why does it usually take trajedy to remind me of my body?

I like my body but it has failed me before and will continue to fail me again. Maybe I shouldn't even consider this failure but the fact that my body's weakened immune system tends to be the greatest reminder that my body exists and that I am often at it's mercy. I don't like to write about my illnesses, my several surgeries, my broken bones, and my state of somewhat constant pain. I don't like what this means for myself and my work and so I often try to ignore and push it out of my work. Maybe this is one of my distinct problems. While Goodall and Philbrook Gingrich try to use the positive aspects of daily life it is hard when those things often become overshadowed by the fact that I live most of my life in pain and sickness. And I love writing about the good too-music and dancing, dates to romantic locales for amazing dinners, sipping wine, rivers and mountains, beautiful children and even the ugly ones too, friendships, and femme lesbian identities complete with costumes, fake eyelashes, and combat boots. But I can't help that as I write about these things the fact that my back is spasming, that my pelvis and lower back are aching, the fact that I have spent most of the day vomiting tends to impede on my ability to always see the good sides of life. I think in the end this is something I would like to incorporate into my work, dealing with both pain and beauty simultaneously. How can we reconcile these things and how can I begin to reconcile them in my work. I do not want to add disability to my check list of identities but I can't ignore the levels of pain I experience on a daily basis-what to do and who to be...