A Positive Struggle

"I just feel like everything is so overwhelming right now" "That's totally normal"

Amidst all the drama of my surgery, a close family friend of ours was diagnosed with cancer and very unexpectedly passed away. It was very fast, sudden, and no one really saw it coming, at least not this soon. It was my best friend's mother, and my mom's best friend. They met in prenatal classes and me and my bff were born 3 days apart. Needless to say, she was like my second mom.

With all of this happening and the amount of time I've had to be by myself and think, I've really had things put into perspective.

I've had a hard time dealing with the impact of my surgery and that's made it hard to keep positive. 

As a mental exercise, whenever I'm out and about I try to notice things that I'm grateful for, or notice things or people that I'm more fortunate than.  Needless to say this Thanksgiving, I will be very prepared. 

I feel like this has been a great way for me to try and keep humbled about my life. My surgery was life altering, but it wasn't life stopping, in fact, it was life saving. I just need to remember that and focus on the good and not the bad. I'm adding a page to my blog called "Positives" where I'm going to list all the stuff I think of. 

I hope all you spoonies are staying happy and healthy <3

My Crazy Roommates

"They're crazy. All of them!"

Roommates are difficult to live with when you spend months planning, deciding and agreeing with when you are about to live with some of your best and closest friends. Getting strangers as roommates is QUITE the experience. Let me fill you in on some of the characters I had to share a living space with over the past month.

Nervous Nelly - This girl was a few years older than me, the only other patient under 60. She was only there for one night. They wheeled her in in the evening, and she got very upset that she wasn't in a private room. I mean, come on, you're there for ONE NIGHT. The next day when doctors removed her stitches she nearly had an anxiety attack. It was exhausting to be around someone who was so on edge.

Bedpan - This woman had been in the hospital since October. Like forever. I dont know what she was in for, but it wasn't good and she was on 5 days bed rest. Which meant she used the bed pan. Ew. One time she had a phone conversation WHILE TAKING A DUMP ON THE BED PAN.....I don't understand why these people exist...

Dilaudid Queen - This woman was small and spry and a smoker and she looooooved her dilaudid. She took more meds in her week after surgery than I did in my 21 days. She would request a 4mg dilaudid and then another 2mg breakthrough tab less than an hour later. Not good. 2mg was what they would give me the whole time, even after my surgery. Towards the end she would request pain meds, nap, then go for a long walk...someone in that much pain wouldn't be able to walk much. Just sayin'.

The Whale - This woman had a weight problem. I feel bad nicknaming her the whale, but I couldn't come up with something that wasn't mean at all. She had a stomach stapling surgery, and for her sake, thank god. Her weight was obviously at a very risky level. She had to turn sideways to get in the bathroom, and that was all the walking she did. I felt bad for her actually because I would pass my evenings eating chips and soda crackers with margarine while she was only allowed broths. Ouch. I love food. I hope things go well for her. 

The Grinch - This woman was in the bed accross from me who sat there looking sour all hours of the day. She won the curtain off with me. This basically means we had a stand off. She won. I drew my curtain, sacrificing space for minimal privacy. I never forgave her for that.  

Nurse Ratchet - Well, well, well, Nurse Ratchet. What a character. This woman was a retired nurse, which is essentially all of the nurses worst nightmare. I once heard an experienced nurse use the phrase that nurses "eat their young". This is what Nurse Ratchet did. Every little thing that a nurse would do she would nitpick apart, criticize and complain about. She also made them remove her catheter right after her surgery, despite the fact that she had a bladder condition. She used a commode. She would hop on the commode and ride that thing like a motor cycle. It was traumatizing. She was just so awful to the nurses. They didn't deserve it. 

The Forgetful Commode - There was this little old lady, literally, she was 90, who was in the bed next to me for some part of it. The poor dear had Alzheimer's. But oh my goodness that sure made things so irritating. She would wake up in the middle of the night and pull up the curtain and ask me where she was. She also never called the nurses when her IV beeped off, so eventually I just started doing it for her. It was sad that she was losing her memory, but it made being her roommate a job in and of itself. 

Mrs. Cranky - Mrs. Cranky. Where do I even begin? This lady was probably in her 80s. I don't think she had a very major surgery done, but boy oh boy she made a big deal of it. She wasn't losing her memory, but she was losing her hearing and her marbles. She was almost completely deaf, which meant that all the staff had to basically yell at her so that she could hear them, which meant some very abrupt wakeup calls for me in the middle of the night. Mrs. Cranky would sift in and out of sleep, randomly yelling in between her snoozes. One time, when my best friend was visiting me, she woke up, yelled "Debbie, I thought we were friends!" and promptly went back to sleep. Let me put it this way, there was no Debbie. At least not around us. Mrs. Cranky would refuse to use her incentive spirometer. She also refused to get up and even attempt to walk, stand, or even sit in a chair. She also abused the nurses. Playing mind games like yelling at them saying "I am requesting a transfer" or "Why are you punishing me? What did I ever do to you?" When they did nothing but cater to her every whim. Mrs. Cranky also had problems with incontinence. . . big problems. I'm talking 3 times in 2 hours in the middle of the night. Kill me. That mean 3 bed changes and a lot of yelling. Mrs. Cranky eventually ended up getting moved to a private room because of all the grief she caused. Lucky bitch. 

Needless to say, I never want to share my living space with anyone, ever again. 

How To Convince People You Aren't Disgusting

"It's been a week since I showered" "Really!?! I can't even tell"

When I was in the hospital I had a number of things attached to me post surgery. I had a catheter, a rectal drain, two IVs, oxygen, and a drain. I basically was an octopus, so there was no showering for a while.

What did I do to make myself seem less of a disgusting mess while not showering for a while? I'll tell you.

1. The Miracle of the Bird Bath

Well, this is pretty self explanatory, but you get a face cloth (or several) dip it in hot water, and scrub      your smelly bits. I'm talking armpits, under the boobs, groinal...

My personal favourite!

2. Antiperspirant

I'm sorry, but I don't care if you're all natural, and don't like the idea of shutting off your sweats, but if you're going more than 3 days without a shower, you need some 24/7 protection. 

She's got the right idea!

3. The Bun and the Band

Once your hair gets greasy, there isn't any saving it. You can use dry shampoo for a day or so, but honestly the product builds up and works against you. My go-to greasy hair cover up is a top knot and a stretchy headband. It works wonders and keeps your guests from thinking you're completely gone. 

First World Problems in the Hospital

"This place is insane"

I've spent 21 out of the past 30 days in hospital. No joke. It hasn't been a fun time. There has been a lot of pain, a few scary moments, a lot of visits from family, a few laughs, and a lot of healing. But today I bring a rant. 

I'm proud to be Canadian, one of my favourite things being a spoonie and Canadian is our health care system. It's free. Wonderfully free. Of those 21 days I spent in hospital, I had a major surgery, multiple scans, CTs, procedures etc and it didn't cost me a dime. But it's not without flaw.

The hospital I stayed in is disgusting. To the point where I questioned it thinking "Is this really Canada? Really?" The hospital I stayed in was built right after the Second World War, dating it enormously. The building is so old you can't even drink the water from the taps because the pipes contaminate the water. Ew. The bathrooms are so small there is hardly enough space for a person of my stature (5'2 and barely 120 pounds) and an IV pole, let alone a bigger person, and IV and a crisis! There was no air conditioning either, and in August, holy crap that was awful. 

I stayed in a ward, which means a room that has 4 beds in it. My roommates were seldom less than 45 years older than me. That sucked. Having roommates at all was awful. The room was cramped and crowded, there was absolutely no privacy, as only thin curtains divided the space. If I was in pain, my roommates heard it. If they were in pain, I heard it. Night time was a nightmare because not only my IV pump would wake me up, but so would the other three womens'. 

The other thing that really got me was how sick the other patients were and how little was being done to protect us from each other. The other patient, I don't know if it was the stubbornness that came with old age, depression due to illness, or what, but they were SO SICK. Like, couldn't get up to use the bathroom sick. I was introduced to the concept of bedpans and commodes over this hospitalization. EW. When you hear someone literally beside you pooping and peeing you get freaked out. That's disgusting, and dirty. And sometimes they wouldn't ask the nurse to clean it for hours and it would reek.

A lot of the patients were very uncompliant as well. They would refuse to try and get up and walk to aid their recovery, or use their incentive spirometers to regain full use of their lungs after surgery. They would complain about catheters, IVs, food, lack of food, nurse's attitudes, nurse's organization and methods, doctor's schedules, and just about anything else they could think of. 

I can't believe this is acceptable hospital procedure in a country as nice as Canada. I know it seems selfish and naive, but good lord no hospital should be built ever again that without only private rooms. Honestly. it is near impossible to get a private or a semi private room in that hospital because there are only 1 or 2, per unit even though they don't really take up that much more space. 

The part that enrages me the most was that a private room was given to a particularly horrible roommate of mine because she was so awful. I tell no lies. She was just so awful to the nurses and the other patients, so disruptive to our sleep and recovery that she was moved into a private room, despite the fact that she was probably the most uncompliant patient ever. Lucky bitch. 

The truth is, I shouldn't complain, I was treated very well, the nurses were amazing and totally run off their feet. I'm getting better. But let me add one FINAL insult to injury: there was no wifi. 

I'm a Liar Obviously

"I am here to stay" "Good job"

So, in my last post I said I would be back more regularly. Obviously I lied. Forgive me, I ended up in the hospital with an abscess and needed antibiotics, a drain and fluids.

Now I'm home again (with wifi finally yay!) and am in a "home hospital". Luckily, I was able to get a portable IV pump called a CADD (I don't know what that stands for) so I can do the IV antibiotic, one called ampicillin from home. It's awesome. I still have a perk drain in my side and the antibiotics/pump are heavy, but it is MILES better than being in the hospital. That place, is a nightmare. I'm going to have so many posts just to talk about all of my "experiences" in the hospital. From roommates to recovery, I've got a LOT of material to cover. 

Where Have I Been?

"I'm going to the grocery store, can I get you anything?" "Lays Plain Baked Chips please!"

Well, well, well, look who decided to keep blogging? I bet you all thought I had given up. Quite the contrary. 

I actually went to camp for a week (NOT bringing my laptop to that, it's my time away from real life) and then had surgery. I'll get into the details of surgery when I feel ready. It's still pretty fresh (less than 12 days ago!) and I'm still adjusting.

The good news is that I'm alive and well and back to stay.

I am going to use this post as basically a splatter of word vomit to gush about my current obsessions. I am taking a semester off of university to recover so I've developed some interests to keep myself occupied. They are, as follows:

1. Home Decor

• A friend of mine who also blogs runs a home renovation/decor company (see her blog here!) and I was talking to her about it and I'm hooked. I have no less than 5 home decor magazines on the go right now, follow a few twitter accounts, follow a few blogs, I'm a woman obsessed. My parents agreed to let me design the renovation for their ensuite bathroom and I'm thrilled!

2. Lays Baked Plain Chips

• They're not flavourful. They're very plain, but for some reason I love them. I always have. I first tried them alongside a Subway sandwich but now I can't stop. They're slightly salty, and easy to digest. The perfect Crohnie snack. 

Cuties like this are so fun!

              3. Claw Clips

• I don't know why I am 20 years into figuring out this, but claw clips don't leave an elastic bump in your hair....AND they create the illusion of having more hair, which for me isn't a bad thing. Mine is so thin.

                  4. Pinterest

• When I first got my account, I didn't think much of it. I got it to share ideas with a photographer for a shoot that I was doing makeup for. But recently, with my inability to do whatever I want, I've been pinning up a storm of dream boards, plans and other thrills for the future. 

I'm back now with vengeance and I WILL be posting more regularly. 

Stay strong beauties!

The New Magazine

It's no secret that the experience of pooping is, well, an experience. 

A lot of people need some entertainment while they wait to drop off the kids to the pool. In the olden days this meant reading a book or magazine, sometimes doing a crossword if you really needed some stimulation. Or, at worst, the back of shampoo bottles and toothpaste tubes. And then came the birth of smartphones. 

Pooping was changed forever. 

With apps, texting, internet and ebooks, taking a dump has never been so fun. 

With modern technology I think some people take it a little too far....I know people the being their entire laptop into the loo to watch a movie while they drop a deuce. That's just a bit unnecessary. At least in my opinion. 

However, there are few things worse for a hard core Crohnie than settling into the bathroom for a good 20 minute session and realizing I forgot my iPhone. I actually feel devastated. (I'm a bit of a drama queen). 

With the world of apps, sources of entertainment when you need to go number two are infinite. However, as a person with Crohn's, my apps need to have a couple qualities to pass the bathroom test. 

It has to be interesting enough to be able to distract me from my pain, and has to be quiet (for public bathrooms) but it can't be overly interactive just in case I'm in too much pain to move my fingers for a few moments. 

Here are my favourite apps for the lav:

1. Twitter - it's my go to. I check in to see what's going on with other people with chronic illnesses. Misery lives company. (Follow me on twitter: @chronicbeauty12)

2. Imgur - it's simply images. You scroll through and there are memes, posters, jokes, cute animals, amazing photography, really anything. It's AMAZING to distract from the pain. 

3. Solitaire - this one is great because you don't need service or wifi to play. 

4. Wanelo - this one is really girlie. It's basically a bunch of products and the websites that sell them. Not the most exciting. But it really helps me, when I can focus on something pretty. 

5. Places I've Pooped - this hilarious app basically drops a virtual pin on a map documenting all the places you've dropped a dookie. It's fun to go back and look at all of the places where I've left a stink. (My map is crowded with pins!) 

I LOVE Toilet Humour

"I am better at describing the intricacies of poo than wine" 

No sense in wasting TP when it's just a Pee ;)

I can credit my sense of humour with keeping me from sliding into huge depressions at every flare up of my Crohn's disease.

There is a VERY special place in my heart for toilet humour, and basically NOTHING can gross me out. 

This is a musical number performed by the hit show Scrubs, that I think every person with IBD should see, and probably memorize. 

Man is it catchy.

Sit back, enjoy and listen to my Crohnie theme song: Everything Comes Down to Poo

Lub de Dub

"Listen to the heart, you will hear it. Lub de dub. Lub de dub."

As a particularly talkative, understanding and articulate patient I was often guilted into agreeing to do medical student teachings as an inpatient at my children's hospital. It was a teaching student and I was a good teacher, so I always felt obligated even though I felt awful. 

This one time, I got roped into doing a two hour long basic physical teaching session to a bunch of new med students. It was awful. I was really sick and I didn't know it was going to be two hours long when I agreed to it. 

When they walked in, they were four, young, male, extremely attractive med students. McDreamy McSteamy McHottie and McSexdream. All of a sudden it wasn't SOOOO bad. I was 13, I wasn't going to pass up two hours staring at some hotties instead of my deadpan, way outdated hospital wallpaper. 

Even with their hotness, after about an hour and a half of listening to one of my gastroenterologists (Crohn's doctors) talk to the students and have them poke and prod at me I was almost at my wits end. 

There is something you have to remember about doing med school teachings. They don't have experience. They have to really dig to feel anything because they don't know what anything feels like. They were supposed to be feeling my poor, inflamed, sore colon, it felt more like they were digging for my kidneys which reside almost in your back.... OUCH.

My GI started explaining to the four, McMedStudents about how the heart sounds. My GI was from central asia. I'm not sure if it was India or Pakistan or somewhere around there, I couldn't tell (forgive me), but in order to explain the sound of the heart beat he began saying "Lub de dub, lub de dub. you will hear the lub de dub, lub de dub". 

I was sick and tired so restraining my giggles wasn't tooo difficult, but the med students didn't fair as well. I saw the corners of their mouth being tugged towards their ears as their will power was tested. 

 Then, IT happened.

Something happened I never thought I would ever witness in my life. Something I have never witnessed since.

Mid sentence, my GI reached behind himself, and ungracefully picked a wedgie through his white lab coat!!! He never even stopped talking!!!

My mouth dropped. 

I looked around to see if anyone else had just experienced what I had. 

They had. Only two. My mother. And one poor, med student. Lets call him McScarred-for-Life now.

I couldn't handle it. I broke. I couldn't stifle my laughter. Neither could my mom. Neither could McScarred-for-Life. 

I crammed my blanket into my mouth, turned my head in laughing shame. I'm going to hell for sure. 

It was one of the most hilarious moments I have ever experienced in my life as a Professional Sick Person.

Tell me yours!

My War With The Mirror

"I feel fat." "Fat is not a feeling, what do you really feel?"

Jr high, middle school, that little waste land between elementary school and high school, what ever you want to call it, is a rough time for just about everyone. Especially physically. It's the years of bad acne, braces, growth spurts, puberty, and really bad smells. Eugh. I never want to go back there. Thank god it's over.

                        Jr. High......

Those years feel like your body is totally out of control even for someone without a chronic illness. But for me, they were horrendous. Not only was I going through all of the normal changes that young teens do, my body was also being morphed by both my disease and my medications. 

When I started Jr. high at age 12, I had been really sick, so I came in weighing a paltry 90lbs. I was put on prednisone, and before Christmas I was up to (a much healthier) 115lbs. Still extremely small, butting was such a drastic change, I was devastated. This was the first of many rapid weight fluxuations I would fa over the next 8 years. 

I had no way to cope, no strategies to deal with my anguish, and I began to develop a very poor body image. 

My self-esteem was ok. I was able to recognize qualities in myself, like my ability to make people laugh, my intelligence, my communication skills, that made me realize I was a worth while person, I just hated the shell I was living in. 

At 12 years old I had stretch marks, love handles, acne, braces, thin hair, puffy cheeks, and I hated it all. I don't know if I've ever fully recovered from that initial blow to my relationship with my body. On top of it all, my body was weak from illness and wasn't recovering. I felt so betrayed. My body wasn't beautiful, (At least I didn't believe it was), it couldn't do anything wonderful, like push-ups. Or the splits, or run, or jump, or anything like that, it didn't even work well as a body as basic function. 

No wonder I had issues.

It's taken a lot of time to build up the love for my body. I really have to credit dance (as seen in this post) for renewing my faith in my body's ability to do something admirable, makeup, clothing, and my boyfriend for helping me believe that I am beautiful and desirable, and my unwavering hope for remission, that someday, my body will be normal. 

Ignore this mess below. My iPad wouldn't let me delete it. It was a failed link attempt. 

► 1:01► 1:01 www.youtube.com/watch?v=jFbvq8BYEnI

► 1:01► 1:01

A Puppy a Day Keeps My Crohn's at Bay

"I love dogs. And kitties. And llamas. Actually all animals."

From the time that I was born until I was about 8 years old my family had a valley bulldog. He was kind of mean looking, but honestly acted more like a cat. He just liked to lay in the sun. I feel deep down in the heart of my brain that he is the reason for my love and lack of fear, of animals. 

Animals play a really special part in my life. I personally believe that animals have an innate ability to recognize when someone needs them. When I'm sick, I swear that animals zoom towards me. Not so much cats, although my cat does tend to nap with me when I'm sick. 

               Llama animal therapy! 

But dogs, goats, sheep, and other larger mammals always seem to gravitate towards me. 

I don't have my own pet now due to living in university housing, so I shamelessly mooch off other people's furry children. Mostly dogs. 

I have a couple that I visit regularly, and it's kind of embarrassing but their pups won't leave my side while I'm there. I don't even feed them treats or anything. They just never leave me, and I love it. 

I find animals bring a sense of calm, contentness into me. I relax and smile and pet. It slows me down and makes me feel so much better. It's just like that scene from 50/50 when the main character gets a greyhound named Skeletor.

My top picks for dogs that I want:

Grey hound

Great Dane

Standard poodle

Makeup Is My Armour

This morning, my sister shaved her head. That's right. All of it. It was past her shoulder and then bam, it was gone. 

Nope it wasn't an act of charity, she wasn't donating her hair. She also wasn't trying to beat the process of chemo. Her hair was just so damaged from a couple years of a torturous routine of bleaching, dying, colouring and heat styling that it was simply ruined. She had to start fm scratch. 

Ok Jack, what does this have to do with your blog? - You all must be thinking. 

I assure you it does.

After my sissy cut off all her hair she exclaimed that she looked butch and felt naked. I don't blame her.  My sister is beautiful, but she definitely has a strong Dutch look to her, which isn't as daintily feminine as other hereditary lines. 

I immediately came to her rescue by telling her that by wearing long earrings, feminine clothes and flawless makeup that no one would question her gender identity. She agreed and felt better.

I got thinking, I use makeup in the same manor to my Crohn's. I use it like an armour to protect myself from the world. I might take up to an hour applying my makeup just to hangout and watch a movie with my boyfriend or go out for a drink and wings with a friend. Seems a bit over kill right?

Wrong.

My makeup is a way for me to feel extra beautiful. I can feel beautiful without it no doubt, but the process of applying it is like treating myself to a spa, then going out knowing I'm looking my best shifts my brain focus from being ashamed of my illness or just feeling rotten, to having a spark in my eye that makes confident enough to order a girlie drink that I wouldn't usually (I'm a rum and coke girl).

My makeup is an armour against my Crohn's. For me it says: you can take a lot away from my life but you CANNOT take away my need to feel beautiful. 

Its hard to feel beautiful when you're running to the bathroom 10x a day, or have doctors shoving cameras up your bum, or have side effects from medication that alter your appearance without your consent. But makeup is always there for me for a little self esteem boost. 

There is comfort in feeling beautiful in your own skin, whether that takes makeup, clothes, jewelry, sports, dance, or anything else.

                        Bald is Beautiful!

I hope you all feel beautiful today!

Dance Yourself Clean

"How can you get through a dance class when you're this sick?" "It's exhausting and painful, but it makes me so happy that I don't care"

Ok, I'm not this good, but you get my point.

I've danced on and off my whole life. I've done ballet, hip hop, jazz, belly dancing, folk, tap, musical theatre and burlesque. 

Dancing has been a saviour for me. Not only has it kept me in shape (sort of) it has been like therapy. 

Nothing can cheer me up like a ballet class. It's impossible for me to feel sorry for myself or frustrated with my body and disease, when I'm dancing. Even when I'm trying to nail that double pirouette or hold an arabesque for just a few more seconds, it consumes me in a way that doesn't leave room for me to be thinking about my disease. 

Trying to hold a balancing pose is like meditation. I've can't say how many times people have recommended I try meditation to help my Crohn's. Dance is better meditation than me trying to sit on a cushion and say Om. But when I try to balance in fifth position, or in an arabesque, my mind is blanker than a fresh chalkboard.

 Despite being quite ill, I'll drag my sorry butt into the studio or rehearsal space and forget my woes for a while. 

I have done this consistently for the past 8 years and it's benefitted me more than any other form of exercise or stress relief. 

When I dance I hardly feel pain, I don't feel sad. It's a euphoria that dancers understand. It's my favourite thing to do. And it helps me cope with my illness in a way that is unexplainable. 

I wish that everyone could experience dance the same way I do, it would probably help a lot. 

On My Own, With No One Here Beside Me

I've been pretty independent as long as I can remember.  A little kid I'd sit and play by myself, or read, or pick at flowers and grass. I didn't need anyone to entertain me really. I had that DOWN.

As I got older this trend continued. My parents consider me very responsible, letting me go to our local playground without them before many of the other neighbourhood parents did the same.  Booya I have cool parents. 

I was babysitting by the time I was 10, and I had my first formal employment teaching kids gymnastics at age 13. Since then I've almost always had two part time jobs. I got my learners license the day I turned 16, I was EAGER to spend my birthday in the DMV if it meant more independence.

I moved out of my parents house when had just turned 18 to go into university residence and I never looked back. 

So what's the point? You may be asking yourself. Jack blogs about Crohn's, and chronic illness and some beauty related things. What is she rambling on about????

Is the fact that I have a lot of pride. Not like in that excessive way that religion says, more just like, I don't like to accept my own circumstances. When my Crohn's flares up, I lose a lot of my independence, and its one of the most frustrating things I have to deal with. 

Right now I'm pretty sick. So I've lost my ability to walk to work. So I either have to have my mom drive me, or take a cab. 

On weekends I come home to get my parents to help me with my laundry. 

My roommate and boyfriend help me cook and make sure I'm eating. 

I'm so lucky to have people in my life that care enough to support me through this, but damn I wish I could just do it myself. I feel like a burden and a constant pain to them, and if I could, I would be doing everything on my own. Believe me I would. I hate feeling like this. I feel like a little girl that can't take care of herself and that is so frustrating. 

I swear when I'm well again I'm going to be so independent. It'll be fantastic. 

 

Bums and Booze

"Are you allowed to drink on your medication?" "Um, not really, but whateverrrrr"

Crohnies are people. That's something that should seem like a total no brainer, but people forget that we like to have fun and mess around and feel normal. Sometimes, this involves alcohol. 

Before anyone gets their panties in a knot, I'm of legal drinking age in my country. Glad we got that sorted.

As normal as we like to feel, those of us who are dealing with a chronic illness do get affected by the sauce a little differently than others. 

I distinctly remember my sister making a comment to me the morning after I had been at a party: "Your poop smells like rum" I guess there was no hiding what I drank the night before. 

I'm not saying that drinking isn't dangerous. It totally is in large and frequent quantities. But just because you have a chronic illness, doesn't mean you can't enjoy the occasional cocktail. You totally can. We just have to be a little more careful about it. 

Pretty much me the next day. 

As someone with Crohn's disease, the hangover can be brutal. Throw the dehydration, weakness, headaches, and upset tummy out the window. We get the frisky whiskies, the rum runs and tequila bum a lot worse than the average person. They send us running to the cocktail cockpit to relieve ourselves. 

Some of our meds, conditions, and bodies can interfere with our processing of alcohol. Sometimes due to a lack of nutrition, rapid changes in weight or mood, can change our experience getting boozed up.    

 

I think the biggest thing for us to remember that our bodies go through a lot on a daily basis. The poor thing gets enough stress. Alcohol is difficult for ANYONE to process let alone someone who is being bombarded with heavy medications and treatments. It's just going to take an extra toll on our bodies than other people's. 

This has rarely stopped me from having a good time chugging away with my friends. Just because I have Crohn's doesn't mean I can't have a social life! I just have to be sensible and unafraid to have a social life without drinking when I need to.

Where Will You Be When Diarrhea Strikes

"You ok?" "Yeah, I just heard some unfriendly, very ominous sounding gurgles" 

You could be here...

Or here...

Or here....

Or God forbid here...

It could be here...

I think it happened to him here...

Those girls are in ignorant bliss....

It happened to Man's best friend here...





. . .

That's the same face I make.






Hope this brought some humour to our symptoms. Have a great day!

A Picture for Fun

"I love a good pun"

My Sanctuary and My Prison

"Where did Jack go?" "Bathroom" "Of course"

I've decided to dedicate this post to my relationship with bathrooms. We have a special bond, me and the water closet. It's difficult for me to go nearly anywhere new and not become acquainted with their facilities. 

For me, the bathroom is a sanctuary, somewhere where I go to relieve myself of horrible pain. I almost always feel better walking out than I do walking in. It's a place where it's just me, and my Crohn's. It's like our together time. A time where I can just be mad at it, mad at my body, mad at my life. Where I can pray to God to smite me or at least knock me out until the pain passes. I spend more time in the bathroom than anyone else I know. I go up to 12 times a day and can stay in there for up to 20 minutes at a time. THAT'S A LOT OF TIME TO SPEND IN THE LOO! 

OH BAYBEH

Without fail, if I disappear, I have gone to the bathroom. Hey, at least I'm easy to find!

My favourite bathrooms are in fancy restaurants and hotels. They're just the nicest and cleanest, sometimes having special soaps, lotions and perfumes or real towels to dry your hands with.

I'll take it!

But in a pinch, a dirty, grimy, hasn't-been-cleaned-or-maintained-in-8-years toilet can look like a gold encrusted throne to me. 

The relief I feel when I get into a bathroom is indescribable.

I made it! I think to myself. It's like a victory every time. 

So I've painted a pretty picture of what a bathroom is to me, and all of it is true, it's just not the whole truth. 

The other half of my relationships with bathrooms is that it's my imprisoned battleground. I always have to be near one. It's like a weird form of house arrest where moving between safe checkpoints is a nerve wracking and dangerous experience. Except instead of an ankle alarm sounding, my anxiety kicks up and nothing is enjoyable until I'm back in an acceptable radius of a restroom. 

A bit hyperbolic, but accurate metaphor

And then there is the experience of actually using the bathroom. For me, this means my worst pain. I always feel relieved when I get into a bathroom because it means I made it, but then I have to put my war face on and engage in open fire. (TMI?)

The pain is so bad that I almost throw up frequently, pray for mercy, and have a difficult time keeping from screaming in pain. Not to mention that in most public washrooms the loo paper is cheap, that the wiping is rough and unpleasant. 

When I feel the pain coming on, I also feel the dread No, please no. It's only been 45 minutes. I don't want to go back in there. No. It's going to hurt. No. Please no. 

And if I forget my iPhone? I don't even want to think about that! 

Pain Management

"You ok?" "Yeah, I'm just in a bit of pain"

I deal with a lot of pain. My worst pain comes right before I need to use the bathroom and while I'm in the bathroom. My worst pain is in my left lower quadrant. So essentially on the left side of my belly just under my belly button. Ouch.

I also get lower back pain, upper abdominal pain, lower right quadrant pain. 

Mmmmm comfy.

My pain lasts for hours.

So? How do I manage this?

Good question.

I find that heat is one of the best ways to sooth the burn. Ironically. 

Heating pads and hot showers are daily pain management techniques I use. which is good because well, I love to snuggle and I love to be clean.

When heat isn't enough we call in the pills.

Diss stuff. 

 Tylenol muscle and cramps or whatever it's called. It's my go to. I use it as needed. My GP told me to take as much tylenol as I need. SO... I do.

When that's not enough?

Well, I have a small prescription to a pretty strong pain killer that I take when the pain is completely unbearable. However, when I take it I'm not really supposed to drive, or operate heavy machinery (Do hair tools count?)

I never used a pain killer before I transitioned out of the children's hospital. No idea why, but that's just how it was.

I can't tell you how many times I've been told that I need to take up meditation to deal with my pain. I'm not hugely for this. 

The last thing I can do when I'm dry heaving my empty guts from the pain I'm feeling it try and clear my mind of all thoughts. Am I right?

Regardless, pain management is a daily thing that I do just to keep truckin.

Comment below with your pain management techniques if you have any!

Losing the Light

"No. I won't do it. Nope. You think you can get me on there. You can't"

In my last post, I casually mentioned that my low blood pressure caused me to faint a couple of times last summer.

Even though it was pretty dangerous and not at all good for me, one of the situations is kind of funny when I look back on it.

Thank god I have the ability to see humour in my life....

I totally am not this poised when I faint.

 So here is the story of me fainting in a hospital. 

Last summer as part of my over achieving lifestyle, I was volunteering at my local children's hospital as a research assistant in the pain research lab (ironic I know). 

On this particular day I hadn't been feeling well to begin with, but like the trooper I am I put on my dress and heels and went in anyway. 

I was with another member of the lab down in the I.T. department, trying to get my hospital email account set up when it started to hit me. At first I just felt a little weak, so I thought I would be ok as long as I got to sit down relatively soon. 

I didn't. The lady working in the I.T. department was quite the chatterbox and kept talking...

My head started to swim Oh god. I thought. This is it. This is it. This is the end!  

I felt sick to my stomach and crouched down on the floor, luckily my co-researcher saw that I was less than feeling well and got me a chair. 

After I sat down I deteriorated, I got really dizzy, I was sweaty, shaky, the typical symptoms of being about to faint.  

Then, they called a Code Blue. In our hospitals this means cardiac arrest. It's what they call when someone goes unconscious. I wasn't fully out, but I was about a hair away from it.

Doctors came barreling in with a crash cart and started bombarding me with questions. When you're about to pass out, it's hard to answer questions about your medical history. 

They asked me if I was diabetic, and I couldn't answer, all I could think about was how my ex-boyfriend was diabetic and how I hated him. Nice Jack. 

Finally, I managed to eek out that I had Crohn's, and I think things started to make sense to the crash cart team. They kept taking care of me, and finally brought me back to a full conscious state. Then they asked me how old I was. I was 18. Too old for the children's hospital!

It's not my fault. I'm kind of small, I'm only 5'2 (on a good day), I have a small frame (I'm a lady, I'm not sharing my weight) and I have a baby face. So they had assumed I was a child patient...WOOOOW.

So next they called me an ambulance to bring me to the adult hospital. I was unaware they did this until the paramedics showed up. Rather than being grateful and concerned for my health, I had a .... different reaction to this. 

Ambulances are expensive, my Oma has had to take a couple and it's been a lot to pay for.

My initial reaction was complete and utter refusal. I was borderline rude to them. "I'm not getting in. You can't make me. I'm fine. I'm not getting in there. I'm not going. I'll walk. No. I'm not getting on that ambulance" 

Truthfully, I was a little kooky from almost passing out, and wasn't thinking very clearly....

They ended up having to call my mother who forced me to get in the ambulance after I almost passed out again while arguing with the paramedics. 

I got to the ER of the adult hospital and dealt with it all, but when looking back, I must have seemed like a total nutcase to the paramedics. 

I hope I'm not the only one who has had crazy experiences like this. 

To the paramedics....I'm sorry.