Happy Anniversary

Happy Anniversary to me!

Okay, so maybe this is a little pretentious, but come on, it’s my bloody anniversary and I deserve to celebrate!

It’s been a month. A month since I was checked out of Chateau Norwest armed with a bunch of drugs and the knowledge that my life had been altered forever.

I read alot. I love a good book. But I have this terrible habit that when I reach the 60-70% mark I go and read the reviews to get a hint of how the book will end. I don’t want to know what happens in the last 40% of the book, I just want to know that it ends well. I’m a fucking princess at heart and I want the happily-ever-after, god damn it.

This need bleeds into all aspects of my life. I am a self-diagnosed control freak. I like things to be ordered and structured – I consider myself malleable, quick to adapt but rigid when required.

So Crohn’s a swift kick in the lady bits that has my head spinning and my neurotic tendencies working overdrive trying to figure out exactly how much Valium it would take to stabilize this shit show I call my life!

The thing that blows my mind is, it’s been 1 month.

31 days.
744 hours.
44,460 minutes.
2,678,400 seconds.
To be precise.

And in that time I feel like I have run a marathon. I have actually run a half marathon and I thought that was the most grueling task I had ever undertaken. My running partner, Chris, and I now talk about the struggle of running a couple of kms, we laugh. And then reminisce about the time we used to say stuff like “we will just do a short one tonight, 12kms will do” – now 12kms might as well be 41. And the last 31 days might as well have been 365.

I honestly feel like I have lived a whole life in the last 31 days.

I have changed how and what I eat, eliminating food and eating (even) smaller meals more often.

I can’t drink alcohol, never really drank much before the C-bomb, but now I feel like an addict in an AA meeting. I want it, I want it so bad I can almost taste it. But the second that sweet elixir passes my lips, Fred sticks his middle finger right in my gut and reminds me why alcohol is now a mirage. So close, but so untouchable.

The last month has given me lessons. I feel like a student being schooled in life all over again. Just when I thought I had it all under control, it flipped on a dime and now I’m like a kid attending their first swimming lesson. Trying to keep my head above water and praying that my Elsa and Anna frozen floaties don’t have a blow out and send me to my watery grave.

I never gave irony much thought before. But now it’s all I think about. Why? well, let me explain.

Irony.

Described as: a state of affairs or an event that seems deliberately contrary to what one expects and is often wryly amusing as a result.

Crohn’s is caused by your body thinking it has an illness and doing it’s job to attack it. What it is actually attacking is the good stuff and therefore causes you to be ill. Ironic.

I need food to live, I have a disease where the food I eat can make me feel like I am dying. Ironic.

I take a steroid to control the symptoms of my Crohn’s. This steroid is known to be one of the worst drugs you can take. It makes some people crazy (I already was), causes mood swings (I can go from 0 to BRITNEY bitch in 0.01 seconds), it causes weight gain (oh, fuck off) and zaps the calcium out of your bones.

Oh, okay so I take the steroids to control the Crohn’s but I have to take the calcium tablet to stop early osteoporosis? Great no worries! Oh the irony!

I take another drug to suppress my immune system in turn stopping my body from attacking itself. The biggest concern then is that I will get sick – even a common cold can quickly escalate into a stay in hospital because my immune system is so suppressed it can’t do its job and fight the cold off. Ironic.

Oh and did I mention I have to avoid exposure to the sun because this same drug increases the risk of skin cancer, because again, the drug is stopping my body from fighting off any dodgy skin cells. You know the same drug that is fixing my first problem, Crohn’s.

Do you believe in irony yet?

I can’t help but laugh and think that at any moment Ashton Kutcher is going to bust out of the bushes and yell ‘PRANKED’! Just kidding, your totally fine. No really Ashton, any minute now. I’m waiting. Come at me. No. Okay?

So what’s a girl to do. Well in my case, I’m choosing to control the shit that I can. Not the actual shit that gives my butt clenching muscles a real work out, but the other shit.

I’m taking my meds, downing those suckers like they’re m&m’s and not vile tasting artificial gunk.

I’m avoiding the sun, and wondering if a birkini is the way to go for my morning walks and general life.

I’m fighting off this cold in a battle that resembles the last round of Rocky and Apollo’s boxing match. (I’m Rocky, of course). And doing everything in my power to stay ‘healthy’.

I’m gaining control. Slowly, but surely. But I am also learning that not having it can be okay too. Nice even – okay that’s a total lie, but I hope to think like that one day!

So to celebrate my anniversary, I am going to make a tea, treat myself to a good book and think about the cake I’d love to eat – but will avoid along with the inevitable pain in the gut it will cause while chuckling to myself and thinking, I am totally in control.

P.s. Happy Anniversary Fred, you dodgy fucker. I didn’t get you a gift cause lets be honest, your a real pain in the arse.

 

 

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