And of course, as we grow older we develop an understanding that categories can have fuzzy edges; some things don't fit into just one category, or any at all for that matter. And we learn to hold certain facets of life in tension, or let them go, as necessary. But some things, until they are organised and filed into the correct pigeon hole of understanding, will continue to cause a significant amount of headache.
This is similar to what happened to me with my long route to diagnosis of hip dysplasia. From that first groin strain I noticed when sitting cross legged on my friend's couch at 22, through to the registrar I saw four years later mumbling "yeah, it's hip dysplasia..." as he prodded the x-ray on the screen in front of us with his finger; right through to that final, fateful appointment years down the line, after three previous surgeries, when I finally received a definitive diagnosis & explaination of what I should expect in the long term. Until then, the 'What is it?' jangled incessantly in the chambers of my befuddled brain. I remember, after my first surgery, wondering how on earth to describe this 'hip condition' to other people and whether it would be lifelong or just a blip. Whether it made me a different person, with a different identity. Because no-one had really taken the time to explain it all to me. And bear in mind, I'd had a 'clicky-hip' as a newborn, but I had no idea what that meant, back then and for the present (I'd had no symptoms until age 22).
Over time, my understanding gradually consolidated, the dust settling gingerly after that original devastating blow. I still felt like I was speaking some kind of heresy though, to call it a disability; to those who had less of an understanding of what this was (which seemed - at times to be most people who weren't part of a select online group of similar Hippies); to the well-intentioned physio who gave me the "structure doesn't matter" line, as if I was being neurotic; and to the general population of health professionals I was merging into who, it seemed, mostly thought of hip dysplasia as an infant disorder. Thinking that it might affect me for the rest of my life - perhaps more on some occaisions than others; I wondered if I was being melodramatic.
My mum, who was equally clueless for a long as I was, reasured my despondancy on the phone one night by saying "I think one day you will look back on all this hip stuff and it will have passed..." But I was becoming less sure that this was the case.
There is one particular poignant moment that I might never forget, and that was when I met somebody with hip dysplasia whose hip had deteriorated to a degree and they were deciding on the right time for a hip replacement. They walked with a noticeable limp ('The Waddle') - and that was what got me. I'd mostly connected with others with hip dysplasia online prior to this. It's not that I've never seen somebody limping before, or with some form of disability. What got me is that it wasn't somebody else this time, it was me. I had this Thing. And even if it wasn't bad now, it was going to get worse. That Waddle, that was going to be me at some point in the future, and if I didn't do anything about this - that was going to happen sooner than I would like. Denial was not going to stop the process. A decision was needed.
That was the moment when the 'What is it?' started to resolve itself, and I began to feel more bold in my statement of what this condition meant for me. I felt like I was on the same planet as somebody else: I wasn't crazy, or making things up. I felt like they 'got it' and my brain didn't feel quite so spazzed out. Hip Dysplasia is a Thing and that fact started to reconcile itself.
