Visual Aids

Remember when this blog first started and I  tried to always post pics of things my poop reminded me of? Well, I do and I want to start doing it again. Today's poop looked like grubs to me. Now you know.

It's been a while since I've checked in, and I regret that. I know this isn't the most heavily-trafficked blog, but I still enjoy populating it. It's been an interesting few months of improving GI symptoms, mental/emotional ups and downs and readjusting to a new home, new cats and no job. I'm lucky enough to have disability coverage and insurance through March, but after that it's going to be a scramble to get my meds paid for. It has been incredibly strange taking disability leave over post-fire stress instead of something actively physical like colitis. I've been seeing a really supportive and soothing therapist in my time off, but the big take-away is that my resentment and loss will be something I'll have to deal with for the foreseeable future, and knowing me that means forever. I need to learn to manage those feelings and not let them debilitate my brain function. It's intimidating thinking of starting a new job up here because I want to give my best performance and care about what I'm doing.

Returning to the topic of my bowels, I've been steadily improving. I've even been sneaking some coffee in when J's having some and it hasn't blown up in my face yet. OK, yes, my poop should not be short and grub-like, but I'll take it over the runs. I've been taking fish oil and calcium with D supplements, which I think are helping both my butt and my mood. I've discovered two recipes on Pinterest that I think have been good for me: "Almond Joy" oatmeal and banana "ice cream." The oatmeal is quick-cook oats made with almond-coconut milk (or any milk you like) as directed on the oats container. Then mix-in dark chocolate chips, shredded coconut and sliced almonds. I hate breakfast, but this appeals to me. The banana treat is just frozen over-ripe bananas, tossed into a blender with the milk of your choice (again, I used the almond-coconut from Blue Diamond). Add a little of the milk at a time so you can judge the consistency until you get it where you want it. Then toss in some chocolate chips, pulse it a few times and boom. Put some whipped cream and a cherry on top and it tastes like you're eating a banana split. Bananas are binding but not always appetizing to me, so this is a great way to get them into my diet.

 Gross-out humor, a diary entry, and two recipes, all in one post. I feel so accomplished!

Image Source: mnn

In the Dumps

Ever notice Oscar's eyebrows look like a furry turd?

It's been a shit year, both literally and figuratively.

I've already posted on here about how we lost one of our beloved cats to stomach cancer, and shortly after I had another nasty flare-up of colitis which lasted about a month. I was finally recovering, and had gone to Vermont to visit my family for a much needed vacation. I was rejuvenated by the trip, came home to J and our other two cats and then the next day OUR FUCKING HOUSE BURNED DOWN. Both cats died of smoke inhalation (thankfully, I don't think I could handle it if we discovered they'd been burned to death) and we're now living in a neighbor's basement apartment as we get back on our feet.

All things considered, we lucked out. We have renter's insurance and the support from neighbors and my workplace has been overwhelming and eye-opening. We miss the "kids" terribly, but we have each other and a pretty remarkable support network to see us through. My pharmacist took care of getting all of my meds re-ordered without any problems from my insurer. My appetite has been decent, which is remarkable as I typically don't eat when I'm upset. I have, however, had non-stop stress diarrhea for the past week and a half so I'm exhausted an my butt is chafed. I know you were dying to know that.

So that's the update for now. I don't anticipate updating this blog again for a while since I have too much other pressing stuff to do, unless the stress diarrhea escalates into something worth writing about (and I hope it doesn't). See you in a few months?

xox
Li'l Crohnsie

Poop Factory

(Video NSFW)

The good news is I'm back to pooping like a champ - the bad news is I'm running my poop factory on the night shift and it's really messing with my ability to get back to the day job. I've been lucky enough that they've let me sign on from home to help get some work done, but the problem is that I'm so tired and twisted from pooping like a machine that I find myself being flighty and making embarrassing mistakes, which bring on the darker side of the prednisone mood swings, depression and paralyzing anxiety. My daily schedule is basically toss and turn and poop all night, fall asleep around 7am, get up to poop and take prilosec around 8:30, fall back to sleep until around 10, take the first round of prednisone, try to wake up and eat something, slump around like a loser, take the second dose of prednisone around 12:30, and slump around like a loser some more.

I was honestly looking forward to being on a course of prednisone right now. The last time I took it it make me hyper-productive, and I was hoping to have a similar experience this time around considering I'm in the final two weeks of my semester. Unfortunately I'm thusfar only more disorganized and unmotivated than ever and it's making me rather disgusted with myself. I have so much I can be doing while I sit at home healing my body, but instead I just watch the time go by, waiting for tomorrow and hoping it'll be better than today. Tonight I'm going to try to take something to help me sleep with the intention of getting to work for at least a half day tomorrow. I'll probably be pissed off and miserable the whole time I'm there, but at least I'll be out of the apartment.

Now We're Solid

Ashford & Simpson - Solid by trashfan

Yesterday I ate a substantial amount of solid food for the first time since my cat died. It's mostly been soup, crackers and cheese for six days. But then a friend from California gave me some cookies - medicinal cookies - and boy did I rediscover my appetite. I spent the better half of Sunday stuffing my face. I didn't realize it when I woke up, and I didn't have to go before I left the house, but by the time I got off the train I was high-tailing it to Starbucks for a little public restroom action. I'm pleased to report that my grief diarrhea has subsided. I'm still down and I expect I will be for the next few weeks, or at least until the ashes come back and I've settled all the billing. Death is a hell of a business.

Let's Talk About Brains

So perhaps you've already read about the angry NYU student who very publicly flipped her lid by cc'ing her entire department on a thread of diversely fonted e-mails. It's brought up a lot of questions about her mental state, political leanings and overall sense of entitlement. A lot of commentors on the blogs that have covered this story have diagnosed the student in question as being bi-polar or schizophrenic. Some who claim to know her dismiss this and say she's not "crazy" at all, just annoying. While I have all sorts of opinions on this, the reason I'm posting about it here is this- who says mental illness has to be a grand diagnosis? I know I've had bouts of anxiety or depression that are more akin to a cold than acute inflammation, and I think these short-term cases of the head-sicks are far more common than typically addressed. I don't mean to imply that mental health issues just come and go or magically disappear, rather that you don't have to be clinically insane or identify as "crazy" to suffer from an episode of mental illness.

A personal anecdote: It's no secret that I take celexa to deal with my anxiety. I tried therapy a few times, and never found the right doctor so, as a college student short on time and in desperate need of a solution, I turned to meds. A few years ago I tried to come off of it, and I became irritable, paranoid and somehow both self-deprecating yet self-aggrandizing. In this time I also happened to try the Nuva Ring for birth control and it made me borderline suicidal. I spent two weeks out of every month thinking about slitting my wrists which is, hands down, the last thing I would ever do to myself. I've never been a cutter and, with the exception of my period, I typically feel faint when I see my own blood. The moment of truth came for me when I was in Florida on a family vacation and I couldn't stop crying when I was sitting on a private beach on a beautiful day. Thankfully I know myself well enough that I was able to say "Okay, this is not me, this is not right, this ring has to come out." I had an awesomely blunt conversation about it with my mother on our flight back, with my poor little brother stuck in the middle seat between us. I've never seen him squirm so much in his life. Ha!

But removing the ring wasn't enough. Although it relieved the more serious symptoms of depression and I no longer found myself thinking about wrist-slitting, I still felt miserable and angry almost all of the time. I had angry delusions of storming-out on my then-job, as if I'd be acting out in the name of the little guy like a corporate martyr.  I usually managed to direct these emotions and only act on them when it came to bitching out my cable company, but that's not to say I didn't also do stupid shit I'm not proud of. I've burned a fair amount of bridges thanks to lapses in my mental health, and clearly I'm not alone. I met with my doctor, went back on my meds, and have been significantly happier since (although I do hope to someday give them up, perhaps when I'm living somewhere less miserable than NYC).

So, going back to this NYU student. Although I've linked to the story, I'm hesitant to go into it in-depth or even include her name here. She may very well be mentally sound and deserve all of the criticism she is getting (she does paint a pretty unflattering picture of herself) but if she is indeed suffering from a wave of mental imbalance then I feel kind of terrible for her. Although she certainly seems to want the attention, she might look back in a year and say "Oh God I wish I knew then that I was making a huge mistake." The Internet is an amazing thing, but it can do a hell of a lot of damage to your reputation and, when mentally ill, even in brief spurts, it can be one of your worst enemies.

**Update** Here's a much more expansive piece on attitudes towards depression that is a worthwhile read and offers some great advice. Thanks to Catherine for writing about her experiences so openly!


Image source: physorg.com

Blogstipation

So now that I'm back on my feet (not 100% but still much more functional than I have been) and not struggling with any super-diets, I haven't had a whole lot to write about.  I've had some false starts and some ideas for little web videos but nothing that's actually inspired me to come on here and produce anything.  I realized I've been blogstipated, so here's a long rambling update for you to skim at your leisure.

I used to try to always post a picture of something that could be compared to my latest bowel movement, but nowadays my poohs are looking like Cadbury flake bars pretty consistently. I do have a lot of pics of my hair, like this one:

 And that was only one of the clogs in the sink!  That's some nastiness right there.  I'm just happy I have hair left on my head.  It's kind of nice that it's thinning out in time for summer, come to think of it.

I was home in Vermont for a week, making up for the Christmas visit I had to cancel due to my flare-up.  It was great because we got a good two feet of snow for about three days!  I hate cold weather, but since I had nothing to do but sit at home and be mommied it was a real treat and helped me feel like I'd gotten a proper winter fix. Of course, having no self-restraint I ate tons and tons of crap the whole time I was there.  Everything my mom cooked was delicious and quality, which should go without saying- but that didn't stop me from eating liverwurst sandwiches and chips and dip every day for lunch.

I was super depressed when I got back- happy to see J and the kitties, but really unhappy to be returning to a city I'm sick of.  I had a weepy few days last week, and I think I owe that not only to PMS but perhaps to some late-breaking Prednisone side-effects as well.  I had a blow-out with J, which didn't help (it's all resolved thankfully. It's a lot easier to end a fight with someone when you know they're just as committed to working shit out as you are) and then I watched "Lost" which didn't go well.  Whenever Hurley gets upset I get upset and last week something sad happened (I won't elaborate a- to avoid spoilers and b- in case you just don't care) and it had poor Hurley bawling his eyes out which got me on the waah-wagon as well.  After the sob-fests I finally remembered that mood-swings and emotional outbursts are a potential side-effect of the 'sone, and considering my hair only just started falling out I suppose it's not too late for other things to start up as well.  Lucky me!  I'm going to up my anti-depressant anyway.

I've admittedly been making terrible decision in terms of consumption- I was home sick on Friday after eating two frozen pizzas that kept me up all night puking.  I've also been drinking way too much caffeine, but eff it, I NEED that shit.  I was fine without it when I was all strung out on high doses of Prednisone, but now that the buzz has worn off I'm basically useless without some sort of stimulant and I've never been one for illegal uppers (downers on the other hand...Oh, I'm kidding!  I'm kind of kidding.).

So that's where I'm at.  Just kind of floating along like one of my fibrous turds.

I'm a Proud New Mommy!

 

I woke up this morning with a really tight stomach, it was absurdly uncomfortable.  I wanted to go back to sleep, but the more I rolled around in bed the more sore my tummy got.  So I finally decided it was time to get up and poop.  This has been happening somewhat frequently lately, and I've learned this pain means I have a big ol' pooh baby waiting to be birthed. Sometimes the little ones are reluctant to come out, and I find that walking around the apartment while massaging my gut helps to sooth the labor pains and I'm able to pop the buns out of the oven with greater ease.  

I'm pleased to report I've been hitting 4's on the Bristol Stool Chart with more consistency, and hope the trend will continue.  I did decrease to 10mg Prednisone this week, but I also increased to 175mg of Imuran.  I see my doctor tomorrow afternoon, I have to remember to make a list of stuff to report/ask.  I always bring a tiny notebook with me with a little list of talking points prepared. It's also helpful for jotting down notes from the doctor so I don't forget anything important.  

I was really, really tired all week, and kind of touchy, but I'm feeling a little more awake and chipper today.  Of course it's really sunny out and kind of warm, so that could be helping out also.  I'd like to note that I only ever have flare-ups during the winter months.  I wonder if seasonal depression might play a role in this? 

Oh, and I realized I haven't kept up with the cheek watches at all.  I basically leveled off, and think I'm starting to see a decrease in the puffiness.  Acne and facial hair are still the same- did I ever mention my little mustache? Yeah, I have a mustache now.  And my hair is coming out, but it's thick so I'm not worried about it getting to a point of being noticeable.  My appetite isn't as crazy as it's been, and I'm sleeping through the night regularly which is a huge relief.  I am, however, going to bed really early by my standards, and sleeping for about 10 hours at a stretch (and still waking up tired).

And that's that....

On Anger

In 2002, when I started having anxiety attacks and fits of rage, I began seeing a naturopathic therapist (yeah, it as full of shit as it sounds) who diagnosed me with panic disorder and a side of anger problem.  At the time I blamed it on residual issues from my IBD, mostly the social barriers.  I had a lot of crazy friends in college that liked to have adventures, and a lot of those adventures involved road trips and traveling to places without flushing toilets and thus I got left out of a few things and developed quite the chip on my shoulder from it.  Don't get me wrong, I had myself a good ol' time in college and in retrospect I'm sure having IBD saved my stupid ass on more occasions than not- but sometimes when I'm in pity party mode I feel regret towards my disease-imposed sense of caution and the wild, uninhibited life style it's kept me from.  At any rate, it was my sophomore year in college when I started confronting some of this stuff, but in retrospect I've always had a temper.  I can blame the IBD all I want, but let's be honest- it's the Irish blood in me (thankfully my exterior qualities come from the French and Italian lineage hahaha).  But seriously, agoraphobia and other symptoms of social anxiety are not uncommon in people who run a higher-than-average risk of shitting their pants, but when I look at my family I realize my maternal grandfather's bloodline boasts quite a collection of shut-ins, recluses, drunks, and misanthropes.  So is it my IBD or my heritage?  Both, I'm sure.  The point is, anger and anxiety impact IBD and that can cause some real problems when you have limited control over either. 

In recent weeks I've been having some roid rage, which I like to think is distinct from my normal sense of fury and disgust towards those around me.  I already wrote an entry about the pharmacy bs that got me riled up, and I'm sure you picked up from the "waiting room picnic" post how pissed off I was about that.  I'm trying more and more to use this blog and some other creative outlets to redirect my hissy fits, but sometimes getting confrontational just feels best.  I think it comes from feeling invisible so often- I was raised with manners and I tend to take my conduct seriously and when I don't get the response I think I deserve I get Mad.  I insist on staying to the right on stairs and while walking down the side walk. I never block the subway doors.  I always make room for other people walking down the street.  I hold doors.  I don't know why.  No one ever pays me the same courtesies and that flames my fire because I am made of solid matter- you can't walk through me, rest your bags on my lap, elbow me while you read the paper, and think I'm not going to say something about it.  I might invite an unwelcome reaction one of these days, but people need to realize other humans do still exist and sometimes I can't help but be the one to remind them.

Oddly enough being on a high dose of Prednisone left me feeling kind of calm and serene at first, but as I taper off my fuse seems to be getting shorter and shorter.  For a few unfortunate days I was PMSing on 'roids and called more people "pushy asshole" to their face in that time than I have in six years of city life.  Every single one of them deserved it, but still, some things are better left said in your head because you just don't know who's packing heat.  But fuck strangers, the real victim lately has been my poor J!  Not that he's always innocent- we've honestly both got short tempers, and that's one of the things that bonds us.  We can both be irritable and pissy but it allows us to bitch freely and honestly about everything with each other.  For all the things we both like, there are just as many things that we both hate and it strengthens us in a way that, while probably a tad unhealthy, makes me smile.  But sometimes I just flip out at him because he's always around to be flipped out on and that's not fair.  It's really, really hard to find room in our apartment for the two of us and my disease.  I'm constantly keeping my eyes on Craigslist to see where bigger places (ideally with 1.5 bathrooms or more) are affordable and close to potential jobs.  More than anything I wish I could work remotely and just move anywhere without having to think about finding a new gig.  I guess on the flip-side being forced together in a small space leaves us no choice but to deal with any issues and conflicts as quickly and effectively as possible because there isn't anywhere to run, so that's a good thing.  

Well, this post was supposed to involve more embarrassing stories about past rages and blow-ups, but I think I'll save some of those gems for another time.  I'm back to feeling kind of peaceful right now, and I'm just going to take that and run with it while I can.





Image Source: Deviantart.com

I'm Actually Pretty Lucky

So this is a rough draft guideline of a portrait I conceived of during the peak of my relapse whilst I was throwing myself a pity-party.  I was curled up in a ball in bed feeling sorry for myself, and had to reel myself in by reminding myself how lucky I am to a) have a job to be home sick from b) have short term disability to rely on and c) have FMLA to cover my ass as well. Not to mention the support and love of J and my family (I almost had to beat my mother away with a stick to keep her from visiting while I was too sick for her to be here).  And I started thinking about what a miserable whiner I can be, and this is the image that came to my mind.  A spoiled brat weeping a bejeweled tear while moping in bed and suckling a lobster tail.  It's a work in progress, but it still sums up how I feel about myself when I get too mopey.