I think it started when I signed up for a study on IBD and Meditation. I was randomized into the "control" group, which meant that I sat in a room for 9 hours and listened to well-intentioned, but soul-stomping-boring lectures on different aspects of IBD. I was the youngest person there by at least 10 years.
It had a weird effect: rather than being simply boring, it was profoundly stressful. At one point, my doctor pulled me aside to champion some new, experimental drug she thought I should try, and I deflated.
For the last fifteen years, I've built a successful career as a human by compartmentalizing my illness. For years I didn't even mention Crohn's to my friends, ever. During the day I'm a regular 20-something; at night....I may or may not cancel our plans, but I'm still a regular 20-something. I'm just a delightfully flighty, not-at-all sick friend! No big, y'all!
Sitting in a room for 9 hours, hearing about different ways Conventional Medicine has failed to help me, left me feeling like I'd been kicked in the gut. (Pun...intended?)
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| Apriso, Mesalamine |
(Look at how pretty this little buddy is!
It does fuck-all, but it really brings out the color of your eyes
and matches most handbags.)
and matches most handbags.)
I've crawled out of my K-hole enough to recognize it as a K-hole, not "omigodomigodIshouldjustmovebackhomenow,everythingisshitandalwayswillbe."
I'll be back and at 'em, and hopefully will only fall to pieces on subways when I still have the capacity to find it funny.
I'll be back and at 'em, and hopefully will only fall to pieces on subways when I still have the capacity to find it funny.
Oh, and I always find it funny.
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