Staying true to my word, today is Crohn's Thursday. Tomorrow I'll reveal new book covers and more great books to read while waiting for flares to pass. As of 9 a.m. this morning, I've visited the bathroom a total of four times in the last hour. If you weren't a crohnie you'd think I had the stomach flu. But since I am a crohnie, I keep one step ahead of the game with a wastebasket covered in plastic in case the urge to vomit appears.
Which it has.
Funtastic Thursday.
The new year brought with it a family crisis. This isn't the type of crisis that gets better with time. No, it will just get worse until acceptance steps in with the peace it brings. In the meantime, I have an angry gut. Which is probably the reflection of a furious mind.
"You have to calm down!" my husband shouts. "You have Crohn's disease." Glaring at me, he adds, "And if you flare I suffer, too."
This did little to calm me down. Suffice it to say, as I said to him, "I am who I am. I cannot reach into my mind and tell it it doesn't matter. I will process this information MY way and if that means I flare, then so be it."
Stress does little to help those with Crohn's disease. Life throws curve balls. Sometimes life throws life-changing curve balls. One of those nasty ones hit me dead center over the holidays and I have to learn to live with it.
My fragile gut shifts restlessly as this situation is not one which I can discuss, yet the results of the curve ball pitch me into a flare that will more than likely occupy me for the next few days, weeks, perhaps months. But that's what prednisone is for, I guess.
This situation is not one I can meditate myself out of or exercise away--since at the moment I am exercise intolerant--
except for a half hour or so each day. Which is better than a month ago thanks to my thyroid medication.
So what is there to do?
Eat right. I'm focusing on protein and boiled vegetables--no sweets.
Walking at least one half mile per day. Or bike riding on alternate days.
Watch my breathing: No point in hyperventilating. I can't change the situation so I'll have to accept it.
Try to get at least eight hours sleep at night: Yeah, right. I wake every hour fighting an imaginary enemy whom I cannot identify. Whether it be a person or a condition or both, I cannot fight something I cannot see, hear, or identify. I will have to be patient until everything is clear.
My biggest downfall is my personality:
1. I'm a doer and a fixer
2. I am impatient
And I have Crohn's.
I don't know how to solve the problem that is me. As with most people I am my greatest enemy. When everything in me screams to fix a situation and I am unable to do so, my body goes into rebellion. I do my best to 'give it to God', but I'm not very good at letting things go. I don't know if I ever will be able to live a faith based life but I am trying. I envy those that do.
So while I wait for clarity to arrive, keep my trashcan clean for the incidental aspects of Crohn's disease, try and eat healthy, exercise, and sleep, I will pray for resolution, for kindness, and for peace, not only within me, but within the world in general.
Now for some Crohn's humor. I realize this is a little late and many crohnies have already read/heard/seen the poem, but I laughed so hard I spit coffee out my nose onto my desk. Just what I needed this morning. Heads up: I did make a few changes to some words to make it more palatable for those sensitive to such things and when applicable allowing it to be shared with children. If anyone knows who wrote the poem please let me know. I'd like to give them credit.
The Night Before Christmas
‘Twas the night before Christmas and all waited with glee
Except for me in the bathroom as I have CD.
The Charmin was hung by the toilet with care
In hopes that I’d reach it before ruining more underwear.
It started at night when I was snug in my bed,
Those rumblings I heard were not in my head.
I’d been looking forward to a long, restful nap
But had to get up for a much needed crap
When out on the lawn, there arose such a clatter,
I exited the crapper to see what was the matter!
I opened the door and it hit like a flash…
A stench so god-awful I fell on my a$$.
I opened the window and threw up in the snow
It covered the Christmas scene down below.
And what to my bloodshot eyes should appear
But a miniature sleigh with some tiny reindeer.
A decrepit old driver, not lively or quick,
I knew in a moment it must be St. Nick.
Slowly—with effort, those reindeer, they came
As he whistled and shouted and called them by name:
“Now, Crohn’s! Now, Colitis! Now J-Pouch and Ostomy!
On, Hemorrhoid! On, Fissure! On, Stool Oh so mighty!
To the top of the house, to the top of the wall!
Now dash, little reindeer, and don’t let me fall!”
And then, in an instant, I heard on the roof
The scratching and pooping of that big, ol’ dumb goof.
As I drew in my head, and was turning around,
Down the chimney St. Nicholas came with a bound.
He was dressed all in red, from his head to his toe,
And he looked in a rush, like he had to go.
A bundle of toys he flung on my couch.
He winked at me, saying, “Wanna see my J-Pouch?”
The bags under his eyes—I saw the fatigue
That comes from living with Crohn’s or UC.
He was chubby and plump; he screamed at his elf.
I laughed when I saw this, in spite of myself.
The moon face,
the mood swings,
the twitch of his head,
I knew right away…side effects of the Pred.
He spoke not a word, but went straight to the bathroom
The noise from within,
filling my imagination.
He exited the potty with fingers clamped on his nose,
And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose.
He sprang to his sleigh; he weighed ten pounds less.
And thanking me for the Charmin, he apologized for the mess.
As I heard him cry out, I realized he knew of our plight:
“HAPPY CHRISTMAS TO ALL,
“I’M HAVING ONE HECK OF A NIGHT!”
(((hugs)))
Louann
Which it has.
Funtastic Thursday.
The new year brought with it a family crisis. This isn't the type of crisis that gets better with time. No, it will just get worse until acceptance steps in with the peace it brings. In the meantime, I have an angry gut. Which is probably the reflection of a furious mind.
"You have to calm down!" my husband shouts. "You have Crohn's disease." Glaring at me, he adds, "And if you flare I suffer, too."
This did little to calm me down. Suffice it to say, as I said to him, "I am who I am. I cannot reach into my mind and tell it it doesn't matter. I will process this information MY way and if that means I flare, then so be it."
Stress does little to help those with Crohn's disease. Life throws curve balls. Sometimes life throws life-changing curve balls. One of those nasty ones hit me dead center over the holidays and I have to learn to live with it.
My fragile gut shifts restlessly as this situation is not one which I can discuss, yet the results of the curve ball pitch me into a flare that will more than likely occupy me for the next few days, weeks, perhaps months. But that's what prednisone is for, I guess.
This situation is not one I can meditate myself out of or exercise away--since at the moment I am exercise intolerant--
except for a half hour or so each day. Which is better than a month ago thanks to my thyroid medication.
So what is there to do?
Eat right. I'm focusing on protein and boiled vegetables--no sweets.
Walking at least one half mile per day. Or bike riding on alternate days.
Watch my breathing: No point in hyperventilating. I can't change the situation so I'll have to accept it.
Try to get at least eight hours sleep at night: Yeah, right. I wake every hour fighting an imaginary enemy whom I cannot identify. Whether it be a person or a condition or both, I cannot fight something I cannot see, hear, or identify. I will have to be patient until everything is clear.
My biggest downfall is my personality:
1. I'm a doer and a fixer
2. I am impatient
And I have Crohn's.
I don't know how to solve the problem that is me. As with most people I am my greatest enemy. When everything in me screams to fix a situation and I am unable to do so, my body goes into rebellion. I do my best to 'give it to God', but I'm not very good at letting things go. I don't know if I ever will be able to live a faith based life but I am trying. I envy those that do.
So while I wait for clarity to arrive, keep my trashcan clean for the incidental aspects of Crohn's disease, try and eat healthy, exercise, and sleep, I will pray for resolution, for kindness, and for peace, not only within me, but within the world in general.
Now for some Crohn's humor. I realize this is a little late and many crohnies have already read/heard/seen the poem, but I laughed so hard I spit coffee out my nose onto my desk. Just what I needed this morning. Heads up: I did make a few changes to some words to make it more palatable for those sensitive to such things and when applicable allowing it to be shared with children. If anyone knows who wrote the poem please let me know. I'd like to give them credit.
The Night Before Christmas
‘Twas the night before Christmas and all waited with glee
Except for me in the bathroom as I have CD.
The Charmin was hung by the toilet with care
In hopes that I’d reach it before ruining more underwear.
It started at night when I was snug in my bed,
Those rumblings I heard were not in my head.
I’d been looking forward to a long, restful nap
But had to get up for a much needed crap
When out on the lawn, there arose such a clatter,
I exited the crapper to see what was the matter!
I opened the door and it hit like a flash…
A stench so god-awful I fell on my a$$.
I opened the window and threw up in the snow
It covered the Christmas scene down below.
And what to my bloodshot eyes should appear
But a miniature sleigh with some tiny reindeer.
A decrepit old driver, not lively or quick,
I knew in a moment it must be St. Nick.
Slowly—with effort, those reindeer, they came
As he whistled and shouted and called them by name:
“Now, Crohn’s! Now, Colitis! Now J-Pouch and Ostomy!
On, Hemorrhoid! On, Fissure! On, Stool Oh so mighty!
To the top of the house, to the top of the wall!
Now dash, little reindeer, and don’t let me fall!”
And then, in an instant, I heard on the roof
The scratching and pooping of that big, ol’ dumb goof.
As I drew in my head, and was turning around,
Down the chimney St. Nicholas came with a bound.
He was dressed all in red, from his head to his toe,
And he looked in a rush, like he had to go.
A bundle of toys he flung on my couch.
He winked at me, saying, “Wanna see my J-Pouch?”
The bags under his eyes—I saw the fatigue
That comes from living with Crohn’s or UC.
He was chubby and plump; he screamed at his elf.
I laughed when I saw this, in spite of myself.
The moon face,
the mood swings,
the twitch of his head,
I knew right away…side effects of the Pred.
He spoke not a word, but went straight to the bathroom
The noise from within,
filling my imagination.
He exited the potty with fingers clamped on his nose,
And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose.
He sprang to his sleigh; he weighed ten pounds less.
And thanking me for the Charmin, he apologized for the mess.
As I heard him cry out, I realized he knew of our plight:
“HAPPY CHRISTMAS TO ALL,
“I’M HAVING ONE HECK OF A NIGHT!”
(((hugs)))
Louann
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