I probably should be on Substack but it is easier to be where I have been before. So here we are. My goal as always, is to make poop something we can talk about. It is a really shitty thing that we need to discuss sometimes.
This past spring I had a flare. And when I say flare, I don’t mean my stomach was upset. I mean I went to work and felt (and said out loud to my boss) like I was on drugs. The hallway felt long. The walls were wavy. My feet were cement. I could not leave my chair.
The following days were a blur. I was in bed all the time, could not work. When I was not in bed I was, you guessed it, in the bathroom. A day or two after my initial “attack” I felt better. The next morning, I had an accident a few feet from the bathroom just down the hall in our house. After that, came endless messages to my GI doctor who I have known for over 20 years. Then messages to my PCP who is the aboslute best. Tests were issued, bloodwork drawn, appointments made. All the while, I could barely function. The funny thing was, on the outside, I looked okay. That is the crazy thing about IBD and most auto immune diseases, you look okay. Blessing and a curse.
At this point, some context is needed. In 1999, a few days after we (IYKYK) conceived Kyra, I started bleeding and had to go to the bathroom ALL the time. We had our nephew Jacob up to visit. We went for a trail ride and I spent my time in the outhouse. Many anxious moments and doctor appointments later, I was told I had Ulcerative Colitis and was pregnant. Again, blessing and a curse. The pregnancy was tough, involving 2 weeks of hospitalization and bowel rest. Followed by a second pregnancy with our son which (warning-graphic!) involved 6 weeks of leave in medicated enemas at night prior to his birth. So when I had pregnancy amnesia and wanted a third, Dave reminded me that the times before were not easy to say the least.
Back to present day…It turns out, a flare at age 54 is much scarier than one at 30. It shook me to my core. I have had many flares but this was the worst since the initial one over 25 years ago. I had moments in the middle of the night that I swear my deceased parents visited me and got me through. I was not sure of my fate and had more than one instance of thinking this may be my last few days here. I cannot say that enough. I really felt that this could be it.
Thankfully, things turned a corner, and with steroids and a new biologic, I slowy improved in the summer months. At this point, I am feeling much better. My hair is falling out by the handful but that is a small price to pay to not shit my pants. My point is…we need to talk about this stuff.
