This is What I Wanted

The ostomy reversal surgery took about an hour and half on Wednesday, February 28, 2018. It went well and I'm glad to finally have it behind me. My mom went down to the Cleveland Clinic with me to help me again. Even though I hate needing her help, I am grateful for her support.  Taylor was there on surgery day and visited me again the day after surgery. She told me about all of her upcoming plans and it was a good escape for me. My Team Challenge friend, Bonnie, stopped by to visit me the day after surgery, too.

I basically just stayed in the hospital until I pooped. I pooped late on Friday, March 2nd and I was discharged Saturday, March 3rd. When I pooped for the first time out of my original asshole after surgery, I cried. Okay, I sobbed like crazy in the hospital room by myself.  It was the most emotional and happiest shit I have ever taken in my life. It may have been the least impressive shit in the history of mankind, but it was beautiful to me.

Recovery is going well for the most part. Things are progressing nicely. I've been experiencing occasional stomach aches, but they haven't been lasting for too long.  I can sit up from my bed without pushing myself up using my arms. I can bend over and tie my own shoes. I've been walking and working out on an elliptical. I even jogged today for the first time in nearly four months! At times my bowel movements are erratic, unpredictable, and uncontrollable. I've shit my pants more times in the past few weeks than I have in the past couple of years. Of course, the struggles fuck with me sometimes. When it's hard, I remind myself that this is what I wanted. I didn't want a permanent ostomy. I want to poop out of my first ass even if that means it's messy and I can't trust my bowels sometimes. Should I wear depends when I leave the house or should I risk shitting my pants in public?  I think about bathrooms, flatulence, and bowel movements all the time.  At first, the pain took my breath away whenever I sat up or stood up and walked. Thankfully, the pain has decreased significantly over the past few weeks and I'm able to move pain free now. I think I experienced more severe pain from the ostomy reversal surgery than I did from the bowel resection surgery. Since pain medicine causes constipation, I avoided pain meds after surgery day because I knew I couldn't be discharged unless I pooped. I chose to be in pain to give myself a better chance to poop and get out of there.

The past few months feel like they were an out of body experience and it feels weird to be on the other side both surgeries. As if I've detached myself from it in a way. I've been waiting for this battle with Crohn's to break me physically, mentally, or otherwise. I've been waiting for it to change who I am. It hasn't really broken me or changed me this time though. I've somehow managed to bounce back quickly whenever the current struggles fuck with me. My battle with Crohn's in 2012 seemed more difficult to deal with and definitely broke and changed me more than this current battle. Hell, even my battle with Crohn's in 2014/2015 seemed to break me and change me more than this one and it's likely because I have felt a lot sicker in the past than I have recently. I knew going into the first surgery that if I had to pick a time in my life for this to happen, this is it. I think being in shape and somewhat healthy leading into it as well as having the support of my family, friends, and employer helped me get through this as well as I have.

I had my first infusion back on Remicade on Thursday, March 15, 2018. They pre-medicated me with Benadryl and steroids because the risk of an allergic reaction is higher since I was off of Remicade for over six months. When the Benadryl hit my veins, I took a nap.  Now that I'm in full recovery mode and back on the magic juice, I'm going to start making my comeback!

Birthday Weekend 2018

I don't know where to start. I felt special and loved this weekend even though it didn't go quite as planned. This past Friday, Taylor came to visit and she arrived at the house before I got home. Without getting into the gritty details, my mom said and did some things that were mean and not hospitable to Taylor. It upset Taylor to the point of tears. When Taylor told me she didn't want to stay at my place on Friday night, I didn't blame her. I was so mad in my car on my way home when I found out what happened that I wanted to cry! Taylor did not deserve to be treated that way. My chest still feels heavy from what happened on Friday. While it annoys me to be having these feelings, it is better than being numb at the moment. 

I drafted a whole post on the bad part about it along with insight on my relationship with my mom, but I can't bring myself to share it in its entirety. I always try to keep my grievances to myself, so I'm going to share a little background on the drama that built these walls around me instead of sharing something that may cause a loss of dignity. Somewhere along the way enough proverbial stones were thrown at me for me to become numb to the pain. I don't care (at least that's what I tell myself) because it isn't worth the fight anymore. Don't get me wrong, I'm not innocent in this drama. At some point though, I realized the drama made me someone I didn't want to be and I closed myself off. I flipped an emotional switch. I stopped playing the game. I built these walls around me and I struggle to let anyone in because of it.

Taylor apologized for not being strong. I apologized for my mom. Taylor doesn't have the walls protecting her that I had. She isn't numb to the pain my mom's words can inflict and my mom's words cut her deeply. It devastated me to see the emotional pain my mom caused Taylor. Suddenly, I was no longer numb to my mom's bullshit. This time, my mom's words cut me. Taylor is stronger than she gives herself credit for. After we had time to talk about what had happened, she told me not to give up on my mom.

Big sister to the rescue! Lynn, didn't hesitate to welcome Taylor and I to stay the night at her place. I was a little terrified to be having my first sleep over since getting the ostomy. It helped that I could make myself at home and use the bathrooms whenever I needed to without feeling embarrassed. We snuggled on the couch and watched T.V. Taylor and I had tequila. It was my first time having alcohol since surgery and other than having a burning sensation around my stoma in the middle of the night, it was okay. A huge shout out to Lynn for taking us in!

Lynn had to leave early in the morning. She was awesome and let us sleep in. Taylor and I had a fun day on Saturday spending time together and catching up!  We went to the Winter Park Farmer's Market where I bought Girl Scout cookies. We strolled around Park Avenue. Taylor had her wedding ring cleaned. We ate lunch at he Cheesecake Factory and our waitress recommended a nail salon close by for pedicures. Taylor treated me to a pedicure. They used a cheese grater to remove all of my dead skin. I don't think my feet have ever been this smooth before. After getting our nails done, we went to the Florida Mall to shop for some ostomy friendly shirts I could wear to work. By this time, my pouch was full and it was easy to tell if the shirts I tried on were loose enough to hide the shit in the bag under the shirt. I got two shirts courtesy of Taylor! Thank you for spending time and money on me, Taylor! I love my feet and I love my new shirts!

When we were done at the mall, we went back to my place. We kept to ourselves and didn't interact with anyone else at the house. The tension in the house was a little awkward. Soon enough Lynn arrived for movie and pizza night in my room. We ordered pizza and watched the first and second Miss Congeniality. I enjoyed our relaxing time together.

Sunday, Taylor and I relaxed as I prepped for my colonoscopy. I was on a clear liquid diet all day. Taylor walked with me while I went rollerblading. We took a three hour nap and we watched Wild Hogs on Netflix. We watched part of the Super Bowl with my family. My mom acted as if nothing had happened. It was stressful and weird. I did an enema before we went to bed around 8:30pm.

I woke up at 4:30am on my birthday to do another enema before Taylor took me to my colonoscopy appointment. I'll blog about that later. After my colonoscopy, we stopped at Wawa and Taylor took me back to my place. We made the most of our time together! I can't wait to celebrate my 30th birthday for real when I'm fully recovered from my next surgery.

Recovery in the Hotel

After I was discharged from the hospital, my parents took me to our hotel nearby. The ten minute car ride to the hotel was uncomfortable. Every turn, bump, acceleration and stop was a little painful. I wore a nightgown with sneakers and I had a travel catheter strapped to my leg.  They dropped me off at the side entrance of the hotel. The walk to the elevator and then to our room felt like the longest walk of my life. The nurse did not strap the catheter properly on my leg. Both catheter straps fell off my leg while I was walking. My mom helped me get to the room. I was exhausted when we finally made it to the room. I had been awake all morning waiting to be discharged and I desperately wanted a nap.  My mom switched the travel catheter with one that did not strap to me. Since the catheter had to stay lower than my bladder, we hooked it to a suitcase with wheels. Whenever I got up, my mom rolled the suitcase behind me. My bladder was leashed to the suitcase!  It made it difficult to move around, so I didn't walk near as much as I should have walked.

I was almost fully dependent on my mom and dad while we were in the hotel (Thursday-Tuesday). My dad left to go back home on Saturday (12.09.17). I wasn't strong enough to get up without assistance. The suitcase holding the catheter was too heavy for me to pull. I didn't have enough hands to empty my ostomy pouch into a measuring cup to track my output before dumping it down the toilet. We had to measure it for my follow-up appointments. I couldn't bend over to empty my catheter nor could I bend over to put on socks and shoes. I could empty the JP on my own, but I couldn't hold it and shower at the same time.  My parents didn't make me leave the hotel, which I appreciated. They went out and brought me back food for each meal. They stepped up to take care of me and I'm thankful for that...even if I am a little worried how my mom will try to hold her good deeds over my head in the future. Throughout my hospital stay and hotel stay, I consistently thanked my mom and dad for everything they were doing for me. No matter how frustrated I got with the nurses, hospital, fevers, my delayed discharge, and comments my mom made, I didn't snap at my mom (or anyone except for the nurse that day in the hospital they wouldn't let me eat or drink when I demanded the nurse to bring me some fucking water). I didn't complain to my mom about any of it. Instead, I slept off my frustrations and I know that even annoyed her at times. I did the best I could and I think she did as well!

The hospital beds were adjustable and I didn't lay flat while in the hospital. The flat hotel beds were hard to get comfortable in. I could only lay on my back because it hurt to lay on my sides. I slept my life away as much as I could with my loud roommates (my parents), the construction in the next room, and the maids. The days kind of all blur together. While I was glad to be out of the hospital, it didn't seem like I made much progress while I was in the hotel. Pretty much all I did was sleep, eat, go to the bathroom, and talk on the phone. Almost every time big sister Lynn called, the maids were vacuuming (lol). I managed to avoid visitors at the hotel. I just didn't have the energy for it. I slept a lot, but I never felt rested.

Around 5am on Sunday morning (12.10.17) the urge to urinate woke me up. I woke my mom up and she helped me out of bed. She wheeled my catheter behind me on the suitcase to the bathroom.  I sat on the toilet and peed into the toilet!!! Apparently, I peed around the balloon inside my bladder that was keeping the catheter in place. I freaked out! I messaged my nurse friends to get their input and I called the Cleveland Clinic. At the advice of Cleveland Clinic, I found myself in the ER. My mom was on top of her care giving game because she helped me get ready and get to the ER in a hurry. I was in the ER for two hours. All they did was flush the catheter line. Basically, they injected saline or something into my catheter tube to fill my bladder, which felt absolutely terrible. It really made feel like I had to pee. Somehow the catheter bag started collecting urine again and the feeling to urinate faded, so I guess it worked. The ER nurse gave me additional syringes to flush the line on my own, if needed, and discharged me.  Not even 30 minutes after we got back to the hotel, I had the urge to pee again. I peed in the toilet again. I was determined not to go back to the ER. Flushing the line didn't seem to work, so I wasn't going to use the syringes the ER nurse gave me. I peed around the balloon inside my bladder that kept the catheter in place throughout the day on Sunday. It wasn't pleasant. I told myself that I only had to make it one more day with the catheter, so I suffered through it.

On Monday (12.11.17), I had a follow-up appointment for a CT Cystogram. I was excited when the results came back okay because that meant they could remove the catheter. I knew having the catheter was difficult to tolerate; however, it wasn't until it was removed that realized just how awful it was. The nurse told me that I had 6 hours to pee. Little did she know that I was peeing in the toilet throughout the day the day before.  I peed soon after getting back to the hotel. It was a lot easier to move around without the damn catheter. I was no longer leashed to the suitcase! On Monday night, I changed my ostomy for the first time by myself. It actually went well!

Tuesday (12.12.17) was my last round of follow-up appointments before I could finally go home. I had the JP drain removed. Perhaps the most pain I experienced during this whole adventure was when the nurse cut one of the stitches holding the JP to my skin. It felt like she sliced my skin. I saw stars! The nurse pulled...and pulled...and pulled the tubing out of my body. The tubing inside me was over a foot long! As the nurse put a bandage over the opening she explained that it's normal to be able to see down into the hole in my body where the drain was until it starts to heal. I was instructed not to put anything into the hole (lol). After the I left the JP nurse, I went to see my ostomy nurses. They examined the pouch I changed myself and said I did a great job. Before I knew, one of the nurses had removed my ostomy (she made it look so much easier than when I did it the night before) and the nurse confirmed that my stoma and surrounding skin looked healthy. The ostomy nurses talked, but I zoned out. I don't know what they said. At this point I was ready to go home. They put a new ostomy pouch on me, asked if I had any questions, and then sent me on my way. After two weeks away, I was finally going home!

My mom drove me home. The three and half hour car ride home didn't pass fast enough. I went straight to my bedroom to put down some stuff and take off my shoes. I had a hat on and must have been looking down because I didn't notice the welcome home decorations, cards, and gifts until I went back into my room after going to the bathroom. A huge shout out to everyone that's supported me through this, thank you! Your phone calls, text messages, sweet cards, well wishes and prayers, gifts, flowers, and donations were more than I could have ever asked for. You guys are all amazing!!! You definitely helped make it easier for me to get through this.

Here's the link to the GoFundMe page my best friend set up: https://www.gofundme.com/laurenfightsback My surgery and hospital stay has been billed at over $100,000! I'm still waiting for that amount to be adjusted for my insurance plan discounts and amounts paid by my plan, but the thought of receiving these bills in the mail is intimidating. Any help would mean the world to me!

I hope my family and friends can count on me, too: https://youtu.be/Yc6T9iY9SOU

One Month Away

Bowel resection surgery is one month away from today! It's getting harder and harder to stop thinking about it. I am amazed by the support of everyone around me! They have every angle covered! One of my Team Challenge friends is going to give me some supplies so that I can test run the pouch and wafer before surgery in order to prepare for a possible ostomy. My supervisor, co-workers, and HR department have almost eliminated the stress I had about potentially missing up to eight weeks of work. I couldn't ask for a better team at work! My supervisor is extremely understanding and tells me that my health comes before work. My cube neighbor even sat me down to inquire how I was handling it. She let me know that the people around me at work care and she volunteered to carry the weight of my shit if it gets too heavy or if I need a break from acting like everything is okay(Please don't ruin my performance. It's as much for me as it is for you.). My best friend has my back every step of the way and will be taking off work to be with me in the hospital. My Running Divas are with me through this, too. I've only known most of these ladies for about a year and others less, yet they show their incredible support through genuine acts of friendship. They're encouraging and offer valuable insight. One pledged to take the money we are going to be reimbursing her for for making our running costumes and donate it to Crohn's disease research. They offer comedic relief! They have a caring scale that is off the charts. One has taken it upon herself to be my big sister. My Team Challenge friends from south Florida have already asked if they can visit me in the hospital, and I approved. My mom will be with me the whole time and my dad will be with me most of the time, too.  Two of my sisters will be with me when I return home after surgery and one of my sisters will fly into town three weeks after my surgery. Other friends and family have voiced their support and let me know they are here for me as well!

How did I get lucky enough to have all of these people in my life? I am overwhelmed by everyone's support! I didn't expect it. Yes, I tend to underestimate relationships. I'm not sure I deserve these awesome people in my life because I'm not sure I'd be that great of a friend if I was in their shoes. I don't like being held accountable for others' expectations, so I try not to put expectations on others. To give my lack of expectation more perspective, I'll tell you what happened today when I expected something. I ran a two miler and five miler today. My mom, dad, and Kelly walked the two miler, but I ran with a Running Diva because I had to finish in time to start the five miler. The five miler started before they finished the two miler.  My family rarely goes to my races let alone enters to race. As I was approaching the five mile finish line I searched the crowd for my family. They weren't there. They weren't there because they went back to sit in the car to wait for me when they were done rather than cheer me on. Perhaps it's my fault I was disappointed because I didn't ask them to cheer me on at the finish line. Little things like that are why I try not to have expectations and it's also why the amount of support I'm receiving feels a little strange to me...like I'm not entirely certain what to do with it.  I am more grateful for it than I can put into words though!!! One day I'll get better at showing my appreciation. Saying "thank you" doesn't seem like enough!!

Bowel Resection Surgery Scheduled at the Cleveland Clinic 11.29.2017

I found myself alone in the car with my mom for three and a half hours on Sunday. [The remaining part of this paragraph has been redacted.]

We met Taylor for dinner on Sunday and even though dinner sucked, it was great to see her! I felt obviously distracted. I was there, but my mind was somewhere else. [Portions of this paragraph have been redacted and/or revised]

Sunday night and even Monday morning, I felt overwhelmed just thinking about the appointment. It was tempting to cry myself to sleep. I hate crying and I especially hate being vulnerable in front of my mom. I'm somewhat of a pro at suffering in silence. No wonder I have a disease to my gut. No wonder this disease is considered invisible. Hell, even I was surprised how many people stood up when the speaker at the Crohn's and Colitis Foundation's Crystal Ball asked everyone in the room with IBD to stand up.  Most people just see the parts we want them to see, the strength, the bravery, the perseverance to keep moving forward, the appearance of being as normal as possible. We make it too easy for others to think it's going to be okay for us. Personally, I don't like talking out loud about the struggles and I use jokes as a twisted coping mechanism. It is what it is and life is a comedic tragedy.

When a mom expressed to her son that she would take on this disease if it meant he wouldn't have it anymore, the son knew his mom wasn't strong enough to endure it. That's a true story I heard at lunch on Monday with my Team Challenge friend, Bonnie. After lunch, I did my series of enemas in the hotel room to prep for my appointment at the Cleveland Clinic. Before I knew it, it was time to head to my appointment.

Upon climbing the stairs to the second floor of the Cleveland Clinic, we were greeted by the sign above that stood as tall as me. I checked in and we were called back on time. Before Dr. Second Opinion became my new current colorectal, I spoke with three nurses to give them my medical records and talk about my history with Crohn's disease. In the process, I learned that one of the nurses has Crohn's and another nurse's brother has Crohn's.  Next, the Fellow, aka Follower, came in the room and reviewed my records and asked more detailed questions about my current symptoms and most recent procedures.

The moment we've all been waiting for: Dr. Wexner came into the room. After a brief conversation, I dropped my pants and he performed a sigmoidoscopy. He was able to see my strictures and diseased ass! He did a lot of talking when I had my pants down and that made it difficult to concentrate and remember what all he said...especially with the scope up my ass. He mentioned that he reviewed my records and MRI results. He said my other Dr. stopped ordering tests and jumped straight to scheduling surgery. While he agreed that surgery is indeed required, he explained that he wants me to get a colonoscopy, cystoscopy, ECG, e-rays, pre-op clearance, stoma marking, and lab work prior to surgery because he wants to know the most he can about the area requiring surgery before I'm on the operating table and he wants to confirm that I'm fit for surgery. Why didn't the other Dr. think of that? The other qualifying factor was that he was more optimistic in that if an ostomy is required it'd more likely be temporary.

I didn't even have to tell him he was hired. I had just finished buttoning my pants when he pulled out his calendar to start discussing surgery dates. I scheduled surgery for Wednesday, November 29, 2017 at the Cleveland Clinic in Weston, Florida.  And, just like that he became my new colorectal!

The appointments I have scheduled currently are:

• Prep for Colonoscopy - Monday, October 23, 2017 (awaiting prep instructions)
• Colonoscopy - Tuesday, October 24, 2017 at 12:30PM (I'm still traumatized from the last one)
• Chest X-ray - Tuesday, November 7, 2017 at 10:30AM
• Pre-op Clearance (ECG, lab work, and other testing) - Tuesday, November 14, 2017 at 8:15AM
• Pre- op Stoma Marking at the Cleveland Clinic - Tuesday, November 28, 2017 at 1PM
• Bowel Resection Surgery at the Cleveland Clinic Hospital - Wednesday, November 29, 2017

A Chronic Diagnosis

This post is about chronic conditions from my perspective. I know one person who was recently diagnosed with a chronic condition and another person who may soon be diagnosed with a chronic condition, so this topic seems really relevant to me. (One of them might read this, the other one will not read this unless I copy and paste this into an e-mail.) As you probably know I've been dealing with a chronic condition since I was 15 years old. Now, I understand I have a different condition from these two people and they have a different condition from each other; however, I think it's important to recognize possible similarities to be better equipped to support one another. 

I remember the scariest thing I learned was the fact that there is no cure. I'm not trying to scare you, I'm just trying to be real to let others know about this aspect of a chronic diagnosis. There isn't a magical pill to fix this. Surgery will not make this permanently go away. Let that sink in for a second.  I recently filled out FMLA paperwork and my condition was described by my healthcare professional as "lifelong".  The prospect of having to manage this for a lifetime can be intimidating.

I want to reassure you that this diagnosis was not your fault. Even though the world wants you to keep your shit together, it's okay to fall apart sometimes. Cry, scream, curse if you must because it's far better to let it out than to hold it inside. You are strong regardless of the tears staining your cheeks. You may be pressured to hide the bad and ugly aspects. I encourage you to seek a family member, a friend, or even a counselor you can talk to without being judged and without being forced to hide what you're truly feeling. I think others mean well when they advise us to be positive. Would they really be positive in your shoes though? I give you permission to air out your negative feelings. In my experience, if suppressed, negative feelings can fester into depression even if you're faking positivity. You will encounter folks that believe dietary changes will be the solution to your problem, but I want to warn you not to get your hopes up.  My ex-boyfriend's sister's goldfish had this same condition and cured it by XYZ. I'm saying be cautious. Ugly cry, write about it, and tell your story because heroes fight different battles. You're a hero and this is your battle! Don't give up, FIGHT!

One Mile at a Time

Prior to this past Saturday, I was keeping up perfectly with my training schedule... and then Saturday's run happened. I was scheduled to run 12 miles, but I quit after a measly 9 miles. The run started unbelievably hot at 5am. It was 85 degrees at the start and that's without calculating in the humidity and feel like temperature. Unfortunately, the sad reality of training for a marathon during the middle of summer in Florida is that the only chance we have for cooler, bearable temperatures is if it rains. Not only was the weather miserable, but my body was also kind of miserable still recovering from the shitty week of stomach pain. During the run I started to experience some stomach pain around mile 4. I was able to run through the pain for the most part  though. I think what did me in were the cramps in my legs around mile 8.5. I'm not sure if the cramps were from dehydration or what, but my body was pretty much screaming at me to STOP, so I quit! Anyways, I've got plenty of excuses and I feel like a huge wimp and slacker for deciding to throw in the towel at mile 9.

Now, I find myself behind on training. I'm bummed about it because I've been working so hard to stay on track and one run just completely put me off my target mileage. I'm scheduled to run 14 miles this Saturday, but I know realistically that's not going to happen. Technically, my longest run this season has been 10.5 miles, so 14 miles would be too big of  a jump. My new goal for Saturday is to run 12 miles. I seem to be hitting the proverbial wall at mile 9 or 10. I have to dig deep and keep pushing myself in order to reach my goals.

Sometimes I forget that running is hard. Not only that, but it's easy to forget that training for a marathon is difficult, too. Yeah, okay, I should know better; however, I still catch myself thinking that crossing the finish line in November is guaranteed. In distance running, the miles demand respect. With less than four months away from race day, I need to embrace the doubt dancing around in my thoughts (that I've been ignoring) because I need that doubt to motivate me to keep training hard.

I consider myself a very self motivated person. Most of you know that I didn't tell my mom when I entered the NYC Marathon lottery because I didn't think she would approve of my decision to do it and I didn't want to hear her bitch about my bad life choices. Well, when I told her I won the lottery into the race, she left me feeling judged and underestimated. Ever since my DNF (did not finish) at the Disney Marathon in 2013, in her eyes my running ability is tainted because of Crohn's even though I finished the Dopey Challenge strong the following year in 2014. Earlier this week my mom complimented me on how hard I've been training and offered to buy me a Garmin watch to help track my stats. She verbally recognized that this race is a big deal and also offered to buy a picture package if they offer one for professional course race pictures because she knows how much this race means to me. I'm overwhelmed and shocked by her sudden support. In fact, it made me cry. You know, no pressure or anything, but I really don't want to fuck up crossing the finish line.  Strangely enough, I want to make her proud.  Here's to getting back on track one mile at a time.

Communication Skills Or Lack Thereof

I admit that I am not the best communicator. I attribute this weakness to my upbringing and also to the society in which we live in. When I was growing up, most revelations of my thoughts and/or feelings were promptly suppressed by my parents. Now that I look back I recognize how unhealthy this was for my communication development. Being scolded when I expressed myself forced me to stop such expressions. If they weren't pleasant feeling, I better not give voice to them. For most of my life, I have been out of touch with my true thoughts and feelings. I'm still learning that feeing angry, depressed, or confused are just as valid as feeling open, happy, and good. Although I can more easily accept unpleasant feelings, I still struggle to find an audience that will listen appropriately.

A big part of communication is the act of listening. In recent years, I have improved my listening skills greatly.  I'm guilty of giving unrequested advice when I should have just listened with compassion to show my understanding instead. It's probably no surprise that I'm actually on the receiving end of the unrequested advice more often than I care to admit. When I express to others that I'm struggling with Crohn's or having a bad day, they tend to jump right in with their unsolicited two cents even though what I need is "sympathetic listening". It's simple really... I just need to know I'm understood.

My parents are probably the worst communicators I know. My dad just does not communicate and mom's communication methods are ineffective and unhealthy to say the least.  I'm preparing to have a difficult conversation with my mom about her communication skills. She will likely get pissed off no matter what I say, but someone has to bring her ineffective, unhealthy ways of communicating to her attention. I know this falls under unrequested advice, but I feel like if she listens sympathetically to what I have to say it will help everyone in the end. I intend to be gentle and not accusing while I offer suggestions of ways she can change her tone, delivery, and advise her to make requests, not demands when she needs a ride to run an errand since she isn't driving.

Rough News and a Shitty Run

My mom had an eye appointment a couple weeks ago and she found out that diabetes has worsened her eyesight. She took the news pretty hard and was a bitch while she digested the news. She didn't really talk about it, but was angry at everyone regardless. It was unsettling to me because no matter what bad news I get about my own health issues, I do not take it out on others. In my opinion, she acted like a child. Well, last week she went to a different eye doctor to get a second opinion. This doctor noticed it was her peripheral vision that was affected and ordered her to get an MRI because sudden loss of peripheral vision can indicate a stroke.  She got the MRI and will get the result this Thursday. In the mean time, she is not allowed to drive. Thankfully, she has taken this news in stride. Although I can't imagine how frustrating it would be not to be able to drive. As much as we butt heads I never wish for anything bad to happen to her. I love her even if our relationship is twisted. We had a family meeting and so far everyone's taking turns driving her around.

I had a really shitty run on Saturday. I was already unmotivated Friday night because the weather report said it was going to be raining Saturday morning. I found the following quote to help motivate me: It's hard to beat a person who never gives up.  I started my eight mile run as soon as the sun came up. Surprisingly, it didn't rain, but the overcast created wicked sticky humidity to run through. After three miles, I took off my shirt and wrung it out because it was drenched in sweat. I need to start working out my abs so that I feel comfortable running in just a sports bra. By mile five, I was ready to quit and that's when "it's hard to beat a person who never gives up" popped into my head as motivation. After six miles, I wanted to cry. Running is hard and it's easy to forget that sometimes. I slowed my pace way down and walked more often than I probably should have, but I somehow managed to log eight miles. Even though it was a shitty run, runs like that will make me stronger and mentally tougher. Hopefully, next time I won't want to quit or cry.  Running is a love/hate relationship.

Constipation Update

It's been a week since I've had a good bowel movement.

I've been taking coconut oil pills twice a day since Thursday to get my mom off my back about it being "my fault" for being constipated. I verbalized my doubt of the coconut oil pills being able to help and she hopped on my back again. It's "my fault" they won't help because according to her I should have been taking coconut oil pills every day as a "preventative" for these kinds of things.  I disagreed and she got offended and is now being quiet about this round of constipation. I lost her support for this round, but can I really lose something I never really had this round?

Seriously, I understand that people care and want to help, but I despise when people blame me for my situation. IT'S NOT MY FAULT I HAVE CROHN'S! I know I don't always take proper care of myself. Mostly because I don't have the energy to or I don't care enough about myself to. If you have some miraculous solution or preventative treatment for Crohn's, constipation, diarrhea, fatigue, chronic pain, anal leakage, and/or rectal bleeding, sell your idea and make millions. Don't harass me about your hypothetical cure.

My period is just finishing, so I don't know if this round of constipation is somehow related to that or not. I know my bowel habits are unpredictable around this time of month. I started taking Senokot tablets (it uses a natural vegetable laxative ingredient) instead of Miralax yesterday. I've had a few dip n' dots, but nothing that could be considered a real bowel movement. My stomach is starting to feel the pressure building from not being about to shit. The shit building up inside me makes the scale believe that I'm gaining weight, so that's the plus side.

Part 1 of 3 - A Wedding, Marriage, and a Gut Check

A Wedding:

As you know I attended a lovely wedding in Alabama this past weekend. The wedding was absolutely beautiful, but I was a little confused at the ceremony! It was a Catholic wedding and the ceremony lasted an hour and fifteen minutes. I'm not Catholic and although I don't regularly go to church, I'm no stranger to Sunday morning Baptist church service. During the ceremony the 200 + guests would stand, sit, kneel, sit, stand, kneel stand, kneel, sit, stand, sit... Most of the time I was wondering how almost everyone knew what to do and when to do it? The audience would pray and/or shout back words toward the pastor/priest/father (I don't know what the dude is called that was conducting the union).  Anyways the guy looked like the one kid from the movie Sandlot.How did those folks know what to say and what the heck were they saying?  The only thing I knew was the Lord's Prayer.

If you know me, you know I'm very skeptical of marriage and weddings. I was completely lost when the look alike guy from Sandlot began praying in Latin... for like ten minutes. I sat there baffled because I was not understanding the prayer.

My cynicism was confirmed when he cited the Bible verses that feed my dislike of marriage because of the misunderstanding this part of Scripture creates: Ephesians 5:22 - 33. More on that in blog part 2 of 3.

After the wedding, the reception was held at a mansion with buffet style food and drink rooms, a dancing room that also had the wedding cake (that seemed like a dangerous placement to me), tables and chairs scattered throughout the mansion and outside, and even a photo booth. I had a great time with mom. I enjoyed dancing and the wedding cake was incredible.