A Game Of Crohn's

This blog isn’t only to talk about *just* my crohn’s. It’s to deal with my mental issues as well, and I’ve been having a doozy. Except...y'know, my hair is multicolored. But you get the idea. First of all, as many of you know - I’ve moved. This is a positive, but still a strain, a getting used to. Everything has been going along swimmingly, and I’m finding myself quite comfortable and most importantly supported. Then I get some hits in the gut. I’ve been dealing with a financial blow that I’m still working on. I had some terrible news where it came to my surgery (it’s been canceled, but I’m not ready to talk about it). I still have my colonoscopy coming up this month (hooray!) Then I get a familial 1-2 punch in the jaw that I was not expecting, and am having an incredibly hard time dealing with. I realize that my family loves me, but I don’t think that negates my black sheep status. When I find out even more have this...astonishing opinion on me, it’s beyond hurt

One of my favorite games to play with several immune diseases is “what the fuck is wrong with me today?” Every single day of my life. I haven’t been able to drag my ass around for three days, and when I actually attempted to do something today, I immediately vomited after climbing the stairs. This might shock some people, but for me it’s somewhat in the realm of commonality. It’s so “normal” for me that I take a medication that people take for heartburn (strangely, it really does help with cutting back on the upchucks, even though I don’t really have an issue with heartburn or indigestion), and I have *another* “rescue” medication that I’m sure a lot of people are familiar with if you’ve pushed out a child or if you’ve been given some heavy pain meds at the hospital - Zofran . Normal patients get it a handful of times in their lives - I have a regular prescription for it, and the bottle is literally sitting about six inches away. I even have multiple forms of the pill (so

Every time I go to Rochester it costs me a significant chunk of change, no matter how I cut it. If I stay in a hotel, if I make multiple trips in several days - however I do it it - inevitably costs money. Money I don't have because I have my check budgeted to the penny every single month. My bills are paid, I have my few luxuries (not really many though - I can't help but think of how many cups of coffee that I could be spending it on instead). But, I digress. The point is is that Rochester is expensive. It's a three hour drive there, and if I stay in a hotel, it's three hours back. And if there's an appointment the next day - which there usually is - I get to make that six hour trip again. Dolla dolla billa y'all. To put in my gas tank.  Within minutes of me posting my second stem cell research update on Friday, a family member had taken care of a hotel room for me on surgery night so I didn't have to drive nine hours on a freshly cut upon bum. In

Back in December when they told me that I was on my way to Eau Claire to have an emergency surgery on a new abscess, I knew this day would eventually come. I’m beyond *thankful* that this day would come. When I did my first stem cell transplant - from stem cells grown from my own belly fat! - I was one of 28 subjects that signed up to put themselves through a serious, 2-year commitment (possibly lifetime, if you’re down with it) to be humiliated in ways that you haven’t even imagined. I’ve had my behind taken pictures of like it was Lady Gaga - I’m not kidding. HUGE paparazzi type cameras, that have the added bonus of popping up *immediately* on the computer screen which I can see clearly. SMILE! You haven't learned to smile with that muscle yet?! C'mon!! I’m not sure many humans are quite so aware of what that part of their anatomy looks like - in multiple forms of healing, mind you - as much as I do. And if they do, I don’t really think I want to hear abou

I know. I know. It’s been an eternity. Back in December, my health took a left turn into ShitTown, as it likes to do, and I ended up with another surgery. With more complications. And that’s just crohn’s. After I got home, I had an incident around the tail end of the year (I would rather not discuss it at the moment, obviously I’m alive and kicking, but it will all be part of a long - ass description, and I don’t know exactly the outcome yet.) I don’t know the outcome for either incident. I would imagine that I would have stem cell surgery all over again for my surgery in December. That is 100% speculation on my part, although I absolutely will see my Rochester team here soon. I have three tests pending that I cannot get done. Every time that I have one scheduled, it’s -58 below zero, or there’s 3 feet of snow on the ground (twice). HOPEFULLY I’ll be taking care of that this week. Because it needs to be done. I need to work out what the fuck is going on with m

Just to give you some background, he moved out in the month of August, and he took his sweet time doing it. He promised me that he would clean the apartment (he did not), he promised that he would leave me furniture (it's junk, and mentioned below), and I thought that he was a good friend. I did nothing but bend over backwards to make sure that he had a safe, loving space for his two children, and this is my repayment. Any time I talk to him on the phone, he gets butthurt, asking if we're going to be friends (I'm kind of monosyllabic, I can't help it), and I just wanted him gone. This finally happened, but there were many issues, which I felt like I needed to write a letter about. I don't know if I'll ever give it to him, but there is a catharsis is writing it (and letting all of you read it). I should also note that because of the way that my apartment is designed, I was left with absolutely no furniture, and only because of my sister Jen and Benana am I