tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-73382337879209030072024-02-18T21:51:01.053-08:00My crazy colonUnknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger14125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7338233787920903007.post-8645200599259338832013-02-26T05:40:00.001-08:002013-02-26T05:42:21.508-08:00The Problem with Vulnerability...<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://032d364.netsolhost.com/WordPress/wp-content/uploads/2011/03/mean-people-suck.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://032d364.netsolhost.com/WordPress/wp-content/uploads/2011/03/mean-people-suck.jpg" width="199" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">http://032d364.netsolhost.com/WordPress/wp-content/uploads/2011/03/mean-people-suck.jpg</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: large;">...is that I keep forgetting just how much people suck. Always gets me singing the refrain of this song...</span><br />
<br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/OK4fJhbRL1g?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7338233787920903007.post-4507636420710791062013-02-18T18:30:00.001-08:002013-02-18T18:34:45.586-08:00Healing.<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://media.tumblr.com/tumblr_ljmhm3tgxX1qb7qbj.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="239" src="http://media.tumblr.com/tumblr_ljmhm3tgxX1qb7qbj.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Source: http://media.tumblr.com/tumblr_ljmhm3tgxX1qb7qbj.jpg</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: large;">See that up there? It's a little crunchy, a little nutty and a little sweet. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Granola.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Natural.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">So it is with how I try to approach my health and diet.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Or, at least I thought it was. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">That is until the point when my digestive system was out of control. Until the point when I had lost total control of the most basic bodily functions.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">And that was when I started telling people "I think I'm going to go see a Naturopath".</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">For like, a year.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">The reaction I got when I would mention this to people was something like, "Yeah, I thought you would have already done that!" Or, "That's totally something that makes sense for you to do!"</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">And yet, I didn't make the call.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">I knew there was a block. I knew something was getting in the way. I only procrastinate when there is a reason, when I truly know that I want something I attack it with enthusiasm. And so I knew I had to really think it through.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">The answer of course is that Naturopaths treat the whole person. Body, mind and spirit. They are all connected after all.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">This is terrifying. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Being the neurotic person that I am, I tend to not want to let more people than necessary take a crack at my psyche. It's bad enough that I work with a bunch of folks who can probably guess my entire psychological make<span style="font-size: large;">up </span>based on what I share at the lunch table. There is something about being vulnerable that is p<span style="font-size: large;">aralyzing</span>. You know, since historically, being vulnerable with others has backfired eno<span style="font-size: large;">rmously</span>.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">I kind of wanted the N.D. to just treat my symptoms the way that a doctor would. Except with herbs and vitamins instead of drugs.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Once I figured that out, I had a decision to make. The intake forms were pretty thorough. Questions about mood. Family relationships. Support networks.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">I could answer those questions the way I do in real life. Good thanks, everything's fine! How about you?</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Or I could be honest. Vulnerable. Human.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">That's the problem with being the pillar, right? With being the only reliable one in any given group? If you show your cracks the whole damn system is likely to crumble.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Of course, that's not what the "professional" me believes. At work I constantly encourage people to show their vulnerability and test that theory. And i<span style="font-size: large;">n</span> other people's lives the systems don't crumble, in fact they're kind of strengthened.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">But the "real life" me acts like it's completely true. And a large part of me still believes it, to be honest. I mean, it wasn't that long ago that I had to figure out a way to get a ride home from my co<span style="font-size: large;">lonoscopy</span>. Those who were the closest to me were completely incapable of offering practical support. And couldn't even figure out a way to ask me how I was doing with everything. So the need to rely on my own strength is very real at times.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">But still. Here was an opportunity to try something different. And so I did.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Honest. Vulnerable. Human.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">It felt pretty ok. Until the actual appointment, when she started asking me more questions. I really wanted to take it all back. And I did, kinda...by minimizing and glossing over things the way I do.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">She took some blood samples for a food sensitivity test. She gave me a list of supplements to start taking (fish oil -- which means that I'm technically not a vegetarian anymore, after nearly 25 years -- and curcumin, an anti-inflammatory that is the active ingredient in tumeric). </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">And she told me I should journal about "control".</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Actually, on the prescription pad she wrote it like "<u>CONTROL!</u>"</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Haha, I guess she figured it out. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Since I hate journaling for real, I hope that this counts. And maybe also counts as practicing vulnerability? </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">It sure as heck is not easy. But I suspect that my healing will need to be more than simply physical. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Maybe, just maybe, now's the time.</span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7338233787920903007.post-5467468644465894842013-01-10T18:41:00.001-08:002013-01-10T18:41:48.016-08:00Update<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.ncvps.org/wp-content/uploads/2010/12/mental-strength-checklist.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="274" src="http://www.ncvps.org/wp-content/uploads/2010/12/mental-strength-checklist.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">http://www.ncvps.org/wp-content/uploads/2010/12/mental-strength-checklist.jpg</span></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I have a mental checklist of all the things I want to be blogging about, but just haven't had the time! Between the holidays, being sick, and playing taxi driver for my kids, blogging has been pretty low on my priority list.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">When I last wrote, it was just after my colonoscopy. Which feels like SO long ago! Feel free to <a href="http://crazycolon.blogspot.ca/2012/12/the-final-frontier.html" target="_blank">re-read it again to refresh your memory</a>! I had my follow up appointment one week later.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">My appointment was booked for 9am, which truly is a terrible time for me to book anything. That particular morning was quite difficult, and my body simply wouldn't allow me to leave my house in time to be punctual for my scheduled slot. I was only 10 minutes late, but was feeling a great deal of anxiety about this. I pride myself on being punctual (and if you grew up in my family, where being incredibly -- disrespectfully -- late for <i>everything</i> was the norm, you would understand. My brother is the same way!) and that is just one more way that this disease causes more stress for me.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">So I'm run-walking through the hospital, trying to get to the office as fast as possible. They call me in, and I go in the little room to wait for the Doctor. While waiting, I run through all the possible worst-case scenarios in my mind, trying to work through all the possible emotions ahead of time. After losing my composure at my last appointment and watching how uncomfortable this made the doctor, I was determined not to do it again.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">The door opens, and in walks a perky, young, blonde lady who proceeds to sit down and open my chart.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">I burst out laughing, I just couldn't help it.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Me: Oh man, did he send you in here because I cried last time?</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Her: Huh?</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Me: The doctor. I cried. Poor man looked so uncomfortable!</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Her: Uh?</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Me: It's ok, you can tell him that I won't cry this time, he can come back!</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Her: Oh. He's uh, busy, right now...</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Me: You sure? I promise I won't cry.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Her: Ok, but he's busy.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">She went on to say that they did not yet have the report from the doctor who did my scope, and they did not yet have the results from my biopsies. She asked me if I remembered what the doctor told me after the scope was done. I told her that he said that the inflammation was 30cms in. She noted that in the chart and said that she thought the doctor was at the clinic that morning so she would go check with him to see if he "remembered me".</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Me: Well, I was the youngest one there by about 30 years, so tell him it was probably the nicest butt he saw that day!</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Her: Uh, we don't really pay attention to that...</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Then she ran out of the room.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Sheesh, you'd think that butt-doctors would have a bit of a sense of humour about what they do for a living!</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br />She came back with my actual doctor. He reiterated that they did not have the report, did not have the biopsies. Then he wanted to talk meds. He spoke about how up until now we have been trying to get the inflammation under control with topical anti-inflammatory meds. And how this clearly hasn't been working. How he's asked me to consider trying Prednisone and that I've declined (my husband has Lupus and has been taking Prednisone for a few years. I have seen some of the side effects and don't want to go that route if I don't have to). He concluded that he felt that we needed to move away from topical meds and try systemic meds.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">This is very troubling to me.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">The options presented were to continue trying to stop the inflammation using anti-inflammatory drugs, but that he felt this would be like "using a wet rag to put out a fire". His preferred option was to move into an immuno-suppressant.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Then he asked me what I thought.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">The tears welled up, but I took a breath and kept them in.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">I explained that I really did not want to use the heavier drugs at this time. That I would take the prescription for the anti-inflammatory, and try that for a couple of months. I also let him know that I had a consult with a Naturopath in a couple days, and that I wanted to explore that option as well.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">He sighed, wrote the prescription, and let me know that was fine. He said that he felt that the Naturopath would likely have some good options for me, and that he felt that they could work together to treat my disease. He warned that stress was a likely trigger and that I needed to figure out a way to reduce this in my life.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Overall, I left the appointment no further ahead, but no further behind. No one has mentioned the "Colitis" word yet, but I'm pretty sure I now qualify. And I now had high hopes for what would happen at the Naturopath! </span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7338233787920903007.post-43435613486922998292012-12-14T12:27:00.000-08:002012-12-14T12:27:58.506-08:00The Final Frontier.<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://sun.menloschool.org/~djensen/astronomy/Blackholes/Library/Pictures/wormholest.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="246" src="http://sun.menloschool.org/~djensen/astronomy/Blackholes/Library/Pictures/wormholest.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://sun.menloschool.org/~djensen/astronomy/Blackholes/Library/Pictures/wormholest.jpg" target="_blank">Source</a></td></tr>
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<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Aren't you excited to read this?</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">I bet you are.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">I'm gonna give you a play-by-play on what to expect should you ever need to have a colonoscopy.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">First off, you need to know that the preparation is the worst part of the whole thing. If you can get through that, it's smooth sailing. When I had my first scope done in 2011 I was feeling extremely anxious, so I did a bunch of research. A phrase that stuck with me was that the prep was "an indignity best suffered alone". </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br />Boy oh boy, is that ever true.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Last time I sent my family away for the evening. I don't remember what they did, but I have vivid traumatic memories of what I was doing. I had to drink 2 gallons of water mixed with some horrific powder that tasted and smelled of burning salted plastic. The instructions I was given were to drink 1 cup of this vile solution every 10 minutes. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">I dare you to try to drink 2 gallons of even your favourite drink that way.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">I think when it finally started working it had less to do with the laxative effect and more to do with the fact that my entire digestive system was packed full of this stuff and it had to go <i>somewhere</i>.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">It was awful, I was gagging the entire time. Not having my family witness my reaction to all of this was quite a blessing actually.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">This time, I was prescribed a different prep. I learned when I tried to fill the prescription at the pharmacy that it wasn't covered under either my or my husband's drug plans. So I had to pay cash for it. Something about that feels like adding insult to injury.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">I was on a clear-fluid only diet after breakfast that morning. I had to take 4 laxative tablets at 2pm, then mix a sachet of powder with 150ml of water and drink that, followed by 4 cups of any clear fluid over the next 2 hours. About 6 hours later, I had another sachet of powder to mix and drink, followed by another 4 cups of clear fluid. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">The powder smelled and tasted like some sort of artificially sweetened mutant orange tang. It wasn't delicious, but it was a heck of a lot easier to get down than the other stuff. Looked disgusting though, and when you stirred it, it got hot for some reason.</span><br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWTYhyphenhyphenzh0fQcf5b4ISnozoTTVGzKKTjMHap-p6sMeqCy0baVlrsVjmQujxBMRtXoGSZBfYIDkZdu9ZMOh-fh3vFH8tH3AFo6nGJTX7hEpmrH0Kz2SOfjjtfLsA8f_3IdW84wGFfFUbKxE/s1600/IMG_0993.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWTYhyphenhyphenzh0fQcf5b4ISnozoTTVGzKKTjMHap-p6sMeqCy0baVlrsVjmQujxBMRtXoGSZBfYIDkZdu9ZMOh-fh3vFH8tH3AFo6nGJTX7hEpmrH0Kz2SOfjjtfLsA8f_3IdW84wGFfFUbKxE/s320/IMG_0993.JPG" width="240" /></a></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">My yummy drink.</span></td></tr>
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<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Although the paper work said it would start to work within 2-4 hours, it kicked in within 5 minutes for me. Who knows if that's because my system is already messed up. I did laugh about the instructions in the pamphlet to "make sure you have access to a toilet during treatment".</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">The next few hours were pretty predictable. It involved a lot of dashing to the bathroom. The purpose of the prep is to get your system all sparkly clean so the camera can see what's going on. So by the end of it, you're passing nothing but mostly clear liquid. If you've never experienced peeing out of your butt, well, you're not really missing much.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Since the second dose of the drink was taken so close to my bedtime, I had a bit of difficulty settling down for sleep. But by 1am the worst of it was over. I slept fairly well, starting to wake at 5am again with needing to use the washroom.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Breakfast was some white cranberry juice, then I could have nothing by mouth until after my procedure at 1pm. I filled up my time shopping for slippers that I could wear at the hospital. I ended up taking the bus there, as I couldn't drive myself back after being sedated.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Arriving at the hospital, I start the long waiting process. They check you in, you wait. They give you stuff to change into, then you wait. They call you in to insert your IV, then you wait. All in all, I waited about an hour.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">The worst part of the hospital stuff was the way I was systematically stripped of all of my dignity. It seems that staff there are not so aware of the experience from a patient's perspective (or maybe if they are, they're just desensitized to it). I remember feeling this way last time as well.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">The worst for me is always the fact that you have to strip down completely when you put on the hospital gown. I asked before why I couldn't keep on at least my bra, as they were not going to be working anywhere near that area. They said it was in case there was an emergency and they had to access my heart. Ok, I guess, but the level of dignity I would feel if they just allowed me to keep that one article on would have made a huge difference.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Next is the fact that you're supposed to put all your clothing and belongings in a giant plastic bag, which you then tote around with you from waiting room to waiting room. The idea is to ensure that you have all your stuff with you the entire time, so it stays safe. But it's just another subtle message that can be interpreted in a dehumanizing way. Your stuff is trash.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWU68KIiCUxGhw_i2l94rjPrmC0bOC3m4PmG46GM5po1tP6w60CzgOvPD8G9-RfXdtkk-T5-32CDQA3fYVOkYI4DIc4LOvXvfL9dht5OJYl92jwU9met-TCVAazSadbCIeGwRPH0ydm4Q/s1600/IMG_0999.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWU68KIiCUxGhw_i2l94rjPrmC0bOC3m4PmG46GM5po1tP6w60CzgOvPD8G9-RfXdtkk-T5-32CDQA3fYVOkYI4DIc4LOvXvfL9dht5OJYl92jwU9met-TCVAazSadbCIeGwRPH0ydm4Q/s320/IMG_0999.JPG" width="240" /></a></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">This is *my* trash! Hands off!</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-size: large;">After the waiting, when it's your turn to see the doctor, they call you into the room. There's a stretcher, some flat screened monitors, a table and some other medical stuff. What looks like a hose is hanging on a hook (it's not a hose of course, it's the scope). They ask you what procedure you're there for (haha, wouldn't that be a surprise if you made it all the way to that point and then they accidentally gave you a colonoscopy!), and then settle you on the stretcher, knees up against your stomach. Your gown is nicely arranged around your butt, exposing it to everyone in the room (a doctor, a nurse, and a resident in my case). Then you get the meds (they use 2 different kinds, explained to me as one to make you sleepy, one to make your memory blurry).</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">From what I understand, many people fall asleep and don't remember any of the procedure. Me, well, I'm way too stubborn for that. I have a bit of an irrational fear of people doing weird things to me while I'm sedated, so I fight it like crazy. I gave them the heads up this time that I wanted to stay awake, so I don't think they gave me as much as last time.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Suddenly it's all happening. I watch it all on one of the monitors. As the scope loops its way through my intestines, it reminds me of my babies rolling around in the later stages of my pregnancies. Which isn't a bad feeling, really. At some point I turned my head and sighed. The doctor asked me if I was
bored, and I'm not sure what I answered but it struck me as a funny
joke. Once in a while, when the scope hit a place where the curves are sharper, there is some pain. I make faces, the nurse notices and pushes on my belly to help guide the scope. They take biopsies (which is a bit surreal to watch) and then it's over.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">I ask some questions about their findings, the doctor says that there is inflammation up to 30cms in, a big difference from last year when it was only 5cms in. I'll get more of an understanding at my follow up appointment next week, as well as (hopefully) the results from the biopsies. So it's not my imagination that things are getting worse, something that feels validating and discouraging all at the same time.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">But now it's done, and it's time for planning for next steps. I have a consult with a naturopath next week as well, and I'm hoping that something they can offer me makes more sense than just taking different and stronger meds.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Until then....business as usual. </span><br />
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7338233787920903007.post-87998874679779386272012-12-12T12:15:00.000-08:002012-12-12T12:15:16.940-08:00Surprise!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-gVCvL-iiwUxuY0riW7WzhfOecaouytbX9kp2AyCTXM31tfX6vC3MjPVM0ZH_s47JObsuofNU6u3O4_yB7YnvJIkTMP7G2HxQ0zGLuW9YAH9As3eabU1H6HRq6j8lNRX6PX3eeIQA53Y/s1600/IMG_0978.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-gVCvL-iiwUxuY0riW7WzhfOecaouytbX9kp2AyCTXM31tfX6vC3MjPVM0ZH_s47JObsuofNU6u3O4_yB7YnvJIkTMP7G2HxQ0zGLuW9YAH9As3eabU1H6HRq6j8lNRX6PX3eeIQA53Y/s320/IMG_0978.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br />I wish that I could tell you all that I've not been writing here because things have continued to be great for me.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">They haven't.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">I haven't been writing here because I've been CRAZY busy. Maybe also because I get tired of spending so much of my focus on my bathroom habits. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">But whatever.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">So, long story short, things are back to crappy.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">(Side note, I've really been realizing how many scatological terms I use in every day conversation. "What a crappy day", "This is crap", etc. Makes me wonder if I was destined to have this condition all along, or maybe that I "put it out into the Universe unconsciously" like they talked about in that weird book "The Secret". Food for thought.)</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Not as crappy as they were in the summer time, mind you. I'm managing pretty well, despite making many more trips to the bathroom than ought to be possible given the volume of food that I consume. I need to plan my driving routes carefully in order to be near enough to a gas station or coffee shop in case I need to stop half-way to my destination (which I generally do, especially in the mornings on my way to work).</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">But mostly I wasn't minding because I knew I had a specialist appointment coming up in December. I don't know what I really thought would happen at that appointment, maybe that I'd tell him about my awful experiences throughout the summer and he'd say something like "OH! Well, I know exactly what will help!". And then write me a prescription for a spa day or something. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Clearly, I hadn't really thought it through.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">In reality, what happened went like this:</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Him: Hello, how are you?</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Me: Good, thanks. You?</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Him: Good thanks. So how have things been since we last saw each other?</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Me: Awful. Booo hooo hoo hoo hoo hoo hoo!!!</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Well, that took me by surprise! Where the hell did all those tears come from? Not the dab the corner of your eyes demurely with a tissue kind of tears, but the full out running out of your eyes and nose kind of tears. The poor man, he didn't look like he had a clue what to do with me so he just started avoiding eye contact and leafing through my chart.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">After a few minutes of clarifying questions from him, a few minutes of swallowing sobs from me, lots more leafing through my chart and several confused sounding "hmmmmm"s, he comes up with this:</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Him: Well, this is concerning indeed.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Me: (nodding)</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Him: Your last scope was in June of 2011?</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Me: (shrugging and nodding)</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Him: Well, I think we need to do another one.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Me: (nodding)</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">(Why the hell am I so damn agreeable?!!)</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Him: (nodding)</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Me: Um, do you (sniff) have a sense for (snerk) time frame?</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Him: Well, I can check on that.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Me: Last time I waited for a year.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Him: A year?</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Me: Yep.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Him: Well, let me check the scheduling and we'll see what we can get done. But I am concerned so I think it will be sooner than a year.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">He leaves. I try (and mostly fail) to compose myself.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">A few minutes later he returns. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Him: Well, it's not a year...</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Me: (echoing stupidly) not a year...</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Him: How about Thursday.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Me: Thursday? Like in 2 days?</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Him: Yep. And then we'll get you in for the results before the holidays.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Me: (silence, while I'm trying to wrap my head around what this all will mean for my schedule. And then I realize...) I don't know if I can find someone to pick me up.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Him: (silence)</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Me: Umm, never mind, I'll figure it out (oh damn, there are the tears again)</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Him: (back to avoiding eye contact and rifling through paperwork) Ok, well here are the forms, take them to the reception and she'll book you in.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Me: (back to being agreeable) Ok. Sorry for crying.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">And then I left. But I was still quite fragile until almost the end of the day. Not because I have to have the scope, I've done that before. But because it was such a rush. Because it took me by surprise. Because maybe things are worse than before.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">As always, I try to find an angle that will make me laugh about the whole situation. At work, we have an annual staff appreciation day. I often laugh about how it's positioned as a "mandatory staff appreciation day", like they need to make it mandatory for the staff to show up or something. Anyway, I joke about how far I would go to get out of it -- just on principle. Like "Ha! I won't allow you to force me to be appreciated!"</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">This year? It falls on Thursday. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Take THAT system, I WIN!! </span><br />
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7338233787920903007.post-60474929483985629732012-10-20T18:37:00.000-07:002012-10-20T18:38:12.078-07:00Attacked!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://www.aboutcomoxvalley.com/sites/www.aboutcomoxvalley.com/files/places-to-eat/padthai.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="http://www.aboutcomoxvalley.com/sites/www.aboutcomoxvalley.com/files/places-to-eat/padthai.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">See this?</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">It's Pad Thai. Delicious gluten-free, vegetarian Pad Thai. One of my favourite lunches from the Thai place down the street from my work.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Until now.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Because it attacked me.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Due to the nature of this blog, it would make sense for you to be imagining that I ended up with a nasty case of the runs after eating this. But you would be wrong.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Anyone who knows me well knows that in the course of trying to figure out what the heck was going on with my digestive system I eliminated a whole whack of foods from my diet. I was desperate, and really wanted my symptoms to ease up. Plus, I do trend toward the "granola" end of things, and the idea of managing disease through better nutrition was appealing to me.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">One of the first things to go was gluten. Yeah yeah yeah, I know you're all rolling your eyes. Gluten-free is the big "trend" nowadays, and everyone is jumping on the bandwagon. I get it.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">And yes, I did get the blood test done. And yes, it came back 'inconclusive' (whatever that means). Honestly I don't care if I have Celiac disease (I don't think I do) or gluten allergy, or intolerance or aboogabooga.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">All I know is that a whole host of seemingly disconnected things cleared up almost immediately after eliminating it from my diet.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">The way I describe it to people is that it was almost like I had a low-level inflammation throughout my entire body that finally disappeared when I stopped eating gluten. I had terrible acne. Now? Mostly gone. Any cuts/pimples/rashes that I got would take <i>forever</i> to heal. They would just keep filling up and draining. Filling up and draining. Now? I heal like a dream. My digestive symptoms improved by about 80%. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">I was sold.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Eliminating gluten was not terribly difficult for me, mostly because I was already in the habit of doing a 6-week "cleanse" twice per year. During those weeks I would go without wheat, dairy, sugar, caffeine and alcohol. Even then I noticed a huge deflation of my belly-bloating, although I didn't attribute it to gluten specifically.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">So back to the Pad Thai.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Even though I ordered a gluten-free & vegetarian Pad Thai, about 10 minutes after eating it I knew something was up. I should have double checked when I picked it up. Especially after realizing that they'd messed up another part of our take-out order. I should have maybe spoken up when they placed the non-gluten-free spring roll briefly in my take out container (although I tend to not be so sensitive to the cross-contamination like some others). I know that I was negligent in this area.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">But I didn't. And I ate the ENTIRE thing.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">I went back to my desk and started gathering papers for my next 2 meetings. I noticed that my lips were feeling funny. Not really tingly exactly, almost numb. The feeling spread. To my entire face. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Then I started feeling light-headed. The closest that I can describe it is <i>drunk</i>. My whole body was buzzing, and I could not think straight. I started having to check and double check to make sure I had everything I needed for my meeting.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">I drove to my meeting but based on how hard I had to focus on the road, I probably shouldn't have. The pounding headache started about half-way home.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">I got home and just wanted to sleep. Woke up hung over. Then the gastro bleeding returned. Three days later I started breaking out.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">I can't explain this. Although I'm a bit "granola" like I said earlier, I'm also a huge skeptic. Nothing that I've read from a legitimate source has given me reason to expect this kind of reaction. And if I was the one reading this story, I would probably think that it was an exaggeration. So I don't understand. But it's happened before, on one other occasion -- although in that case I had also consumed half a glass of wine so I wasn't <i>as</i> confused about the drunk feeling.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">So if you've got an explanation, I'd love to hear it. Or if you've got a similar story, please chime in. It would be nice to know that I'm not alone in this.</span><br />
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7338233787920903007.post-84468787420354841492012-10-07T19:20:00.000-07:002012-10-20T18:38:40.804-07:00A Bit of Normalcy<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjh05QCAkeA0AgIHYSMROPcWA1KBtGYbtUubacPZ_A7t3bTj_UvW-4CqEXs0QA9uhJ83TeAh1wRuj1pSnTTzwDzRi40JPs1Gvi4zXq_-mQTcgOsTC9t9bmtavhNWSERm1OS6G6VSb0klcA/s1600/185.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjh05QCAkeA0AgIHYSMROPcWA1KBtGYbtUubacPZ_A7t3bTj_UvW-4CqEXs0QA9uhJ83TeAh1wRuj1pSnTTzwDzRi40JPs1Gvi4zXq_-mQTcgOsTC9t9bmtavhNWSERm1OS6G6VSb0klcA/s640/185.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">See this view?</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">If I leave my house and walk for 7 minutes, this is where I end up. Who says Hamilton's a "dirty city"?</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">My kids love to walk, hike, just be outdoors in nature. So do I, although I have a hard time not having a "destination" in mind (What do you mean 'just go for a walk'? Let's walk <i>somewhere</i>!).</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Sadly, with all the crap (heh) that's been happening with me, we have not had a chance to see this view at all this year.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Until today.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">You may have noticed (all 10 of you that read this blog, haha) that things have been a bit quiet around here. I'm not sorry about that.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Because I've had nothing that was colon-related to write about for more than a week!!</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">(In case you're sad that you haven't had anything brilliant to read in that time, you should also join me over <a href="http://incoherentramblingsofabittergirl.blogspot.ca/" target="_blank">here</a> where I've been writing about non-colon related things!).</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Today was the first day in over a year that I trusted my body to be away from a bathroom for any length of time. Truly, it was only for about an hour. But it was glorious.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">I didn't even carry around my "emergency pack". No toilet paper, no spare underwear, no moist towelettes, nothing.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijuMOzaNfl6Gg44yBjvzG8eYMSYu9SPMiW2mPpLwGpVyvU8a58Ns6BjEz1QdF57bktpWmzYoVDPlxxWiizFtez9OL8oYqtmmLgnrKQksW2XD68w5uOW2jOVYzWu16BiYisQNBAKrEj9Cg/s1600/167.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijuMOzaNfl6Gg44yBjvzG8eYMSYu9SPMiW2mPpLwGpVyvU8a58Ns6BjEz1QdF57bktpWmzYoVDPlxxWiizFtez9OL8oYqtmmLgnrKQksW2XD68w5uOW2jOVYzWu16BiYisQNBAKrEj9Cg/s320/167.JPG" width="240" /></a></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Me and my youngest.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6ilAVsUEfZm29SnYJWXiIrxOb6v4XzK_ghP5afyEIf49TXk7GQMLOg07EbRUtrOuA4t6uxcLaBCCyrE_lW8JmUiGj8YFnog0S59DQ_WSK68e9YjkfbTlF6APsSou2KnRQGuHhNemWFr8/s1600/149.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6ilAVsUEfZm29SnYJWXiIrxOb6v4XzK_ghP5afyEIf49TXk7GQMLOg07EbRUtrOuA4t6uxcLaBCCyrE_lW8JmUiGj8YFnog0S59DQ_WSK68e9YjkfbTlF6APsSou2KnRQGuHhNemWFr8/s320/149.JPG" width="320" /></a></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Me and my teenager. She's taller than I am and not done growing!</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">It was nice to just be silly together. We skipped, we climbed trees, we spun around in circles... </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhB0nvokFgOvVaiYXADe_l6r26iUvev56m47L0fwz2HKUYJDcI-g-XqdP_8bLSCF1JGvUWKzXDTzljZniix1WfBvTnL_VJdQdDLzx9Zg_MgNTJvOQqS04UUfWMcmDHnKbjOM8dKBHkSrmg/s1600/181.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhB0nvokFgOvVaiYXADe_l6r26iUvev56m47L0fwz2HKUYJDcI-g-XqdP_8bLSCF1JGvUWKzXDTzljZniix1WfBvTnL_VJdQdDLzx9Zg_MgNTJvOQqS04UUfWMcmDHnKbjOM8dKBHkSrmg/s320/181.JPG" width="320" /></a></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFJybtmhDQBn9pRO8DWQkiyiKZu1PaMRY7YPvm9IYA4gdImXmuh_yIBzSyYIrAVbtCeW5l1fBLrdVDhYSSH3GJrmUHcCaoNiTrCKWurrnRZUjMqX9vxYGQxL3k4ZAcBULQAkQ3E7aXKSQ/s1600/photo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFJybtmhDQBn9pRO8DWQkiyiKZu1PaMRY7YPvm9IYA4gdImXmuh_yIBzSyYIrAVbtCeW5l1fBLrdVDhYSSH3GJrmUHcCaoNiTrCKWurrnRZUjMqX9vxYGQxL3k4ZAcBULQAkQ3E7aXKSQ/s320/photo.jpg" width="275" /></a></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"> It was maybe the most perfect way to spend our Thanksgiving Sunday.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiex4QHLB663QdqQJyMqHu1MCP_Jl7aImWA3vZyWRJT3A2yFAJp_PYjUYQbgU60cvK-EBhX989_hr_PAtunFsCgGIgeOXM6z5B0Nh3CzBfgGFHByeqtXSvuonV6RwzUisygS0chdE3TnoQ/s1600/188.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiex4QHLB663QdqQJyMqHu1MCP_Jl7aImWA3vZyWRJT3A2yFAJp_PYjUYQbgU60cvK-EBhX989_hr_PAtunFsCgGIgeOXM6z5B0Nh3CzBfgGFHByeqtXSvuonV6RwzUisygS0chdE3TnoQ/s320/188.JPG" width="320" /></a></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">I don't know how long this reprieve from symptoms will last, but I plan to make good use of the time. I'll pop by now and again to update, but unless something drastic changes I'll be spending the next few weeks focused on <a href="http://incoherentramblingsofabittergirl.blogspot.ca/" target="_blank">rambling incoherently over here</a>! Thanks for coming along on the journey!!</span><br />
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7338233787920903007.post-43184102428483156602012-09-28T19:12:00.001-07:002012-10-20T18:38:58.121-07:00My Meds are WHAT??<span style="font-size: large;">Backordered.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Backordered with "no release date in sight".</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">That's what I heard from the pharmacist exactly 2 weeks ago.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">If you're reading this, I'll assume you've read the last few posts in this blog. The ones that have detailed my difficulty getting to the bathroom on time.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">That's what life is like for me WITH meds.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Maybe you can make a guess at the feeling of sheer panic that came over me when I heard that I was going to run out in a couple of days.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">"Oh, don't worry, we'll just call your doctor and get him to prescribe you something new". That's what the pharmacist said.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Never mind that my GI doctor only works at the clinic one day/week. Never mind that it's nearly impossible to reach a live person when you call. Never mind that it's Friday afternoon and the clinic is already closed for the weekend.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">"Don't worry."</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">And so began a flurry of phone calls. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Me to the doctor's office. Me to the pharmacy. The pharmacy to the doctor's office. The pharmacy to me. Me to the doctor's office. Madness.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">I still can't hear the words "rectal enema" without squirming. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Finally we are in agreement. I will go back to the first batch of meds that were prescribed for me. The doctor changed them after the first 2 months because the bleeding came back after I stopped using them.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">More phone calls with the pharmacy because they have managed to mess up Every. Single. Prescription that I've asked them to fill. This one is no different.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">In the end, I get the new meds only a couple of days after I run out of the old ones. I've been using them for about a week now.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Here's the thing.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">I ONLY POOPED ONE TIME TODAY!!</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">I want to shout it from the rooftops! It wasn't exactly back to normal, but it was as close as it's been in 2 years. There's been minimal bleeding for a couple of days, and nowhere near the level of urgency that I've been trying to get used to.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">I'm trying not to get too excited yet, it could just be my body getting used to things. But I'm feeling hopeful. </span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7338233787920903007.post-66911587035411011372012-09-23T08:17:00.003-07:002012-10-20T18:39:10.979-07:00What's that smell?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://www.meadowgreenfarms.com/images/lavender.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="http://www.meadowgreenfarms.com/images/lavender.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">Haha. Here's a bit of an uncomfortable topic. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">When you use the bathroom as often as I do, you develop a whack of strategies to make it as pleasant and un-embarrassing (is that a word? Well, it is now) as possible. Especially when you're in a multi-stalled or public washroom.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">There is the "pre-roll of the toilet paper". I don't use this one as much anymore, but it helped me feel better when I first started out on this nutty adventure. Basically, if I was alone in the bathroom when I sat down, I would roll out a couple wipes worth of toilet paper. That way, if someone came in mid-go, I could likely get away with only rolling out one more wipe-worth. In my mind, this meant that the lady in the next stall would think I was only there for a tinkle. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Then there is the "mid-explosion, noise cancelling flush". I know that
doesn't fool anyone into thinking that I'm done, since I'm still sitting
down and remain sitting for the next few minutes. But I like to think
that others appreciate my being courteous in this way.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Oh yes, and there is the "lingering of shame". This is for when I haven't been able to camouflage what I've been doing in the stall from my neighbours. So I basically just wait them all out, and exit the stall only when the bathroom is empty. Of course, I still have to leave the actual bathroom so it doesn't really hide my identity from anyone who may be waiting outside to catch a glimpse of the crazy-pooper.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">As you can see, none of these strategies really work. It's all a thinly veiled attempt at having a bit of dignity in the midst of all this craziness.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">But.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">I have found something that works to solve the biggest problem of my condition: the GADAWFUL smell.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Poop smells. We know this. We don't really like to talk about it. We all just spray around that "fresh linen" scented air freshener while pretending that it doesn't make the bathroom smell like fresh linen poo. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">See, I'm not the only one who suspends my disbelief in this area.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">The problem is when you mix poop with blood. It smells like rotting flesh, which I suppose is what you would see if you took a peek into my colon. We have peppermint air freshener in our bathrooms right now, and it warps the smell into something that I imagine I would smell in a morgue if I was chewing gum.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Not pleasant.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Even less pleasant when you're in a public washroom with a lineup, and you have to make eye contact with the lady you're subjecting this to after you leave. My smile to her says "I'm so sorry, and I hope I never see you again in my life".</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">That's where <a href="http://www.crunchybetty.com/the-oil-magic-trick-that-hides-number-two" target="_blank">this trick</a> has changed my life (please click over there, I don't want to have to explain it all in detail. Plus, she does a much better job than I ever could). I've used Wintergreen Oil, and this is nice for home. But I carry around Lavender Oil with me and use it all the time.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">So if you're ever in a toilet and are wondering "who pooped lavender?" It was probably me.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">You're welcome.</span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7338233787920903007.post-19821226384204526112012-09-13T19:10:00.002-07:002012-10-20T18:39:23.475-07:00How It All Began<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKgvAXNu2jqtS7l7zZ3OYnhBYM7-gRWzBrlh5BDrOCB8BDdbfTNqJoOscUMxNyjhFCrv6GpqtGSMKpW1ZiL-Jwna5BfSwNB15N0QUNGXmttE2tCMvqnRrsEp07uN6SHZbHGlJoh2tiapI/s1600/keep-calm-and-find-a-toilet.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKgvAXNu2jqtS7l7zZ3OYnhBYM7-gRWzBrlh5BDrOCB8BDdbfTNqJoOscUMxNyjhFCrv6GpqtGSMKpW1ZiL-Jwna5BfSwNB15N0QUNGXmttE2tCMvqnRrsEp07uN6SHZbHGlJoh2tiapI/s320/keep-calm-and-find-a-toilet.png" width="274" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; font-size: large;">Years ago, before I realized that this would turn out to be an ongoing issue, I posted this on a different blog I was writing. I'm re-posting it because reminding myself about the intermittent nature of this disease gives me hope that it can go into remission. For now, a time warp back to September, 2005.<i> </i></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><b><i>The Life and Times of My Colon </i></b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><i>So this is my rant about the health care system as it applies to me
(a generally healthy person getting a feel for what it must be like to
have chronic health problems). May also be a little bit too much
information for some...I am going to try and euphemize wherever I can.</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><i><br /></i><i>Last
year around this time, I began having stomach/intestinal problems...I
felt a constant churning in my stomach for about 3 weeks, and this
gradually turned into incredible spasms of pain in my lower abdomen,
occurring about 5-15 times per hour. These felt remarkably similar to
labor pains...I was actually needing to breathe through some of them.</i></span>
<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><i><br /></i><i>At
first, I chalked it up to stress. I was trying to finish my school
placement, we had just bought a house and were planning a move, I was
trying to supplement our income whenever I possible could by working
extra hours, and I was feeling pretty busy. But then I started feeling
like I needed to go to the bathroom (BM) 4-5 times an hour, and more
often than not, I (how should I put this...) eliminated only blood. That scared me enough to call the doctor.</i></span>
<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><i><br /></i><i>I
made an appointment to see the doctor who was (of course) on holidays,
so I ended up seeing her 'resident'. Now I have nothing against
residents in general, but this one was pretty useless. She asked me a
couple of questions, hehmed and hawed for a few minutes and came up with
the well thought-out diagnosis of....constipation. Now, I know my body
pretty well, and I think that I would know if things were getting backed
up in there. But she sent me away, telling me to eat more fiber and
that was that.</i></span>
<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><i><br /></i><i>About a week later, when things hadn't
gotten any better, I made another appointment. My doctor was again away
on holidays, but I saw another doctor on her team. She felt that my
symptoms warranted a trip to a specialist, and said she would make the
referral. Two weeks later I got a call from the office with an
appointment in 6 months with the specialist. They wanted to do a
sigmoidoscopy (at least I think that's what they called it) which is
sort of like a less-invasive colonoscopy (although I don't think there
are really degrees of invasiveness when you're talking about something going up your ass...). Fab.</i></span>
<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><i><br /></i><i>So, now I'm just waiting. And wouldn't you know it, about a month later, all my symptoms disappear.</i></span>
<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><i><br /></i><i>As
the time for my specialist appointment approaches, I'm feeling a little
bit nervous about the procedure. I hadn't heard from the office telling
me of any "special preparations" that I needed to take before my
appointment. I call, the answering machine tells me they are on holidays
until the day before my appointment (understandable...I was booked for
the 1st week of January). I left a message and they didn't call back.
The morning of my appointment, I called and spoke to the receptionist
who told me that I was supposed to fast for 12 hours before hand, as
well as ensuring that I was all cleaned out inside. She asked if I
wanted to rebook, and I declined at that time because I had not had
symptoms for 5 months.</i></span>
<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><i><br /></i><i>So, here I am, 9 months later,
and it's all started up again. My first stop is again to my family
doctor, except they don't have any appointments for another 3 weeks. I'm
sure they'll refer me once again to the specialist which will take
another half a year. What the Hell kind of system is this?? I know that I
should count myself as lucky for even having a family doctor, but I
don't understand how it is helping anyone to have to wait that long for a
chance to see her. My family of 4 makes probably a total of 2-3 visits a
year to the doctor's office...but because my dr. in involved in some
program where her patients promise to call her office first and see an
on-call dr. rather than visit emerg (unless it is really a life
threatening thing), the government pays her "x" amount of dollars
monthly per patient rather than for actual services provided. I
understand the theory behind this program (keeping the emergency rooms
open for actual emergencies) but all it has done is encourage family
doctors to take on more patients than they can realistically manage,
make more money, and actually see less people.</i></span>
<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><i><br /></i><i>I know that we have a huge doctor. shortage in Canada right now, but there has to be a better way. This is pissing me off.</i></span>
<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><i> </i></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7338233787920903007.post-22678762175478485392012-09-09T19:22:00.003-07:002012-10-20T18:39:39.979-07:00Ew.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><a href="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/en/a/a4/Everyone_Poops.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/en/a/a4/Everyone_Poops.jpg" width="280" /></a></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">I'm writing a blog about poop. Not generic poop either. My poop.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">This is quite a bit outside of my comfort zone. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Although I'm pretty open about things, even embarrassing things, toileting was not a topic that I ever thought I would be discussing with anyone. I kind of just took it for granted that I wouldn't ever <i>need </i>to discuss it with anyone.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">When I first met my GI doctor I struggled to find language to use to politely describe what was happening with me. It just squicked me out to talk about it. Even now, I have a hard time talking in specific language.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">I say "used the bathroom" instead of "shat so much blood the toilet water looked like fruit punch".</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Or "Having a bad day" instead of "pooped in a plastic bag in my car".</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">But. I am being incredibly open about my condition online. I used the word "anus" in my opening post even. And the contrast between my words in person and online has me wondering.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Because now that I've put it out there, you know what's going on.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Obviously I knew this. When you post a link to your blog, people are going to read it. I've also been encouraged by what people have said to me, congratulating me on speaking out, on being honest. But underneath all that though, are you grossed out? Do you think differently of me?</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">There seem to be only two groups of people who can talk about defecation openly and not be judged: guys,and new parents.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">The new parents get away with it easily. They're not even talking about their own poop. It's baby poop. It's cute.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Guys too. It's totally culturally acceptable for them to openly discuss body parts and their functions.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">But girls? Are we allowed to talk about this stuff? Without being thought of as disgusting? I sure hope so. In my travels through the Interwebs, I've found a great group that is doing their best to break down the stigma associated with IBD. It's called <a href="http://www.girls-with-guts.org/blog/" target="_blank">Girls With Guts</a> and the stories there are pretty inspirational. It's definitely worth a read if you're even remotely interested.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">As for me, well I imagine that I will get more comfortable with language as time goes on. After all, <a href="http://www.amazon.ca/Everyone-Poops-Taro-Gomi/dp/192913214X" target="_blank">Everyone Poops</a>!</span><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7338233787920903007.post-47871241613155188662012-09-05T20:03:00.001-07:002012-10-20T18:39:54.099-07:00My Own Cheerleader<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-5R4wi3KKACL-gv09JY1DSEuZ8tuDDKdgrjGuNkmWogW4RkMwLowLNzHak32wCdo-yXR7Sf3eKLfUDFYP3qFFaf8TV1oU31eQPUn2lelFxfeoZ0bnMkz1IPj7Nen4XaP3pE8yFjvpa5Q/s1600/cheerleader.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-5R4wi3KKACL-gv09JY1DSEuZ8tuDDKdgrjGuNkmWogW4RkMwLowLNzHak32wCdo-yXR7Sf3eKLfUDFYP3qFFaf8TV1oU31eQPUn2lelFxfeoZ0bnMkz1IPj7Nen4XaP3pE8yFjvpa5Q/s320/cheerleader.jpg" width="223" /></a></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">You can do it!</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-size: large;">Sometimes when I make it to the toilet on time, I think it would be appropriate for a marching band to appear, playing some sort of celebratory fanfare, heavy on the trumpets. That hasn't happened yet. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">The other thing that would be handy would be my own personal cheerleader, pumping me up when I'm feeling discouraged, and urging me to keep on keeping on when I'm on the brink of disaster.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Instead, I've had to <i>become</i> my own cheerleader, which is a new role for me. It is now very common for me to give myself pep talks as I'm scurrying as fast as I can to the nearest restroom. They go a bit like this:</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">"You can do this! It's just mind over matter. Mind over matter. Mind over matter! You can do this!" (this is the one that I generally use while I'm in the car. Along with "come on come on come on come on!" while waiting for red lights. There are SO many red lights in this city! Also, advanced greens for every direction except the one I'm traveling.).</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">If I happen to be walking (which is actually a thousand times worse than driving. It is really really hard to clench certain muscles while moving others as fast as you can), I generally time my mantras to the rhythm of my footsteps: "You. Are. Going. To. Make. It. You. Are. Going. To. Make. It."</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">On a good day, I find this to be hilarious. On a bad day, it makes me really angry.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Because the reality is that this disease steals moments away from me. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Yesterday was the first day of school. My 6th grader wanted me to walk with her to the bus stop, as she does most days. And I tried. Valiantly. Even though I knew I was having a rough morning.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">It's really not that far of a walk. Down to the end of my street and around the corner.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">And I made it as far as the end of the street before having to apologize and send her the rest of the way on her own. I couldn't even spend the few extra seconds to give her a proper hug goodbye, just a quick kiss and a "Love you have a good day" tossed over my shoulder as I hurried away from her.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">And I wonder how much of her childhood she will remember this way; me leaving her alone to face the world when she's not quite ready.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">So as I'm timing my cheer-leading to my footsteps, speed walking down what is possibly the longest sidewalk in the world, there is a voice whispering in my head that there are probably not many moments like these left to spend with her. She is 11 years old, and isn't always going to want her Mommy to be giving her a kiss and hug in front of a busload of kids. And I'm missing them.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">I just haven't figured out a personal pep talk for that yet.</span><br />
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7338233787920903007.post-56982502798170494952012-09-02T20:45:00.002-07:002012-10-20T18:40:06.992-07:00Road Trip<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><a href="http://blog.airticketsdirect.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/04/road-trip.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="http://blog.airticketsdirect.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/04/road-trip.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Want to know something that causes me a crap-load (heh) of anxiety? Being in a car, for 2 entire days, driving in unfamiliar territory, with no easily accessible bathrooms.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">You see, over the past few months I have been drawing up a mental map of every single gas station, Tim Hortons, McDonalds, and any other possible place in the city that I can get to in a hurry. Most of the time I can make it to one of them before disaster strikes. Most of the time.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">But on a road trip, I am at the absolute mercy of the highway architects, city planners, or whoever it is that decides where the exits and rest stops will be. I am also at the mercy of the one who is in the driver seat. And since I wasn't the only driver this time, it meant that I was not always going to be the one calling the shots.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">For someone who doesn't have a digestive disease, this anxiety may be hard to understand. I don't think I would have been able to wrap my head around it before experiencing it myself. But I want you to remember a time when you had a terrible stomach flu. The kind where you camp out in front of the toilet because you don't trust yourself to be even a room away. The kind where when the cramping starts, you literally cannot think of anything other than evacuating the vile contents of your colon. Ok. Remember that? Good. Now apply that feeling to Every. Single. Day.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">We were leaving early in the morning, which only added to my worries. Mornings are rough. Apparently this is common, as the waking process releases all kinds of hormones and stuff. I'm sure there is a scientific explanation to it all, but I'm too lazy to look it up. All I know is that I am woken up between 6-6:30am with a need to dash to the toilet, and then (on a bad day) it's a pretty sure bet that I'll be in there 6-10 times before 9am. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">In any case, we got on the road in good time and headed towards the border. I was actually feeling pretty good, which was encouraging! But then we got in line. You know what the border crossing looks like, right?</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="http://wvs.topleftpixel.com/photos/2012/07/cars_line_us-canada_border_01.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="280" src="http://wvs.topleftpixel.com/photos/2012/07/cars_line_us-canada_border_01.jpg" width="400" /></a></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">No U Turns, and no bathrooms in sight!</span></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: large;">So of course, since my brain is connected <b><i>directly</i></b> to my colon, my panic about not having a bathroom available meant that I suddenly and desperately needed to use one. We were crossing in Niagara Falls, where quite a few pedestrians walk across. My dad's girlfriend offered to walk with me to the pedestrian crossing to see if there were bathrooms available there. It wasn't too far of a walk and the need was great. So we got out of the car, hopped the barrier to the sidewalk and headed for the gate.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Uh yeah. Apparently Canada doesn't have a bathroom on our side.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">So I'm waiting at this locked door. Border guards are doing their thing, and I'm clenching and dancing. All I can see is the ladies room sign at the other side of the room. After a few minutes, the guard calls us in. I shove my passport across the desk and launch into my now routine explanation:</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">"I'm really sorry, but I have a digestive disease and I have an urgent need to use the bathroom!"</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">"Ma'am, I need to clear you first, where are you going?"</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">"Yes sir, I understand, but if we could do this as fast as we can because I <i>really</i> need the bathroom"</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">"Ma'am I will do what the law requires me to do. Where are you going?"</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Now, I do understand that the man had a job to do. I truly do. But at that moment, I could not care about anything else than getting across the room. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"> After explaining where we were going, and also that we'd hopped out of the car specifically for the bathroom, he very bluntly said that we had to get back in the car and go across with the rest of them. When I frantically asked about the bathroom again, he told me that he would escort me to the ladies room and then back outside.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">That's not mortifying at all. Nope, not at all!</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">In any case, I got across the room. He then escorted me and my dad's girlfriend back into the lineup of cars, and walked us about 200 feet away from the border. He asked if we could see the van we came in, and we pointed to one that looked about right. He handed us back our passports and walked away.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">We walked up to the van we'd pointed to and realized that it was not actually our van. Not knowing what else to do at that point we started weaving in and out of the cars in the lineup, desperately looking for our family. I can only imagine what it must have looked like to everyone there...here were 2 women who had just been escorted out by a border guard, and now were running through the traffic looking panicked.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">And in the middle of it all, I hear someone calling my name! It was the father of one of my daughter's friends, laughing and asking what the heck I was doing. I don't even think I said something intelligible, just mumbled something about needing to find the van and ran off.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">We finally spotted it, and ran as fast as we could. We got in, laughing, relieved and buckled up. They were literally next in line, and I don't have a clue what we would have done if they had already crossed!</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Disaster averted, thank goodness. And mercifully there were plenty of exits that first day of driving. And now I have a funny story to tell, right? Bright side. Bright side indeed.</span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7338233787920903007.post-53315054069634168152012-09-02T19:21:00.000-07:002012-10-20T18:40:32.669-07:00Coming out of the closet.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><a href="http://www.easyvectors.com/assets/images/vectors/afbig/wariat-toilet-signs-clip-art.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="221" src="http://www.easyvectors.com/assets/images/vectors/afbig/wariat-toilet-signs-clip-art.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> Or maybe it would be more appropriate to say "Coming out of the bathroom". Because that's the place I've been spending most of my time lately.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">So here it goes. About a year ago, I was diagnosed with Proctitis. Oh it is a fun and sexy disease, let me tell you. You may be more familiar with it's cousin, Colitis? Essentially it's the same disease, except that Proctitis affects only the anus and the last 6 inches of the lining of the rectum (you can read more <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Proctitis" target="_blank">here</a> if you so desire). My particular symptoms include bleeding, mucous, gas, bloating, and a frequent and absolutely urgent need to find a toilet.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Full disclosure -- I'm writing about this because I could use some support. I also need a way to keep my sense of humor, and sharing stories about my wild and crazy adventures is a good way to do this. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">For now, I would just appreciate some understanding when I get that panicked look in my eyes and dart out of the room mid-sentence. I promise that I would stay and finish the conversation if I could!</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">-G </span><br />
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1