MAR 5, 2006

LIFE AS A CHORE

I was going to write about how home is not where the heart is, but where the toilet is.  It was going to be hilarious — the gut as homing device, the joys of using toilet paper that you have personally purchased, the delight of have absolute privacy to do your business.  But that will have to wait for another post.  No humor today.  I just don’t feel funny.  

Well, I do feel funny, in a different sense.  But that’s the problem.  Things ain’t working right.  

VERY IMPORTANT NOTE TO CERTAIN FAMILY MEMBERS:  It’s not that I’m feeling miserable (if I were, I wouldn’t announce it on a blog; I’d go to urgent care).  Mostly, things are fine.  Appetite’s still good, no thanks to my orthodontist, who recently decided to use my mouth as a laboratory for a little physics experiment involving wires, rubber bands, and massive amounts of tension.  Energy level is, well, not great, but not horrible.  I’m not having horrible cramps or bouts of nausea, which are the usual indicators of a flare-up.  Getting up and getting through the day are not major challenges, as they have been at various points in the past.  So please, please, don’t worry.  If I’m writing about it here, it’s not really that bad.  

But I can’t sit right, I can’t walk right, and I can’t sleep right.  And, let’s face it, sitting, walking and sleeping are important parts of life.  

The problems have one general cause (Crohn’s, of course) and two more specific causes, both of which stem from the first: hemorrhoids and night sweats.  Now, I’ll take these symptoms over some of the nastier, more debilitating, more painful things that Crohn’s does to the body.  No question.  These are annoyances, really, not major concerns in and of themselves (although they may be indications of a larger problem, a brewing tempest-in-the-colon).  

It’s just that it would be nice, really, to live a normal life for once.   It would be wonderful to wake up one day, just one day, and not feel the burden of Crohn’s.  The fact is, to live with Crohn’s (or, I’d imagine, any other such disease) is to be constantly vigilant.  You’re always analyzing what you eat (Am I getting enough calories?  Are these vegetables cooked enough to not wreak havoc as they pass through my colon?), how much sleep you’re getting, your energy level, the distance to the closest bathroom, the grumblings of the gut (Let’s see — five seconds of gurgling . . . sounds like a minor chord . . . could be bad).  Even when you feel fine, you’re wondering, worrying, about what might happen the next day, the next hour.  Healthiness is, alas, a temporary state.  

So right now, since I feel relatively healthy, I should be happy.  I don’t have a bag in my side or an IV in my arm.  I eat well, and then I eat some more.  

But I can’t sit comfortably.  Crohn’s is a pain in the butt, and hemorrhoids only makes it worse.  If I take some Tylenol and spread on the Preparation H like mortar, I can make it through the day, though it’s still not a pleasant experience.  I still squirm uncomfortably, constantly searching for the position of least pain.  

Similarly, walking has become a chore.  I had no idea how much a leisurely stroll really uses the ass muscles — not the thighs or the calves, but the more risqué sections of the rear of the body.  It seems, though, that a sore keister makes for a slow walker.  You have to sort of will your legs to keep moving, and you learn to suppress the reflexive wince that comes with each stride.  It used to take me about ten minutes to get from my bus stop to my office.  I was a brisk walker, passing most of the still-groggy office workers stumbling to work each morning.  Now, I don’t walk; I shuffle.  Slowly, steadily, inch by inch.  It takes me about fifteen minutes.  

Of course, it doesn’t help that I have also been fairly tired on recent mornings, due to lack of sleep.  This being winter in Minnesota, it’s cold, and I usually want to sort of bury myself beneath a massive pile of blankets when I get in bed.  Usually, this cocoon lulls me to sleep quickly, no counting of sheep necessary.  Eight or nine hours later, I awake, refreshed and content.  Lately, though, I’ve been waking up two or three hours later, disgusted and frustrated and drenched in sweat.  I’ve taken Tylenol for this, too, which seems to help, although the main effect is to reduce the amount of sweat to mere swimming pools’ worth, rather than Great Lakes.  

All of this makes me very grumpy.  I’m not really sick, at least I don’t think so.  And yet I am clearly not a specimen of health.  It seems vastly unfair that life should be like this, that even when ostensibly well, there are enough minor problems to prevent me from living my life as I wish.