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 (!!!