole. I didn't choose to do this. I didn't sign up to be on the top of this particular telephone pole. I do not want to be here. I do not want to go through with this. I do not want to have to put my body in anyone's hands and trust that they can fix it. I don't want this.
None of that changes the fact that I am on top of this stupid fucking telephone pole and the only way down is to take a leap of faith. I can't shapeshift. I can't teleport. The only way down is to take a leap of faith.
(Even if you didn't climb on top of the telephone pole and jump off, you still had to let go and swing off. They didn't let you climb down for safety reasons. I asked. Should've asked sooner. Fine place to find out, clinging to the top of a goddamn telephone pole. Live and learn, I guess.)
There's no universe in which I don't take that leap, sooner or later. It's always been inevitable.
I'm not too concerned about the physical pain, honestly. I've spent years of my life in chronic pain. I am still in chronic pain, to be honest, it's just so much less that I may as well be pain-free.
But mentally... mentally, how much will I have to heal afterwards?
Heads up: if you, like me, have tomophobia (extreme fear of medical procedures, to the point where it affects your life and pursuit of healthcare) it might be helpful to bring a comfort object. The doctor let me keep Yasmine here with me the entire time through surgery yesterday, even in the operating room. I also brought her to all my iron infusions. I am literally never going without a doll to an appointment again, it’s made so much difference to feel like I have an ally with me even if she’s vinyl and not alive.
Note for future me: while IVs in general are vastly unpleasant and painful, IVs in specifically my right hand are a trauma trigger to be avoided at all costs. Literally anywhere else is okay. But not that hand. I was okay more or less before and after but the threat of an iv in my right hand sent me into another panic attack. Lesson learned. I guess if I was going to have a specific trigger then at least it’s something that I can reasonably avoid. People don’t generally go about trying to stab you in the back of the hand.
Anyway. Home and recovering from hysterectomy. Doctor said it looked like it might have been adenomyosis. Basically my uterine lining decided it was not going anywhere without the rest of the uterus. And it hurts out of spite.
Which. Uterus and uterine lining, both gone. Also fallopian tubes for good measure. The ovaries can stay since they are in fact trying their best to give me a reasonably functional blend of hormones.
Good riddance, uterus. I never wanted you. Not sorry to have you out.
Oh, and I know my blood type now. Apparently I’m A+. I have a good grade in blood.
