Two weeks ago:
“You should soak your hiney hole in a nice warm bath.”
“You should soak your hiney hole in a nice warm bath.”
I swear Matt said this last night. Not even in a goofy way. Totally straight-faced. And there it is: the dynamic of our relationship summed up in one giggle-inducing line.
My health has not been good the last week or so. You know when you go to the GI and they ask how many times you go to the bathroom daily? I’m always sitting there, my sweaty butt clinging to the thin paper on the examination table and I have absolutely no idea what to say. You might as well have asked me what the cold fusion was. “Oh, I dunno, four?” So, I counted this past week, and it’s about twelve times a day and this number is just jaw-droppingly startling to me. (And while we’re on it, how can I not be remotely thin at this point?!)
I have not felt this bad in a long time. Yesterday I upping my Pentasa dosage and cut irritants out my diet (yeah, yeah, I know – it took a while). I realized I developed quite a fondness for coffee, devilish liquid it is.
Along with my poor bum, my throat is sore and immobilized; I am having difficulty swallowing and went to bed at Annie’s bedtime last night. And this morning? I woke up with an eye that was pink. “Oh, HELL NO,” I said to the mirror, “This is riDUNKULOUS.” And that’s when Matt said I should call off and I started crying and saying things like, “You and your infinite sick days! I have so much on my plate, you have no idea! I just can’t NOT go in!
Today:
I wrote the above two weeks ago, just as I (and the family) was coming down with an annoying case of pink eye (viral, as Matt and I then had a cold that ebbed and flowed and never really seemed to go away until just now).
Things are good now, but with Crohn's, I realize I rarely feel great. I often feel just okay, and get through the day with bathroom runs dotting the afternoon and evening - 2 o'clock, 4 o'clock, and oh god, I have to catch the train but should I go again? That's at the cusp of 5 o'clock.
There are no bathrooms on the train.
That is whack.
So, here's to eating with a more watchful eye, taking my meds diligently, and praying that my luck with the train never runs out.
Today:
I wrote the above two weeks ago, just as I (and the family) was coming down with an annoying case of pink eye (viral, as Matt and I then had a cold that ebbed and flowed and never really seemed to go away until just now).
Things are good now, but with Crohn's, I realize I rarely feel great. I often feel just okay, and get through the day with bathroom runs dotting the afternoon and evening - 2 o'clock, 4 o'clock, and oh god, I have to catch the train but should I go again? That's at the cusp of 5 o'clock.
There are no bathrooms on the train.
That is whack.
So, here's to eating with a more watchful eye, taking my meds diligently, and praying that my luck with the train never runs out.