You Have a Body, Use It

This past week was the eighth anniversary of my transplant. The transplant community encourages people to celebrate the day, but it’s always seemed strange to me to celebrate earnestly with a rager or even a tea party. It reminds me of nearly dying, the drama surrounding that time, and resurfaces trauma, so it’s not like remembering a wedding day, the day you won the lottery or even a pleasant summer’s day at the seaside. The feelings that come up for me can sometimes be intense, confronting, and a bit of a bummer. I don’t really know how to celebrate it with other people, and in recent years I’ve found it helpful to spend at least some of it alone in contemplation. I did that this year; it felt so good and right. I didn’t have to ask to be seen or witnessed in the feelings that unfold when I’m reminded of the years that have passed since that time spent in illness. I was there to witness myself. Many of those feelings are private. On Monday I returned home to discover my friends sent me flowers, which was the cherry on top. They remembered, which means so much.

Over the weekend, I read, cooked for myself, went swimming, danced, and went to bed early. I felt an aliveness in my body that I have not felt for a very long time. I felt the sweetness available to us in early August in the northern hemisphere (especially in a place like New York). The sweltering heat hanging heavy in the air, summer understanding that it’s on borrowed time. The years add up, and I am somehow nearing a decade since I lost my liver and gained a new one — a stranger’s, who died, which allowed me to live. I spent some time thinking about how afraid I was to use my body post-transplant. I was afraid to overextend, do too much, and be out in the world. I was afraid to fuck up the ‘gift of life’ I’d been given, as the transplant community refers to it.

In the first three years post-transplant, there was a real threat to my health if I stepped out into the world, so my fears were well-founded. And the first time I did step back out, with encouragement from everyone around me that it was time to get back into the fray with the living, it backfired. I went straight back into hospital. After that, trauma had its way with me, and I stayed small, insular, and fearful for a long time. That’s not to say I didn’t use my body or I didn’t live. I was living. But always within the parameters of where I felt safe, without too much room for experimentation.

As I moved my body this weekend, it occurred to me what the triumph is (if there must be one) over these eight years and how I can celebrate. I can celebrate that I have moved through so much, things that felt insurmountable at times, to remember that I have a body and I can use it. I can use my body to move, to be in the world (or not), to connect with others, to create art, to be of service, to make food, to love, to rest, and to revel in how surprising and delightful life can be at times. If I remember that I have a body to use, then I’ll use it. If I am consumed by how little my body can achieve or only focused on what’s wrong with it, then I am less likely to. The reality of the way my life has unfolded regarding my health is that I have to pay attention to how much my body is able to do, lest I burn out. That happened to me this year, and as a result, my body has been in recovery mode this entire summer, hence the extended hiatus from this newsletter. There’s nuance here: I cannot ignore my limitations, but I cannot let them run my life, either.

It’s nice to mark time with something like an anniversary. I doubt I’ll ever stop engaging in my reluctant celebration. Perhaps eventually it will even become a wholehearted full throttle celebration of my life. I am proud of how much I’m willing to use the body I’ve been given. I am available for a lot more living. And I no longer feel attached to playing out how my body sometimes fails me, nor push past or ignore it. My body is available for use, and it needs rest. It is ready to live, but living isn’t just about what I’m doing, where I’m going, and who I’m engaging with. Living is also about retreat, solitude, and introspection. I have a body, and I want to use it. Thank you for being here with me as I continue to figure out how.

With love,

Nora x