To something. Safety? Slight annoyance? I don’t know. It seemed like a good title, and I couldn’t come up with anything better, so I used it. Leave me alone.
After an approx. four-month hiatus, I started wearing my MedicAlert bracelet again yesterday morning, inspired, in part, by the Mary Lambert song “Secrets.” (More about her masterwork later this week. And yup, I’m aware that basing medical decisions on what I’m moved to do by pop music is an amazing idea.)
Why did I ditch it in the first place? I’d like to claim that it was mainly because of the the physical discomfort caused by the accessory, which is too big and thus awkwardly slides up and down my arm. The fact of the matter is that I’ve never gotten over the mild embarrassment of donning it, so when I misplaced it following a scan, I forwent the whole looking for it thing and instead allowed myself to assume that it was lost forever. It was, I soon discovered, at the bottom of my purse. I left it there.
What it boils down to is this: it’s easy to be open about having epilepsy/a whole other constellation of stuff (depression, anxiety, OCD, scoliosis, arthritis in my neck; my body and brain really hate me) when I selectively disclose. Sure, I selectively disclose to the entire Internet, but that’s MY choice, gosh darn it. It’s harder, as I’ve addressed before, to have tarnished silver letters on my wrist announcing that there’s something “different” about me, even if the average person on the street is blind to the particulars of this differentness (a real word!).
But since I’ve started having seizures again and since it’s kind of hypocritical to go around promoting epilepsy awareness while simultaneously refusing to sport a potentially life-saving piece of relatively attractive jewelry and since Mary Lambert tells me that I shouldn’t “care if the world knows what my secrets are” and since a MedicAlert bracelet ain’t gonna do much, in actuality, to reveal these secrets to the public at large, I decided to celebrate the return of my MedicAlert bracelet by documenting its first afternoon back in my life via a self-indulgent photo collage. Sorry not sorry, as I’ve been told that the kids of today are apt to say in such situations.