I’ve had my ups and downs this year, as I’m sure everyone has. Hurricane Irma wasn’t fun, even though I know how lucky we were to escape the worst. Medically speaking I had a rough summer and then a rough autumn, but hey, life goes on.

Personally, we lost our family matriarch this past summer. My great-aunt was a grandmother to me and lived a long and wonderful life. Our family got together to celebrate her 90th birthday earlier in the year before her health started to decline. I always imagined she would be at my wedding one day, but I’m grateful for all the time I had with her and that she got to meet Kevin and see how happy I am.

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Speaking of Kevin, this summer we moved into our first apartment together. That was exciting and I’ve had to learn to let him be my caregiver. I’m so used to my mom being the first person I call. That’s been an adjustment … a good adjustment. It’s been fun discovering some of our differences, like when it comes to decorating. I love knick-knacks and Kevin doesn’t care for them at all (even though half of my knick-knacks were gifts from him, ha!).

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Even though it’s not always easy to plan ahead with an unpredictable illness, we still managed to travel; cruised the Caribbean (St. Marten, Puerto Rico, St. Thomas), Atlanta, Key West, Nashville, Vermont, and of course  Disney World.

 

When it came to my health I dealt with painful ovarian cysts and a flare-up that I’m still trying to get through. Hoping my current treatment plan will give me a healthy 2018.

Thank you for reading my posts about life with Crohn’s Disease this year. I know my audience is small (hi Mom!), but I appreciate that you give me a few minutes to speak from my heart or ramble nonsensically.

Here are a few of my favorite posts from 2017:

Adventures in Fashion: Part Deux

Adventures in Fatigue

Adventures in Swimming

Adventures in Dating

Adventures in Intimacy (Most Viewed Post)

Why I Didn’t Want to Fall in Love

Cheers to a happy and HEALTHY new year!

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I’ve tweeted and posted a few things here and there, but no actual new blog post for about two months. Yikes. I’ve been in and out of the hospital the past 6 weeks fighting a flare that just won’t go away. I even spent my birthday in the hospital. Bummer, but I can’t spend too much time being upset about it.

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I’ve started new medications and I try to avoid talking about the medications I’m on because I don’t feel that this space should be used for medical advice, I’m not a doctor. Besides, everyone reacts differently to different treatments, so I just rarely write about my current medications. These are discussions you need to have with your doctor, not some rando from the internet.

Anyways, I have a few posts sitting in my drafts, I hope to get them up soon. I didn’t really have much to say about the joys of living with this disease while battling this flare up. Hopefully, now the worst of it is behind me, so stayed tuned because I probably won’t be able to shut up.

Thanks for reading!

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Physical pain sucks, but it comes with a chronic illness. Pain is your body’s way of telling you something is wrong. Before my first surgery, I ignored severe pain for a very long time. I almost ignored it until it was too late.  I assumed it was just another bad day and I could sleep it off. I was so wrong and nearly lost my life.

Now I know better. If after a day the pain doesn’t go away I usually either call my doctor or go the Emergency Room. I shouldn’t have to suffer. I shouldn’t feel guilty for asking for relief. Somehow I always do, like I feel maybe I’m supposed to tough it out. Also, I go to the ER or my doctor, not just for pain relief, but to make sure there’s not a blockage or abscess.

Why? Why do I have to suffer? Do you know what it’s like trying to go to work when you’re in pain? Or trying to do anything really?

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Narcotics aren’t always a great option, but sometimes they are necessary. Pain meds only mask the pain, they don’t fix the problem. So while doctors try to come up with a plan at least they can keep me comfortable. I’m never on pain meds for more than a day or two at a time (unless I’m recovering from surgery).

Do pain meds take away the pain? Nope. It just dulls everything, I’m still in pain but care less. That’s the best way I can explain it.

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Sometimes I’m timid when asking for relief, but usually, once doctors know my history and see my test results they have no problem helping me. I remember after my first surgery, one of my doctors was talking to me and said I should have been jumping up to the ceiling screaming in pain.

Medical marijuana is a great option, sadly one I haven’t been able to try out here. According to US Attorney Jeff Sessions, I’m a criminal who should be locked away if I use marijuana. Get a grip. Most doctors agree medical marijuana is a great and safe alternative to narcotic pain medications. There is a serious opioid addiction crisis in this country and most people who are addicted started somewhere simple, like recovering from an accident or surgery. Florida just recently legalized medical marijuana, but it’s still not available (correct me if I’m wrong please).

I hate asking for pain meds, but sometimes I have to. It never fails, but I always feel guilty or that I’m being judged, even if the doctors are great. I feel like I’m supposed to be stronger and handle a certain level of pain. Or that I don’t always look like I’m in pain. Well, 17 years of severe pain off and on, I can hide it well.

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I hate pain, but I don’t rush to pop pills the minute the pain comes on. If I’m home the first thing I do is take a hot shower. Handheld shower heads are great for just applying right over the sore spots. The world is so much better after a hot shower. Next thing I do is climb into bed with my electric heating pad. The heating pad doesn’t take away the pain, but it does help and at least I can try and get through it. If it gets worse I’ll take a pain pill and if after that I’m still in a lot of pain and it doesn’t seem to be going away (I try and give it 12-24 hours) I head to the ER for instant relief. Drug me up and send me on my way, unless it’s something more serious.

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Like with everything else I manage my life around the pain. I adjust my level of activity or plans to make life easier when I’m in pain and turn to my go-to pain relief methods until it passes. The next day I wake up and go back to my normal routine. I never know when I’m going to get knocked down again, but I know what to do when it happens.

When people know you have an illness, sometimes, there are certain expectations they have. For instance, many people think I’m always in the hospital attached to an IV pole and if not I should be home resting. The fact that I can go out and have fun is shocking. Sorry, I’m not on my deathbed 24/7.

Every once in a while I manage to put on my party shoes and have a good time. Am I allowed to have fun? I’ve received comments that basically insinuate that I shouldn’t be out because if I’m not in bed 24/7 I’m going to end up in the hospital. Insert major eye roll here.

For the record, I am “allowed” to have fun. I’m allowed to do whatever I want. I shouldn’t have to explain that, but even if things aren’t being said directly to me, guess what, it usually gets back to me.

My body wages war against me EVERY SINGLE DAY. Despite that, I get up every day and go to work, socialize when I can, try to travel and enjoy life, etc. Life with a chronic illness is unpredictable. Going out and having fun doesn’t put me in the hospital, Crohn’s Disease does. Regardless if I was bed bound or trying to live my life, Crohn’s Disease is going to fuck with me no matter what.

I absolutely hate it when people tell me to sleep more or try and blame my illness on something that I did. This is not how it works!

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I’m allowed to go out and party, I’m allowed to travel, I’m allowed to lay in bed all day if I want to. I don’t answer to anyone but myself, I know my limits and I’m pretty good at listening to my body. I’ve been dealing with this disease for over 17 years now.

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Also, some people find it difficult to believe that I’m sick because I don’t “sound” sick or look sick. If they saw me the day before and I was fine I must be faking it. No, no, no. Chronic illness means things can change pretty fast. Also, I don’t know how to fake being sick, but I can fake being healthy. Chances are if you saw me looking okay, I was probably suffering on the inside without letting anyone know.

Stop assuming because I’m not bed bound and playing the role of dying girl that I’m okay. Stop assuming that when I am sick it’s because I had too much fun and should have known better. Stop assuming you understand, because there is no way you can unless you have this invisible illness.

Thanks for letting me rant today. This rant was brought to you by Prednisone, aren’t steroid rage-filled mood swings fun?

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This past weekend I saw The Big Sick. If you haven’t already you should go see this movie. It’s based on a true story about a couple navigating the first year of their relationship and dealing with cultural differences and oh yeah, the hilarity that ensues when you’re dating someone and that person falls into a coma. Yes, it’s a comedy.

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Comedian Kumail Nanjian co-wrote the script and based it on the first year of his relationship with his wife, Emily V. Gordon. Spoiler alert, since Emily co-wrote the script, I can tell you that she lives. This movie had many heartfelt moments, but more so I found myself laughing.

A large part of this story was about a young woman facing a medical crisis and the ordeal her loved ones go through. How is this a comedy? Because it’s okay to laugh. Illness, challenging moments, relationship issues, these are all a part of life. Are there certain emotions we aren’t allowed to experience when we face tough times? We are human and we need to feel something, and I (most days) choose laughter.

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I have faced some challenging moments in my life and I can only think of a few days where I never laughed, and probably because I was sedated. Even during my darkest times, I try to find the humor in any situation. I can see how people react when I crack a sick joke. There’s that brief hesitation, they know what I said is funny but is it okay to laugh? Yes! I don’t speak for all sick people, but I’m saying it’s okay to laugh.

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There’s a difference in laughing at us and laughing with us. Remember the time I had a one night stand with a surgeon and then a few weeks later ended up in the hospital with a broken vagina (vaginal fistula) needing surgery at the hospital he works at? I’m not Heathcliff from Wuthering Heights, I’m not going to stand in the marsh and brood about it. How lame. I’m going to fucking laugh about it because otherwise, I would have lost my damn mind by now.

Last year a new tv show popped up on my radar and I instantly fell in love. Speechless, starring Minnie Driver and a fantastic supporting cast, is about a family with a child with special-needs and the challenges they face. It’s a comedy and a damn good one. Thankfully ABC picked up the show for a second season. I hate getting attached to a new show that gets the axe way too soon.

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What I love about Speechless, among other things, is that it doesn’t just focus on the illness. In this case, one of their kids suffers from Cerebral Palsy. It’s about the entire family and what they go through with a special needs kid. Again, like The Big Sick and in life, there are heartfelt moments among all the jokes.

When you have a chronic illness your family adjusts to your special needs. Life doesn’t stop, it continues, just with a few changes. Your family finds a way. Why must I wallow in all the bad moments of my life? The world can be a depressing place, why make it worse?

Laugh at yourself. Laugh at your illness. Laugh at the weird moments. Laugh at the tough moments. Laugh at the worst moments because those are the best laughs.

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You would think it’s common sense that fatigue comes with a chronic illness, but some people don’t really understand. Right now, as I’m writing this (from bed), I want to go to sleep. I slept through the night, went to bed on time and woke up after my alarm went off. When I woke up, I felt drugged almost. All day I fought to keep my eyes open. At work, I went to the bathroom to pee and closed my eyes for a second and almost dozed off. True story.

I’m not in a flare up right now, but I’m not in remission, meaning I still have active disease. I don’t have the same levels of energy as normal people. You would think that is obvious, but sadly it’s not. Also, please don’t suggest that I just need more sleep. No, that’s not it. Crohn’s Disease is an auto-immune disease, meaning my own body is fighting me. I’m at war with my own body EVERY SINGLE DAY. It’s exhausting.

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I also suffer from anemia, another side order that comes with the main entree of Crohn’s Disease. I see a hematologist and get iron IV infusions to bring my iron levels up. It helps, but if I have active disease I’m never going to be 100%.

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I just have to know my limits. I need to know when to take a step back and relax. Not always the case, but I try. Again, getting more sleep isn’t the answer. I just have to ration the energy I have. A lot of people use the spoon theory to explain this. This is where the term “spoonies” comes from.

In the past I’ve managed to be physically active, even with active disease, but sometimes that isn’t always the case. It’s been almost 17 years and I’ve adjusted to a life with limitations. Sometimes I can do it all and other times I can’t. How do you handle fatigue? You manage your life around it somehow. On a day like today I went straight home. If I had any plans I would have cancelled them.

Driving home was a challenge, I may have taken a few yellow lights just to get home faster. The thought of collapsing in bed kept me going those last few minutes. As soon as I got home, made myself something to eat, changed and fell into bed, I didn’t fall asleep. Surprise! Like I said, more sleep isn’t really the answer. But just laying in bed not having to worry about ANYTHING made me feel ten times better.

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I’m not lazy, my body is physically depleted and I have zero fucks to give about anything. There are casualties to the war that wages on inside my body, and my energy is victim number one. Drinking a cup of coffee or getting more sleep isn’t going to help, so I know you mean well, but please stop suggesting it.

There’s no simple answer here besides achieving remission. I just have to try and continue to manage my fatigue. Time for a nap.

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I used to suffer from terrible gas pains, they were the worst. I can’t really explain it, but if I laid down and turned on my side I could relieve the pain by passing gas, yes, farting away the pain. It was amazing.

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Now a days, it’s not really the same thing. Do people with ostomies fart? Yes, we fart. However, our stoma doesn’t have a sphincter, meaning, I have no control. It’s why we have to have a bag sealed around the stoma.

You normal indoor plumbing people have a sphincter, and therefore control when you go. Ever hold in a fart? Thank your sphincter.

I miss being able to fart when I need to, I now have to wait for the gas to come out, and I can’t really shake it out. The problem is my stoma lets gas out whenever, sometimes quietly and sometimes it can get a little noisy. I can put my hand over my stoma and muffle it if I’m in a meeting or somewhere with people and it’s quiet. If I’m home or by myself, I don’t care. I let my stoma sing!

When I do fart, you can’t smell it. The bag is sealed and that keeps in odor. My bag will balloon up, gas fills up the volume of an empty space (science). You won’t notice, I will. I will “burp” the bag, let out the gas, when I go to the bathroom. The beauty of this is that you can’t smell my farts, I can release the odor elsewhere and use an air fresher to cover my tracks.

I wouldn’t trade my ostomy for indoor plumbing, but I miss being able to fart on my own! If you have an ostomy you know what I’m talking about. There’s a certain joy in farting that we no longer have. Don’t take your farts for granted.

Did I say farts too much? Also, yes, girls fart. Deal with it.

I work a full time job and if you are reading this then you know I have a chronic illness and with that comes sick days. When I’ve made the decision that I can’t go into work I then have to call work and let them know, usually I call my boss (or text). Without fail I always feel guilty.

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When I’m in pain or not feeling well you don’t always hear it in my voice. How am I supposed to sound when my bowels are inflamed? I’m not coughing or sneezing, I don’t have a cold. I may sound a little tired, but I pretty much sound the same, just not as happy as I usually am. There’s this feeling that we have to “act” sick to convince people we aren’t faking it, which sounds absurd.

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Part of the reason that I feel I have to convince someone I’m sick is because I have what is known as an “invisible illness.” You can’t see my internal turmoil. Crohn’s Disease is autoimmune, which means I’m being attacked by my own immune system. My body wages war against me every day and it is EXHAUSTING. You can read more about this in a post I wrote for The Mighty.

Back to my original point, feeling guilty. I don’t know why, but it never fails. Here is what goes through my mind on mornings when I decide to call out sick:

  • Is it really that bad?
  • Can I make it out of bed?
  • What do I have to do today at work that can wait?
  • What if I get up and shake it off?
  • What if I just go in until lunch time and take a half day or leave early?
  • What if this is all in my head?
  • What if they get mad that I’m not at work?
  • Will I get into trouble?
  • How many sick days do I have left?
  • Is this just a one day thing?

Having all these thoughts run through my mind on top of feeling like shit is physically and mentally exhausting. These are all things I shouldn’t even think about, but I do. I once had a coworker tell me, “You’re not that important, we can survive without you.” Ouch, but context. The point she was trying to make was, no one is going to die if you can’t come in, stop worrying about. The only thing I should be thinking about is my health.

Easier said than done.

I don’t think I’ll ever make any progress on this, but I will try.

 

 

I read a post online from Lena Dunham that gave me actual chills.

In an Instagram post thanking Refinery29 for publishing an article titled "People Need To Stop Talking About Lena Dunham's Weight", she explained why she rejects the claim that her weight loss is "a triumph":

I actually haven’t watched Girls since the second season, at first I loved everything about Lena Dunham, she spoke her mind and it was fabulous. I wasn’t a fan of everything she said, but I still have a lot of respect for her and sometimes she says things that really stick with me.

“I’ve accepted that my body is an every changing organism, not a fixed entity – what goes up must come down and vice versa. I smile just as wide no matter my current size because I’m proud of what this body has seen and done and represented. Chronic illness suffered. Body-shaming vigilante.”

This right here is something we need to remind ourselves of on a daily basis. Our bodies are constantly changing, we have been through a lot and we are still standing. Our scars represent the battles we have won.

“So my weight loss isn’t a triumph . . . “

My weight goes up and down in between flare-ups, thank you Crohn’s Disease. These days I’m pretty much around a size 6 (US size), compared to the barely size 0 back in the day, which was awful. Skin and bones. Now, anytime I drop a few pounds, people who don’t really know much about me will comment on my weight loss if they notice it. Congratulating me. Weight loss isn’t a celebration for everyone. It’s not something I celebrate, it’s something I fear.

I’m not talking about people who choose to live a healthy life and get fit. That’s great and I know not easy. Weight loss celebrations aren’t universal. All of our bodies and health journeys are different. Weight loss isn’t the ultimate achievement that everyone needs to strive towards, being healthy is the goal. Celebrate health.

When I was first diagnosed with Crohn’s Disease I was severely underweight. I remember when I hit 100 pounds, my mom and I had a little celebration. It was a struggle to stay about 100, every flare up would hit hard and knock five pounds off, if not more, easy. Five pounds on a tiny 100 pound girl is a lot. I was always so weak, it made it difficult to fight the flare ups.

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It wasn’t until 10 years after my diagnosis that I hit a normal healthy weight. I had to buy bigger clothes, which was a good thing. I used to purchase clothes from the little girls section, and while cheaper, the styles weren’t always meant for a 21 year old. Having some curves and feeling stronger was such a relief.

Even though I’m no longer underweight, if I get hit with a bad flare I easily drop 10 pounds and I’m close to being underweight again. Some people who don’t know what is really going on don’t mind saying things like, “Oh wow, you dropped a few pounds, good for you.” I know they mean well, but ugh, stop. I’m battling a chronic illness and it’s getting the better of me, I don’t need your mindless observations. Weight loss isn’t always great.

One time during that first year after being diagnosed, a person who I will not name here, also an actual blood relative and someone who had the same disease (not my mom) actually told me, “You can never be too skinny.” Are you fucking crazy? Yes, you can be too skinny, being underweight is an actual problem. People die from undernourishment.

I know, most people don’t know this so that’s why I’m talking about it. Weight loss isn’t always a celebration, weight gain was always the goal for me. Trust me, there have  been comments like, “Just eat more,” or, “Wish I could borrow the disease to lose a few pounds.” Even better is when people tell me I’m so lucky because I can eat whatever I want and not have to worry about gaining weight. Stop, just stop.

It’s so common to celebrate weight loss people just don’t even think about how our bodies are so complex and different and not everyone has the same physical goals.

“Because my body belongs to ME-at every phase, in every iteration, and whatever I’m doing with it . . . “

My body belongs to me.