The Gimpy Colon*

*No, it's not another trendy bar.

The Path to the Semicolon…

***THIS BLOG POST WAS DRAFTED IN NOVEMBER 2013.  I’M GOING TO MAKE AN EFFORT TO MAKE UP FOR THE ALMOST THREE YEARS OF BLOG POSTS WHICH SHOULD BE GREAT NEWS TO MY MOM AND THE THREE OTHER PEOPLE WHO READ MY BLOG.

Whelp… in approximately 37 hours from now (give or take), I’ll be going under the knife for the first time for my Crohn’s disease. I’m told from some of my fellow Crohnies that I’ve had a good run, which is what most people say when you’ve died at the age of 100. But whatever, I’m currently sitting here thinking of things I might want to eat because in 3 hours or so, I won’t be able to eat anything that anyone would consider food until I wake up from surgery sometime on Monday afternoon.

But let’s back up. I did promise to tell you (all three of you including my mom) about my trip to Philadelphia to see the specialist. As promised, Butter (not her real name) accompanied me to my appointment. She is skilled in the ways of Philadelphia traffic and also in the ways of Philly specialists.

I arrived with a huge stack of my stuff from the past three years. Information, tests, results, copies of disgusting pictures of my colon, lists of medications, and stupid food journals which are really funny during a flare….

Breakfast: Rice.
Lunch: Ensure.
Dinner: Rice.

The specialist was a nice guy. We had a lovely opening discussion about heating systems (???). He asked me some questions. I answered them. He wanted to know why I didn’t go on a certain class of drugs (the Mexotrexate and 6-MP, etc.) and I couldn’t remember the answer to that. I found out that the gold standard diagnosis for Celiac has either changed or I was misdiagnosed or I don’t have Celiac and am just gluten intolerant. That was some interesting news.  I actually chose to ignore him because I am gluten free anyway – for the most part – so it really doesn’t matter.  Although after talking with my GI doctor he swears up and down that I have Celiac disease.

He also said that I might want to wait on surgery and try the mexotrexate or something in that class. I wasn’t totally on board with that, just a feeling, and took his information and summary. Butter and I ate at this nice sub place and headed for home. In a bizarre twist, I forgot my pain meds before leaving the house, which meant I was in a world of hurt going home. It was times like those where I just wanted to do the surgery myself. While I was in the car, I called my GI and told him what the specialist told me. He called me back while I was still in the car and told me that the part of my colon that is being removed was in such bad shape, he didn’t think the mexotrexate was going to help anything at all.  I was glad because in a funny way, I was all set for my surgery, I had people taking care of my kid’s soccer practice, Farmboy’s business was looked after, my mom was coming to feed and clothe anyone who was living in the house at the time of surgery.

As of the writing of this post, I’m 7 months out from surgery. I hate to be a big fat spoiler but the patient survives and … well lives to write about it.

To Be Continued….

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