Yes, You Can

I’ve been varying degrees of insulin dependent since I was 22, which means making myself bleed about five times a day and giving myself a shot once a day or more. Generally, people are horrified watching me go through my routine and they always say the same thing: “I could never do that.” My response to that is always: “You can used to anything if you have to.”

My words sometimes seem like  cruel irony to me now as I have to discover almost daily what I can and can’t get used to. 

I can get used to living in a house that literally crawls. It’s a little like living in an old-fashioned arcade, actually. Every time I turn on the lights, I’m playing one of those games where you have to hit something with a mallet before it disappears back down the hole. 

I can get used to people shouting at and around me. Trying to understand is overrated. I just let the words flow past me like so much air. Life’s a lot happier that way.

I can get used to functioning in a society where few people speak my language. Hand motions and body language go a long way toward communicating. Just ask the guy giving you the bird.

I can get used to living in a dilapidated spare room surrounded by a moat of dog pee. Yeah, you have to lean on a certain spot on the door to get it to open when the sun’s shining. Yeah, the ceiling leaks in the corner and the plaster falls off when you close the door too hard. Still, it’s our own space and 95.5% in-law free.

I can get used to navigating in a city without a milligram of logic in its layout. You’re either going up or down a mountain and if you end up in the ocean, you know you’ve gone too far. Yes, there was that one time I ended up where the hookers and the Chinese mafia hang out, but my sense of direction has dramatically improved since then.

I can get used to walking over two miles’ worth of cobblestones in heels. I teach English to some high-ranking people and need to look professional. And boy, do I limp like a professional.

I can get used to being around naked and semi-naked people. After a while, “the goods” become just another body part. The real shock is when you notice you’ve stopped noticing.