I used to spend most of my summer days outside tending my lawn and flowers. I couldn't get enough. I also have horrible seasonal depression. Once the leaves start to fall my sadness for winter starts. So when that warm day came I couldn't wait to be outside. I wanted to see what was starting to bud and make plans for future days in the sun and dirt.
As I'm walking around (With no jacket on!) I feel a bit of warm wetness in my panties. It was strange and not at all normal, but I had better things on my mind and let it go. After a few seconds I'd forgotten about it. I really wanted some rose bushed, and was trying to find the perfect spot for them, when I felt that warmth wetness in my panties again. This was really abnormal so I decided to go inside and see what was going on.
It didn't feel like I'd gotten my period because there were no cramps, plus it wasn't my time. I went to the bathroom, pulled down my panties and saw poop. Like baby poop. It was just a small amount, like if I'd just started my period while I was asleep. I cleaned myself up and got some new panties on, all the while trying to figure out why this had happened. I didn't feel ill and I'd never felt the need to go. I ended up just thinking it was a freak thing and I'd eaten something that didn't like me.
Nothing happened like that for a few weeks but then I started having diarrhea daily. I felt totally fine. I was eating normally and was just as active. It had warmed up enough for me to actually start some flower beds and pick a place for the veggies to go. I was glad that winter was definitely over and spring was almost officially here. And the pooping started to happen more often. Again, I still felt fine otherwise.
As time went on the diarrhea got more watery and more often. I started have pain in my lower left side and my appetite dropped. One of the most odd things that happened was that I didn't fart anymore. It was like it got stuck in there and wouldn't come out unless I was on the toilet and pooped first. Trapped gas is really painful, especially when it starts to move.
This all happened way more gradually than it seems on paper. (I have to tell myself that for my ego; I can't be that naïve.) I had no insurance and not much money to spare, but by June I had to go see someone about this shit.
The clinic I went to was one that's based on your income; I'd never been there before. I remember telling the man, whose name I don't remember, my symptoms. He didn't seem too concerned or engaged in the whole thing. When I told him about the farting he actually looked at me like it was TMI and irrelevant. He ordered some bloodwork and some poop tests. I didn't go back to that place again; I felt like hell and didn't need to be looked down on by the one who supposedly wanted to help me.
The poop tests... I was given three plastic tubes. They were shaped like a mixture of those cups you pee in and the vials they put your blood in. They size was somewhere in between. For three days I had to collect poop and add them to these specimen containers. I don't remember exactly what the directions were, but I had to add poop from one day into all three containers. On the second day I added poop to just two of them. I don't remember the last day or if I'm even remembering right. I'm sure I had to bounce back and forth between containers and do a little mixing though. It was unpleasant, sure, but I really wanted some answers.
The next week I went to the beach. We'd rented the house months before and my husband needed a vacation. I was going to the toilet 15-20 times a day by this point and my ass was seriously irritated and chafed, It was miserable except for the hot tub, it took away all the pain. This was the last week of June.
After that place first place I went to one with similar payment options that felt more comfortable. By this time my symptoms were getting particularly bad. I was in constant pain and using the toilet at least 20+ times a day. I remember being in so much pain during that first visit that I couldn't even communicate with the doctor. I was rocking back and forth and changing positions just to try to find a comfortable one. My husband did most of the talking. I had a ton of bloodwork done, was given prednisone, and told to drink Gatorade mixed with water.
By this time I was going so much that I was having trouble making it down the stairs at night before the liquid poop just started coming out of me. Between the pain and bathroom breaks I was barely sleeping an hour at a time. We had to put a mattress just outside of the bathroom door so I could basically just lay there until I had to get up again. I was barely living and in need of help, but who can afford quality healthcare at 24?
The prednisone was definitely a love/hate relationship. I gave me energy because it made me obsessed with food... but I was completely obsessed with food. I would be eating one thing and thinking about what I'd get to have next. Spicy food could not get spicy enough, and it all tasted amazing. I still had pain but it was manageable, I was still really weak but I could function. I really needed that break, I don't think I could've lasted much longer without it. But you can't stay on prednisone for too long; I had to be weaned off and all of my symptoms came back with a vengeance.
Some test came back and said I had inflammatory bowel disease. I had no idea what that meant. I immediately began searching online to find out all I could about IBD. I learned there were several different kinds but only two could've really pertained to me, ulcerative colitis and Crohns disease. So I kept reading and learning. I wanted to know what I had, why I had it and how the hell to make it stop hurting me so bad. The doctors said I need more tests before I could really be put on any medication and I was almost completely weened off the prednisone. I was miserable.
By August I still had no answers. I was skinny, in pain, pooping 30+ times all day and night, my ass was raw, I was barely sleeping, and now my mouth was so full of ulcers that I couldn't eat; it even hurt to talk. I was dying.
My older sisters (Not Mrs. Ronas, lets call her Teach because she's a teacher) birthday is on the 6th of August and she came to see me. Apparently I looked so awful that she couldn't stand it anymore. She made me get into the car and go to the University of Virginia hospital. I think this may have been a joint effort between her and other family members, I'm really not sure because life was a blur at this point.
When I got there they immediately started running all kinds of tests. I remember at one point yelling at a young female doctor for wanting to do the same tests that I'd had done at the other place already. I don't know why I got so angry or how I found the energy to do it, but I've felt guilty about it ever since. (I'm almost positive that this same woman is now my primary digestive health provider, but I'm too embarrassed to bring it up.) After that they gave me some kind of tranquilizer thing and continued with tests.
I have no idea how much time I spent in the ER, but my family members just kept showing up. I guess I was probably falling in and out of sleep because I was so exhausted, but a new family member would come talk to to me every so often and tell me who all was there. It was really odd, I don't feel that important but I was too tired to think about it too much.
The next thing I remember was being in a smaller room with about ten family members, some of which don't get along, and like six doctors in white coats. They wanted me to sign papers were telling me that I needed surgery asap. I, again, got angry and yelled about how it wasn't fair that I had to make this decision before getting some sleep. Some of the coats left, but one man stayed (I still have no idea who he is) and got down to my level. He calmly explained to me that if I didn't have surgery I was probably going to die. So I cried, signed the papers and fell back asleep.
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