A Game Of Crohn's

I did not intend for this to be a three-part series, but it’s looking like lumping this in with the other two will make the most sense. I’ve already written about the study that Ketchup Klinik mentioned to me that I may be a perfect candidate for, and I had my appointment at the end of October. Now I have more information, and I have a much better idea of what hoops I’ll need to jump through to complete the study (if all the heads of the study agree that I am indeed a candidate; it is not set in stone yet). Good-ish news: this post won’t be quite as graphic as part 2. It may be clinical at some points, but not terrible. On the 22nd, my cab picked me up at 4:30 am to check in for my 7:30 MRI. I got my IV port set, got undressed and into my sexy hospital gown and booties, and went back to the waiting room to display my hairy legs to the rest of the people waiting. (Hey - I live in Wisconsin. I don’t shave my legs in the winter...it’s fucking freezing up here and I need that

I can hear what you’re thinking, in the collective brains of all my friends and family out there - Jill, are you seriously fucking writing a blog post about Taylor Swift?? Yeah, I am. Stick with me, homefries. When I’m writing this, Taylor Swift is only 24 years old. Love her or hate her, she’s put together one hell of an empire for herself, hasn’t she? Think about that for a second. 24. What were YOU doing when you were 24? I don’t say this to make you feel bad (or good, for you achievers) about yourself, I just want you to be aware of how you felt when you were that age. I know that I was still trying to figure out life. Wait. What the fuck am I talking about? I’m * still * trying to figure out life. I was little more lost (so to speak) at 24 though. I’m a bit more comfortable in my skin at this age (as I write this, it’s 35). I was scared. I had essentially just packed up my truck and moved from Ohio to way northern Wisconsin. I was living in a motel (!!!

The first time I tried to commit suicide, I had just been let go from my job. A job I loved. I don’t think I’m legally allowed to say “fired”. I tried by swallowing all of the xanax that I had (which was a considerable amount at this time, because as I said - I was happy at my job - and would just take the pre-filled courtesy refill prescription every month), and drinking vodka. I don’t normally drink - plus with my crohn’s disease it is not a good idea- so drinking vodka straight out of the bottle? This was pretty tough on me and I couldn’t tolerate much. After a while, I was saying some *seriously* whacked out shit on facebook. One friend of mine - who is a nurse in Ohio - sent me a short message: “are you ok?” and I fired back “NOPE”, and after that she left me alone. A Minneapolis friend (N) was also on high alert as to "Jill-is-scaring-me" and I don’t remember much about him coming over, just that he came over as soon as humanly possibly to be with me.

Remember where we were last week? I was just going into surgery for an abscess that Ketchup Klinik had multiple opportunities to catch, from ER doctors to my PCP, not to mention at least 2 in the gastroenterology department. Now I’m under the knife from Holy Hospital, who caught it in under three days. WARNING: GRAPHIC AHEAD I wake up. They tell me what they’ve found. I’m not happy. It is an abscess as they presumed before I went under the scalpel. It’s not only an abscess, though. It is also a fistula . To dumb it down entirely, it’s a hole that bores through your body, and this one bored through to my anus. I can count myself lucky that I don’t have a fistula that bores into my vagina (pus and/or fecal material moving through this opening) or my abdomen. I knew I’d get fistulas when I was diagnosed with crohn’s, I just didn’t think it would be so quickly? So, ok, I have this open wound near my rectum. It needs to stay open and drain all the gross out of it. If it close

I’ve got a piercing more badass than any you’ve ever had. Or seen. Or probably have ever heard about. It's going to take me a while to tell you this story, and this story AND piercing is not for the faint-of-heart. I’ve warned you, remember that. . Let’s begin at the beginning. I had been at Jen’s just a few weeks when I started experiencing some rectal pain. Rectal pain and crohn’s tend to go hand in hand. She drops me off at Ketchup Klinik’s local ER, I check in, get undressed, get into my gown, blah blah blah - same routine as always. THIS time - however - sticks out, because the PA (physician’s assistant) doesn’t do an exam or any tests. He just loads me up with a bunch of sweet, sweet narcotics, gives me a prescription, and sends me on my way. I call Jen to come and get me. Jen: Well, that was quick! Me: Yeah, dude, they did *no examinations*. Jen: What?? None? No CT scan? No ultrasounds? Not even a digital rectal?? Me: (shaking my head) nope, none of it. Jen