The Hunger Games

Crohn’s is literally just another version of the Hunger Games. For those that are playing along at home, it’s a far shitter version and the outfits aren’t as good!

Instead of fighting the Capitol, my body is fighting itself. It honestly feels like my intestine is trying to strangle itself, with, well, itself. And when this starts to happen, the first thing to go is food. Yep, you heard right! When the internal Hunger Games starts, the Hunger Game starts.

The self-inflicted starvation.

So here’s the thing I didn’t expect when all this started – I would willingly, on multiple occasions and with a sound mind, CHOOSE to stop eating. I am a lover of food. My relationship with food would be Facebook categorized as ‘complicated’. Food has been instrumental in the love/hate relationship I have with my body and often the comfy blanket I choose to wrap myself in when dealing with emotions that make me feel things I’d rather not. Over the past 10 years I have calorie counted and organised my life around perfectly timed, 3 hour intervals so I never missed a meal.

Oh how things have changed!

On Thursday night I crashed and burned in a blaze of glory. The innocent little cucumber from my salad, hit my insides like a fucking atomic bomb! I made the struggle from the couch to the bedroom where I demanded Endone, STAT! That within its self was enough for Hubby to know that shit was bad. I don’t like to take drugs (ironic considering I take like 10 a day now) but when that bastard decided to try and take down the Capitol, I decided to strike back and drug the shit out of myself.

Friday was a new type of hell, not enough pain to warrant the hard stuff, but enough to make me uncomfortable. My intestine decided to take a different approach… It started with this rolling feeling that ended with a stab in my right side. All day. This I am used to. This I can deal with – I was winning the war!

Saturday. I surrender. I’m done. Time of death: 08:50am.

Hunger Game commenced.

This is the breaking point. The point where I weigh up my options and decide ‘I don’t really need to eat anyway’. I can be like those people you read about that get stranded in the desert and survive months on a single drop of water. I surrender all food. Liquids are my friend.

When I was in hospital I would bargain my way up the food chain. Clear fluids to free fluids; free fluids to bland food; bland food to anything I wanted. Now I will happily give the whole lot up for a couple of hours of rest. Pain-free salvation ensued.

By Sunday, I reigned supreme. I woke and tested the waters only to find that the day off food had silenced the beast and I could resume a limited, sort-of-normal day.

Today. Nothing – like those pictures you see months after war and everything is perfect and you think ‘wow, did it really happen?’. There is nothing to indicate what happened over the weekend. I look fine, feel fine. Not a single thing out of place.

Everybody back to their stations, nothing to see here.

And this is what does my head in the most. The mentality of dealing with any disease is what does you in. The way you can be mentally pushed to your limits by a physical condition. The strength it takes to deal with the pain is nothing compared to the strength it takes to mentally forge ahead, not knowing what the bastard has in store but knowing that you just can’t back down.

Do I see more Hunger Game shenanigans in my future? You bet your arse I do!

Will I reign supreme again? Abso-fucking-lutely!



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