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
Showing posts with label support. Show all posts
Showing posts with label support. Show all posts
Sunday, December 31, 2017
Friday, December 22, 2017
My Eight Day Hospital Stay
If you think this post is long, try staying in the hospital for eight days. After surgery, I was on a clear liquid diet for two days, a GI soft diet for three days, one day of NPO (nothing by mouth), and then regular hospital food thereafter. My appetite was non-existent. The fact that the food and liquids tasted like shit didn't help.
I had a morphine pump for three days after surgery. There was a button I could press whenever I was in pain to activate the morphine through my IV. I could only press it every ten minutes, which wasn't an issue. I only pressed it once and I don't remember when that was. The nurses constantly told me not to be afraid to press the morphine button. I have experienced far more agony than what I felt in the hospital, so it was difficult for me to determine if I needed pain meds or not. I've pushed through much higher pain levels without medication on my own because Crohn's is fucking torture sometimes. In the hospital, I occasionally moaned in pain, but the pain never brought me to tears and the pain didn't feel debilitating. After they unhooked the morphine pump, they offered me Oxycodone for pain. Again, the nurses told me not to be afraid of it. A couple of friends told me not to be a Martyr. Was I really choosing to suffer in pain rather than admit I was in pain and take the meds? I definitely experienced pain in the hospital, but I didn't think it was that bad because I've felt worse before and managed it without any pain meds. I think I accepted Oxy three different times.
I took my first couple of walks on Thursday, the day after surgery. To make matters more complicated, my period started on Thursday. I needed help to sit up. My abs had no strength. It was a process to unhook my compression calf sleeves that plug in and inflate and organize all of the IVs, cords, and tubes so I could walk. Taylor walked with me. Standing up felt weird. I don't know how else to describe it. My belly felt different and sore. Actually, my whole body was sore and stiff. They took out my catheter and my mom helped me out of bed whenever I had to pee. One time, I hollered out of the bathroom to the nurse, "Something is coming out of my butt!" To my surprise, the mucus coming out of my old asshole was normal and expected. I later found out that my new asshole, the loop ileostomy, has two holes. One hole for waste that collects in the ostomy pouch and another hole, which is considered a fistula, to secrete mucus through my lower intestines and out of my old asshole. Yes, I now have two assholes and stuff comes out of both of them. I can't make this shit up. It's a nightmare I didn't know existed. On the positive side, a loop ileostomy is always temporary.
Friday, the doctors realized there was a miscommunication. My catheter should not have been removed, so it needed to be re-inserted. Sure, the nursing student shadowing the nurse can do it. She didn't seem very confident, but she figured it out after asking the nurse to help her. The catheter made one more thing to carry with me on my walks. We tied a glove to the bottom of the IV stand so I could wheel it with me on my walks. Why don't they have a wheeled stand suitable to hold a catheter? I had three visitors on Friday, Badass Doreen, Sas, and Bonnie. They all happened to show up within minutes of each other around 11am. I felt loved and their well wishes lifted my spirits. Sas and Bonnie stayed about an hour. Badass Doreen was awesome and went to lunch with my mom so that I could take a nap. I woke up in the early afternoon moaning in pain. For my entire stay at the hospital, the nurse techs came by every few hours to take my vitals and empty my JP, catheter, and ileostomy. When the nurse tech took my temperature Friday evening, I had a 103 degree fever! I think they gave me Tylenol. My head hurt worse than my stomach at that point. Thankfully, Doreen was there for me and my mom. I think it took a while for my fever to break, but I don't remember when it did. I do know that Doreen left around 9pm and my mom stayed the night with me.
I don't remember much from Saturday and Sunday (I probably slept 85% of the time at the hospital), except that I had a 102.7 degree fever around 8:30pm on Sunday I think they gave me Tylenol again for the fever. I'm not sure when the fever broke. On Monday, I wasn't allowed to eat or drink anything. The nurses even stopped my IVs and stopped giving me the routine meds I was getting because I couldn't have water to swallow them down. The reason they gave me for being NPO was so that they could run tests to figure out what was causing the fevers. I found out later that it was likely in case they needed to take me back into surgery based on the results of the tests. Monday was the hardest day in the hospital. There I was trying to recover from surgery. I was already dehydrated and weak and they wouldn't let me eat or drink anything. I pressed my call button multiple times begging for some water or ice. "Bring me some fucking water!" My mouth felt as dry as a desert. My lips are still cracked at the corners from that day. It took them all day to take me to have two tests done and get blood cultures. The blood cultures came back okay. The first test, a cystogram, was done around 5pm. It was pretty easy since I already had a catheter in. Afterwards, the nurses and my mom wanted me to walk. Ha! I was so thirsty that I refused to walk if they couldn't give me water. Asking me to walk was bullshit. After the cystogram they hooked me up to an IV for antibiotics, but I still wasn't allowed to eat or drink. They took me to get a CT scan with an enema contrast right before midnight. By this point I was pissed, annoyed, thirsty, and hangry. Moving on and off the CT table with only one person helping me was a struggle and it hurt my stomach. When the tech was inserting the enema tip for the barium contrast, I realized that my stricture closest to my rectum was still there. No wonder the ostomy is temporary! I advised the tech of my stricture and the pain the large tip (lol) was causing in my anus. (Don't worry, I've already accepted that anal will never be for me.) I was happy once the CT was over, but disappointed that I had to wait for the results before they would clear me to eat and drink. When I got back to my hospital room after midnight, I slept until morning. I was completely drained. The blood cultures, cystogram, and CT results all came back okay. We never found out what caused the fevers. I think it was just my body trying to heal and recover. It was on overload. Although looking back, I would be curious to know if the fevers were a result of taking the pain meds. Even though I lost it a couple of times on Monday, I tried to hold it together and I was a lot nicer than I wanted to be.
By Tuesday, it started to feel like I would never get out of the hospital. It didn't matter that my appetite increased a little because every time a meal came, the nurse tech decided to come in and empty my JP, catheter, and ileostomy and then suddenly I wasn't hungry anymore. Eventually, I got the bright idea to start asking the nurse tech to wait until I finished eating. Taylor visited me, brought dry shampoo, and did my hair. I love her! I didn't shower the entire time I was in the hospital. They helped me wipe myself down, but that's just not the same as a shower. I walked six times on Tuesday! Yet again, I had another fever Tuesday night. This time it was only 101 degrees and it came down quickly after I took Tylenol. When my doctor and his team made their rounds early Wednesday morning, they let me know that if I can go 24 hours without a fever they will discharge me on Thursday. I walked six times on Wednesday, too.
Around 4:30am Thursday morning, the nurse tech took my temperature with a reading of 100 degrees. Knowing I wouldn't be discharged if I had a fever, I asked the tech to take my temperature again since I didn't feel like I had a fever. The tech immediately took my temperature again with a reading of 98.4 degrees. I don't understand how the thermometer can give those two different readings in a matter of seconds. We went with the second reading. Around 6am, my doctor and his team let me know that I would be discharged! It's a slow process to get discharged. The pharmacy had to fill my prescription, the ostomy nurse had to change my pouch and give me supplies so that I could change it on my own, and my nurse had to get all of the discharge instructions in order. When it was finally time to ditch the hospital around 1pm, my mom helped me change out of my butt flap gown and she put my socks and shoes on me. I was overwhelmed with emotion as I moved from the hospital bed to the wheelchair. I cried a little as the nurse wheeled me down to the car my dad pulled around. Other than that, I didn't cry in the hospital. I left the hospital with the JP and catheter and I had follow-up appointments the following week to have them removed.
I survived my first hospital stay due to Crohn's disease. I've had some terrible Crohn's days in the past fifteen years and it makes me wonder how I managed to avoid the hospital until surgery. The surgery, hospital stay, and staying in a hotel afterwards were the most difficult two weeks of my life. The results of the surgery were better than I expected going into it. Although I shouldn't be surprised it went so well because I had the best surgeon! The support from my family and friends meant the world to me! They are absolutely amazing! They made sure I knew I wasn't going through this alone.
When I need motivation, I blast this song: https://youtu.be/8hkmuTvkp_s
I had a morphine pump for three days after surgery. There was a button I could press whenever I was in pain to activate the morphine through my IV. I could only press it every ten minutes, which wasn't an issue. I only pressed it once and I don't remember when that was. The nurses constantly told me not to be afraid to press the morphine button. I have experienced far more agony than what I felt in the hospital, so it was difficult for me to determine if I needed pain meds or not. I've pushed through much higher pain levels without medication on my own because Crohn's is fucking torture sometimes. In the hospital, I occasionally moaned in pain, but the pain never brought me to tears and the pain didn't feel debilitating. After they unhooked the morphine pump, they offered me Oxycodone for pain. Again, the nurses told me not to be afraid of it. A couple of friends told me not to be a Martyr. Was I really choosing to suffer in pain rather than admit I was in pain and take the meds? I definitely experienced pain in the hospital, but I didn't think it was that bad because I've felt worse before and managed it without any pain meds. I think I accepted Oxy three different times.
I took my first couple of walks on Thursday, the day after surgery. To make matters more complicated, my period started on Thursday. I needed help to sit up. My abs had no strength. It was a process to unhook my compression calf sleeves that plug in and inflate and organize all of the IVs, cords, and tubes so I could walk. Taylor walked with me. Standing up felt weird. I don't know how else to describe it. My belly felt different and sore. Actually, my whole body was sore and stiff. They took out my catheter and my mom helped me out of bed whenever I had to pee. One time, I hollered out of the bathroom to the nurse, "Something is coming out of my butt!" To my surprise, the mucus coming out of my old asshole was normal and expected. I later found out that my new asshole, the loop ileostomy, has two holes. One hole for waste that collects in the ostomy pouch and another hole, which is considered a fistula, to secrete mucus through my lower intestines and out of my old asshole. Yes, I now have two assholes and stuff comes out of both of them. I can't make this shit up. It's a nightmare I didn't know existed. On the positive side, a loop ileostomy is always temporary.
Friday, the doctors realized there was a miscommunication. My catheter should not have been removed, so it needed to be re-inserted. Sure, the nursing student shadowing the nurse can do it. She didn't seem very confident, but she figured it out after asking the nurse to help her. The catheter made one more thing to carry with me on my walks. We tied a glove to the bottom of the IV stand so I could wheel it with me on my walks. Why don't they have a wheeled stand suitable to hold a catheter? I had three visitors on Friday, Badass Doreen, Sas, and Bonnie. They all happened to show up within minutes of each other around 11am. I felt loved and their well wishes lifted my spirits. Sas and Bonnie stayed about an hour. Badass Doreen was awesome and went to lunch with my mom so that I could take a nap. I woke up in the early afternoon moaning in pain. For my entire stay at the hospital, the nurse techs came by every few hours to take my vitals and empty my JP, catheter, and ileostomy. When the nurse tech took my temperature Friday evening, I had a 103 degree fever! I think they gave me Tylenol. My head hurt worse than my stomach at that point. Thankfully, Doreen was there for me and my mom. I think it took a while for my fever to break, but I don't remember when it did. I do know that Doreen left around 9pm and my mom stayed the night with me.
I don't remember much from Saturday and Sunday (I probably slept 85% of the time at the hospital), except that I had a 102.7 degree fever around 8:30pm on Sunday I think they gave me Tylenol again for the fever. I'm not sure when the fever broke. On Monday, I wasn't allowed to eat or drink anything. The nurses even stopped my IVs and stopped giving me the routine meds I was getting because I couldn't have water to swallow them down. The reason they gave me for being NPO was so that they could run tests to figure out what was causing the fevers. I found out later that it was likely in case they needed to take me back into surgery based on the results of the tests. Monday was the hardest day in the hospital. There I was trying to recover from surgery. I was already dehydrated and weak and they wouldn't let me eat or drink anything. I pressed my call button multiple times begging for some water or ice. "Bring me some fucking water!" My mouth felt as dry as a desert. My lips are still cracked at the corners from that day. It took them all day to take me to have two tests done and get blood cultures. The blood cultures came back okay. The first test, a cystogram, was done around 5pm. It was pretty easy since I already had a catheter in. Afterwards, the nurses and my mom wanted me to walk. Ha! I was so thirsty that I refused to walk if they couldn't give me water. Asking me to walk was bullshit. After the cystogram they hooked me up to an IV for antibiotics, but I still wasn't allowed to eat or drink. They took me to get a CT scan with an enema contrast right before midnight. By this point I was pissed, annoyed, thirsty, and hangry. Moving on and off the CT table with only one person helping me was a struggle and it hurt my stomach. When the tech was inserting the enema tip for the barium contrast, I realized that my stricture closest to my rectum was still there. No wonder the ostomy is temporary! I advised the tech of my stricture and the pain the large tip (lol) was causing in my anus. (Don't worry, I've already accepted that anal will never be for me.) I was happy once the CT was over, but disappointed that I had to wait for the results before they would clear me to eat and drink. When I got back to my hospital room after midnight, I slept until morning. I was completely drained. The blood cultures, cystogram, and CT results all came back okay. We never found out what caused the fevers. I think it was just my body trying to heal and recover. It was on overload. Although looking back, I would be curious to know if the fevers were a result of taking the pain meds. Even though I lost it a couple of times on Monday, I tried to hold it together and I was a lot nicer than I wanted to be.
By Tuesday, it started to feel like I would never get out of the hospital. It didn't matter that my appetite increased a little because every time a meal came, the nurse tech decided to come in and empty my JP, catheter, and ileostomy and then suddenly I wasn't hungry anymore. Eventually, I got the bright idea to start asking the nurse tech to wait until I finished eating. Taylor visited me, brought dry shampoo, and did my hair. I love her! I didn't shower the entire time I was in the hospital. They helped me wipe myself down, but that's just not the same as a shower. I walked six times on Tuesday! Yet again, I had another fever Tuesday night. This time it was only 101 degrees and it came down quickly after I took Tylenol. When my doctor and his team made their rounds early Wednesday morning, they let me know that if I can go 24 hours without a fever they will discharge me on Thursday. I walked six times on Wednesday, too.
Around 4:30am Thursday morning, the nurse tech took my temperature with a reading of 100 degrees. Knowing I wouldn't be discharged if I had a fever, I asked the tech to take my temperature again since I didn't feel like I had a fever. The tech immediately took my temperature again with a reading of 98.4 degrees. I don't understand how the thermometer can give those two different readings in a matter of seconds. We went with the second reading. Around 6am, my doctor and his team let me know that I would be discharged! It's a slow process to get discharged. The pharmacy had to fill my prescription, the ostomy nurse had to change my pouch and give me supplies so that I could change it on my own, and my nurse had to get all of the discharge instructions in order. When it was finally time to ditch the hospital around 1pm, my mom helped me change out of my butt flap gown and she put my socks and shoes on me. I was overwhelmed with emotion as I moved from the hospital bed to the wheelchair. I cried a little as the nurse wheeled me down to the car my dad pulled around. Other than that, I didn't cry in the hospital. I left the hospital with the JP and catheter and I had follow-up appointments the following week to have them removed.
I survived my first hospital stay due to Crohn's disease. I've had some terrible Crohn's days in the past fifteen years and it makes me wonder how I managed to avoid the hospital until surgery. The surgery, hospital stay, and staying in a hotel afterwards were the most difficult two weeks of my life. The results of the surgery were better than I expected going into it. Although I shouldn't be surprised it went so well because I had the best surgeon! The support from my family and friends meant the world to me! They are absolutely amazing! They made sure I knew I wasn't going through this alone.
When I need motivation, I blast this song: https://youtu.be/8hkmuTvkp_s
Sunday, October 29, 2017
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!!
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!!
Wednesday, July 13, 2016
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.
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.
Thursday, March 17, 2016
A New Chapter Professionally
Tomorrow will mark one month since the Contract / Risk Specialist opportunity came my way. If I could have looked through binoculars into the future, I'm not sure I would have had the guts to envision where I am today. Even though my official start date for pay rate purposes is Monday, I trained with my new supervisor again today and I will train with her again tomorrow. I finally got the offer/transfer letter from HR and signed it, so it's really official! This is a huge opportunity I have in front of me and I am extremely thankfully that my new supervisor and Wharton-Smith want to invest their time and money in me. There's no doubt it will be challenging, but that's part of what makes it appealing.
I wrote my payroll supervisor a thank you note for being an amazing supervisor. It was sad turning over all of my payroll access (passwords, key cards, keys). I am super thankful she supported me during this transition to the extent of coming in really early and staying really late in order to allow me to transfer quickly. Seriously, she needs a cape with a dollar sign on it. I'm glad I have someone like her in my corner.
I wrote my payroll supervisor a thank you note for being an amazing supervisor. It was sad turning over all of my payroll access (passwords, key cards, keys). I am super thankful she supported me during this transition to the extent of coming in really early and staying really late in order to allow me to transfer quickly. Seriously, she needs a cape with a dollar sign on it. I'm glad I have someone like her in my corner.
Monday, December 7, 2015
IBD Stands for Inflammatory Bowel Disease
IBD Awareness week ends tonight and here's my lousy attempt at telling you a few things that I wish more folks understood about me and Crohn's disease.
Tasks that seem easy to you may take all my energy to complete and/or leave me sore for days. I try hard to maintain normalcy, but sometimes I can't keep up. Examples: Showering, doing my hair, doing my makeup, looking alive/normal, doing laundry, cooking, washing dishes, and walking up stairs.
It's more than a physical disease. It fucks me up mentally, too. Don't be mad when I don't remember things, when I have a poor/dark/negative outlook, or when I have low self esteem. If I could flip a switch to change it, I would. I wouldn't choose to be this way.
Unless if I ask for it, I do not want your advice. If you give me unsolicited advice, please don't keep drowning me with your opinions. You're not helping. Say your peace and move on. I heard you the first time.
Breaking news: I have been considering finding a counselor. I promise, I'm not just doing this to find another couch to nap on. I've just been getting other people's opinions at this point before I start looking for one and figuring out if this is something I want to do. I don't think I'm coping as well as I used to with Crohn's. I've become too emotional and I feel weighted down by the burden of this disease. I have lost my ambition. I would love to learn to better cope with it. I feel no shame in considering seeking professional help. I have some supporters. I also have some that feel that me seeing a counselor indicates that our relationship is failing and I could use relationships in place of therapy by talking more openly about what's on my mind. That whole opening up thing...yeah, I'm not very good at that because of the fear of judgment and more opinions that I probably don't want to hear. So, what are your thoughts on this topic? Yay or nay? Positives and negatives? Should I keep considering it?
Tasks that seem easy to you may take all my energy to complete and/or leave me sore for days. I try hard to maintain normalcy, but sometimes I can't keep up. Examples: Showering, doing my hair, doing my makeup, looking alive/normal, doing laundry, cooking, washing dishes, and walking up stairs.
It's more than a physical disease. It fucks me up mentally, too. Don't be mad when I don't remember things, when I have a poor/dark/negative outlook, or when I have low self esteem. If I could flip a switch to change it, I would. I wouldn't choose to be this way.
Unless if I ask for it, I do not want your advice. If you give me unsolicited advice, please don't keep drowning me with your opinions. You're not helping. Say your peace and move on. I heard you the first time.
Breaking news: I have been considering finding a counselor. I promise, I'm not just doing this to find another couch to nap on. I've just been getting other people's opinions at this point before I start looking for one and figuring out if this is something I want to do. I don't think I'm coping as well as I used to with Crohn's. I've become too emotional and I feel weighted down by the burden of this disease. I have lost my ambition. I would love to learn to better cope with it. I feel no shame in considering seeking professional help. I have some supporters. I also have some that feel that me seeing a counselor indicates that our relationship is failing and I could use relationships in place of therapy by talking more openly about what's on my mind. That whole opening up thing...yeah, I'm not very good at that because of the fear of judgment and more opinions that I probably don't want to hear. So, what are your thoughts on this topic? Yay or nay? Positives and negatives? Should I keep considering it?
Thursday, November 5, 2015
I'm the One That Doesn't Care
After reviewing my labs, my doctor thinks Crohn's may be active. He wants me to get an MRI or colonoscopy. The goal is to stop active inflammation before it leads to complications - strictures, abscess, fistulas. (Hey, I've had all of those before) I have opted for the MRI. Now, I just have to schedule it. Technically, I'm an adult; however, I had a tantrum in my room about my current health situation. I bawled my eyes out and pissed off some people. I don't mean to upset people. I felt so isolated and alone yesterday. Does anyone really get it?
It seems as though every damn time I have issues related to Crohn's that my mom blames me. Whether that blame is direct or indirect is beside the point. It's my fault because I don't do anything she says to "help" prevent things like this from happening. In my twisted head, when I hear her go off on tangents about what all I should be doing, all I think is that she doesn't get it. She doesn't care. It's not my fault. Chill out. It was brought to my attention that if she didn't care, she wouldn't be trying to "help". And I was told to never say mom doesn't care again. It's a tough pill to swallow, but I see that I was wrong. The truth is my mom cares... almost too much, but perhaps I need that. The truth is that I'm the one that doesn't care.
I'm skeptical eating better will help. I'm skeptical taking probiotics will help. I'm skeptical taking vitamin D will help. I am making changes anyway. I will start eating better. I will start taking probiotics. I will start taking vitamin D. I will do it for "them". I will do it to keep them quiet. If you have a cure, tell me and I'll add it to the list. I'll do it for you. Maybe one day I'll do it for me, but for now I think it's just going to be a waste of my time and money.
It's hard to take advice from someone who said, "inflammation is a sign of healing." I couldn't help, but laugh out loud when I heard that. Crohn's is the immune system attacking itself, which causes chronic inflammation in the GI tract. I don't believe the inflammation is a sign that I'm chronically "healing". That makes no sense!
I am suffocated by those who care and yet I feel alone because I don't think they get it. Heck, maybe I'm the one that doesn't get it.
It seems as though every damn time I have issues related to Crohn's that my mom blames me. Whether that blame is direct or indirect is beside the point. It's my fault because I don't do anything she says to "help" prevent things like this from happening. In my twisted head, when I hear her go off on tangents about what all I should be doing, all I think is that she doesn't get it. She doesn't care. It's not my fault. Chill out. It was brought to my attention that if she didn't care, she wouldn't be trying to "help". And I was told to never say mom doesn't care again. It's a tough pill to swallow, but I see that I was wrong. The truth is my mom cares... almost too much, but perhaps I need that. The truth is that I'm the one that doesn't care.
I'm skeptical eating better will help. I'm skeptical taking probiotics will help. I'm skeptical taking vitamin D will help. I am making changes anyway. I will start eating better. I will start taking probiotics. I will start taking vitamin D. I will do it for "them". I will do it to keep them quiet. If you have a cure, tell me and I'll add it to the list. I'll do it for you. Maybe one day I'll do it for me, but for now I think it's just going to be a waste of my time and money.
It's hard to take advice from someone who said, "inflammation is a sign of healing." I couldn't help, but laugh out loud when I heard that. Crohn's is the immune system attacking itself, which causes chronic inflammation in the GI tract. I don't believe the inflammation is a sign that I'm chronically "healing". That makes no sense!
I am suffocated by those who care and yet I feel alone because I don't think they get it. Heck, maybe I'm the one that doesn't get it.
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