i like sharing, and i am going to share some of the virtues of crohn’s disease which takes away my dignity. since my surgery in april, i have been enjoying my remission, including chowing down on past forbidden foods such as salad, cashews, shredded wheat cereal and whole grain breads. by mid august, my body started to reject my new diet, and reminded me that a cut with the knife will not temper its insatiable lust of internal organ self-destruction.
how did my body decide to speak? through nail biting, asshole clenching, raging diarrhea. at first i brushed it off as too much fiber or too much vodka the night before, but when it started waking me up at night i began to suspect crohn’s involvement. then it began to wake me up multiple times at night, with great urgency forcing me to knock things down on route to the bathroom (its hard rushing with a sleepy head and complete darkness but worth not soiling yourself).
and sometimes, while deeply asleep, my body wakes me up to late and i begin to shit myself. just a little, but enough to force me to wash my underwear out at 3 in the morning and frequent enough for me to stuff tissues in my underwear as to not have to wash more underwear out every night.
btw - how does the body know when you are getting closer to a toilet and amp up the need to go even stronger. by the time i unlock the door and run to the toilet, my intestines begin to churn harder and my impulse to crap becomes stronger. the closer i get to the toilet, the stronger the urge – until its impossible for me to grab reading material no less unbutton my pants.
my constant diarrhea and toxic gas has pushed chris to the brink, sitting me down to discuss how I need to go to the doctor. let me tell you, nothing is more humbling than your live-in partner telling you to see a doctor because as he puts it “your farts are worse than when you had blood farts.”
fun crohn’s vocabulary:
blood fart (n.): noxious gas that escapes my body by
first going through my intestinal tract which his full of
stale rotten blood from bleeding sores.
nothing smells worse – nothing. not nyc garbage trucks on an august afternoon, not filled diaper pails, nor sulfur pools. blood farts are at the top of the disgusting odor chart.
one positive side effect is my ass must be in top physically shape – or at least my asshole. there have been so many times that I have to cletch my asshole tightly closed, as not to have an accident during a meeting, walking home, or ironing for that matter, my bunghole must be ready for some type of olympic game. special olympics that is.
as you can plainly see, i needed help and something had to be done. i made an appointment with my guru, dr. silvera, and i am back on humira. thankfully, they have “improved” on the technology and now give you a pen to stick yourself (rather than a needle), which controls the speech in which the medicine is delivered – which is horrifyingly slow. it makes me scream out loud, which is unnerving for anyone in the apartment and i would guess my neighbors, but this is the price you pay not to be on the brink of shitting yourself all day and night.
aren't you glad i share?
