Post #8: sharing is caring

And when they get there, I'm usually in the bathroom.

So.....ironically, I was on FB reading a post about how this college friend might have UC, and was in the hospital, and I thought to myself, well, she has REAL IBD, she has proof, people know she's sick.

And then I pooped on the couch.

There is really no delicate way of saying that. It wasn't really a delicate situation. It was only a little bit, but it sure shocked the hell out of me. There I was, watching the View, having some cramps/gas but nothing major, when HOLY CRAP WHAT WAS THAT. I did a super exaggerated cartoon rabbit leap from the couch and sprinted to the bathroom, where, what do you know? Proof. I had my first accident.

For a germ freak like me, this was a CODE RED situation. I'm listening to the machine machine churn as I type this, where I am bleaching the hell out of clothes that aren't white. The crafty part of my brain was like, get some rubber bands and artfully tie them around your poo pants so the bleach causes a kind of tie dyed effect! While the OCD part of me was busting out the Clorox wipes and huffing the fumes and planning on wrapping the evidence in like 10 hefty bags and pretending this never happened. I did a sprint of shame upstairs and showered as quickly as possible, because I could feel round two churning away in my AAC, and I didn't want to have to clean the upstairs bathroom too.

As I was scrubbing away, I had a predominant thought: this is no way to live.

It's been three days since I cut my dose of steroids, three days where I've been eating things my body is apparently not ready for. I could blame one or the other, but something isn't working. I'm going to give this varied diet/tapering shit two weeks, but if I still feel this sick after that I think I have to face the reality that I might need the super-scary cancer drug. I want the consistency I had on the steroids back. I want to be able to pre-plan activities and not wait for my colon to decide what I'll be doing and where I'll be going. I don't want this pain, and I certainly don't want a repeat of this morning.

Since my IBS days, I've always carried an emergency kit in my car. When my sister was visiting, my BIL found my Nordstrom bag (what can I say, I'm a classy lady) with underwear, jeans, wheat thins, and Gatorade in the trunk of my car and I was embarrassed for a second before realizing that the more embarrassing situation would be being without those things if I needed them. Which apparently I might now.

My hands are tight and shiny from all of the hand washing I've done in the past few days. If this keeps up, they'll look like they used to, pre-steroids: dry, red, angry, shriveled, with knuckles cracked and bleeding. If you go to the bathroom a lot, you wash your hands a lot, to the point that neosporin is more useful than hand cream. I don't want to go back there.

Now if you'll excuse me, I am going to go order myself a nice present from the Internet, because I've had a really shitty morning.