Just another shitty day

So I promised myself I would make every effort to update my blog at least once weekly, and strive to keep it on a fairly regular schedule; aiming for every Monday. It's been a long day of errands and chores, and quite frankly, I'm tuckered out. BUT, I promised. So, here goes. I thought we could take a slight detour from the previous posts and go for a slightly more amusing story.

Throughout the entire pre-cancer diagnosis and in the months to follow, I can't stress enough just how bad my bowel situation was. Now for anyone who is squeamish or uncomfortable hearing poop stories, you should probably just stop reading. But, for the rest of you, you have to consider that my cancer was in my colon, so a large majority of my stories revolve around pooping, or the lack thereof, or the overabundance thereof. Depends on which day, or sometimes hour, we are specifically discussing. This particular story takes place during a diarrhea stage. In addition to the abscess, and the cancer, I also endured an unfortunate bout of C-Diff. Twice, actually, but this was the first occurrence. If you are unfamiliar with c-diff - to sum up what I know about it - it's a naturally occurring bacteria found in the digestive tract of healthy, normally functioning digestive systems, with a much longer, harder to pronounce official scientific name. However, large doses of antibiotics kill off not only harmful bacteria in your system, but also the good ones. And sometimes, during such times, the normally harmless c-diff hanging out in your body all of a sudden turns into the kudzu of bacteria taking over and wreaking havoc on your body. Left unchecked, it can lead to hospitalization, and in rare cases, even death. The most obvious symptom is severe diarrhea. I was unaware at this point, that I even had c-diff, it wasn't diagnosed until later on. I just knew everything down there was completely screwed up and it made life miserable, and quite frankly, I never knew what to expect from day to day. It seemed to range from constipation to diarrhea and at times, within the same day.

On this particular day, I had both a CT Scan and MRI scheduled. My mom, being the absolute trooper that she is and has been, had driven me to the hospital, as was usually the case. We get there. They give me some large, 32 oz. cup of pre-CT liquid prep to drink and we get settled into the waiting room. You have to wait approximately one hour from the time you start drinking before you can do the CT. So, we are in there for awhile. They call me back for my CT. Everything goes fine, no hitches. Afterward, they take me back to a separate, kind of private waiting room, while I wait to get my MRI. It was cold, so they gave me a nice, warm blanket to wrap up in. I'm sitting in this room, alone, that was, eh, maybe bigger than your standard walk-in closet. There's a TV on the wall across from my chair and a bathroom about 10 feet or so to my right. I'm sitting there, wrapped in my blanket, purse in my lap, watching whatever was on the tube, patiently waiting. THEN IT HITS ME. My stomach rolled over on itself. I panicked. I was wrapped up all snugly, and I couldn't move. I am frantically trying to unravel myself, finally manage to get the blanket off me, flinging my purse in the floor, and make a mad, insane dash to the bathroom door. It's no more than ten feet. Ten small feet. I can make it.

I didn't make it. I barely managed to even get the door slammed behind me, when it's already starting to run down my leg. I half trip over the toilet and finish what has already begun. I finish my business and start to assess the situation. Without getting into anymore graphic detail than necessary, all I can say is that my lower half is pretty much shit soaked. Fortunately, my socks and shoes were spared, though two more seconds in that blanket would have most likely ruined them too. My panties and yoga pants are covered in poop. My legs are covered in poop. Watery, watery poop. First order of business, remove pants/panties and clean myself up. So I strip down to nothing but my t-shirt and hobble over to the sink where I clean up with soap, water and paper towels. Okay, I'm clean, now what? I look at my pile of clothes. There is no way they are salvageable. This is not a case of a spot or two here or there, I'm telling ya, they are covered. I hear shuffling feet in the small waiting room outside, most likely someone looking for me, I think. And probably wondering what the hell happened outside to cause such an Armageddon of blanket and purse. Perhaps I was kidnapped. I crack the door slightly and poke my head out. There's a male nurse standing in the room. "Ummmm, I'm gonna need some assistance." He asks me if I would like for him to get a female nurse. "Yes. That would be great." I close the door. And I stand there. In my t-shirt and socks that I had put back on.

A few minutes later, there's a knock on the door, and she asks if she can come in. "Yes." She opens the door and there I am. T-shirt and socks. Just standing there. Feeling a bit shell-shocked and of course, completely embarrassed. "I shit myself." Now, there may have been more eloquent ways of explaining the situation, but that's honestly the only thing I could to say. I mean, well, that's what happened. No two ways about it.

God bless medical professionals. They have seen it all, and absolutely nothing seems to faze them. She never even blinked twice; just asked me if I would like a pair of hospital pants (scrubs). Hospital pants!!!!!! YES, YES, and More YES. I had never even thought about hospital pants as a viable option to my current predicament. I tell her yes, please, and thank you. Just a few moments later, I was dressed again. Granted, hospital pants are a one-size-fits-all kind of deal, and these easily could have fit a 300 pound grown man, and at this point, I'm not even a buck-oh-five soaking wet. But whatever. They are clean and they cover my bare bottom. I'm thrilled. I dispose of my old clothes in the trash and go in for my MRI. All ends well, and I gather my purse, and walk out to the main waiting room to meet my mom.

Her first words to me? "Where are your pants???"

"Weeeeellllllllll....... it's a long story."

The Evolution of My Ass Part 2

September 5, 2014

I am scheduled for a colonoscopy. If you've never had one, they are horrible. The procedure itself is no big deal. They put you to sleep, you wake up, it's over. It's the day before that sucks. You can have nothing but clear liquids all day, and you must drink the most gawd awful tasting drink to cleanse yourself. Then the cleansing begins. Liquid, explosive, uncontrollable diarrhea for the next few hours. Rule #1: stay close to the bathroom. Like, just get a pillow and get comfortable in the bathroom. You're not going anywhere too far. Forget wearing pants. You will just ruin them. 

I go in for the procedure. They put me to sleep. And then, poof, it's all over! I sort of half wake up on the ride home. I am starving, so we (my mom, dad and me) go to a nearby Chinese buffet. I stumble around the buffet looking like I've been on a three day drunk. My mom walks behind me to keep me from falling. I notice a few strange glances from other customers. I don't care. I weeble wobble my way back to the table. I dig in. 

"Oh, yeah, so what did the doctor say? Did he tell y'all anything after my procedure?" It's all a blur. I still feel quite loopy from the anesthesia. 

The exact exchange is still blurry. All I really remember hearing is the word CANCER. "You have a tumor. They want to start chemo and radiation immediately."

Time stops. What? Me? A tumor? Cancer? Radiation? Chemo? Oh My God, my hair is gonna fall out. ....I swear that was my first real thought. I've been on some heavy drugs that are still floating around my system, clouding my brain. I start to cry - right there at the table of a Chinese restaurant. I can't stop it. The tears just start flowing. This can't be right. But for some reason, I am not as surprised as maybe I should have been.  I think I already knew. I don't know, I think the subconscious knows more than it lets on at times. Denial is not a river in Egypt.

We finish lunch; well, sort of. My appetite is suddenly gone. The car ride home is a quiet one. I get home, exhausted from the procedure and the anesthesia. I make myself comfortable and start sending messages to my friends. A few even come over to visit, and tell me how much they love me. I don't fully understand what is happening, but I am determined to accept my fate and face it head on. No worries, right?

Later that evening, my mom and I are talking about the cancer and what it means. She is trying to explain that according to the doctor I will need to undergo radiation and chemo, followed by a surgery. I am not thrilled about the idea of radiation or chemo. "Why can't we just skip right to the surgery part?" She doesn't really answer. I press on. So now I am being stubborn. "But I don't want chemo! I don't want to go through that!" I am getting frustrated. So is my mom. We start to argue. She is getting more and more agitated, which is only infuriating me further. Finally, she explodes. "You don't understand, Jennifer!" She is practically yelling and visibly tearing up. "If they can't shrink the tumor with radiation and chemo, you are going to have to have a colostomy!" "Permanently!!!" At this point, she completely breaks down and is completely sobbing.

The words hit me like a Mack truck. I can't breathe. I can't move. I can't think. If hearing I had cancer earlier in the day stopped time, hearing the word colostomy completely froze it. It was like being punched in the gut; you can't get oxygen and your whole body is paralyzed briefly. I think I yelled at her. I am not really sure. What I do know is that I bawled my eyes out. It all came crashing down on me as the gravity of the situation started to hit me. This was not going to be one of those easy fixes in life. No. This was some serious shit. No pun intended. I still did not know what lie ahead down the road, but I knew for certain it was going to be a rough ride.

The Evolution of My Ass Part 1

2014 will probably always be remembered as the worst year of my life. At least, I hope it is. It started innocuously enough, but even then at the very precipice of the freshest of moments, a la January 1, 2104 it was already off to a shaky start.  While I was just getting my sea legs about me in my new role as marketing manager, the company I had just started work for a mere 5 months prior was sinking. By early April, it was over. The company dissolved, clamored upon by vultures waiting in the wings. Bankruptcy was declared and I was out of pocket 10 weeks of unpaid wages. No job. No insurance. No freaking clue what I was going to do. I have been gainfully employed for my entire adult life, barring a few job hops here and there along the way and a few moves around the country. For the last few years, I had been living independently, bought my first house and couldn't afford to not have a job. Not even for a little bit. After my divorce, I had used all my savings in order to purchase my house and make necessary home improvements and replace some of the furniture I had left behind. Homes are very expensive to own. And this one needed a bit of work from the get go.

I was just getting comfortable again, arriving at that point I could start setting some money aside in an effort to rebuild my small nest egg. But then, BAM!, just like that the rug came out from under me. I told myself not to panic. I would get by. I would figure something out until I could find another permanent position. I filed for unemployment. I'd like to go on record to say that unemployment benefits in the state of Mississippi are laughable. I drew the max amount available and I think it was somewhere around $275 a week. How is anyone supposed to live on this? I started waiting tables at a nearby restaurant. The money was nowhere near what I needed, but my parents helped out and I managed to get by with God's Grace.

Amid this, some time around early February, a rail-thin, scraggly looking hound dog showed up on my doorstep, cold and hungry. I, being a sucker for animals, especially rail-thin, scraggly dogs, started feeding her. So she came back. I announced her as being found on social media sites, but nobody claimed her. Surprise! I'm the proud new owner of a hound dog. Already having a nine year old Boxer and a kitty cat, I was not in the market for a new pet, however, we would make it. A few weeks later, another dog followed the hound home. Another dog abandoned by her former owners. So, naturally, I started feeding her too. Henceforth, they were dubbed Thelma and Louise. I am now up to three dogs and a cat. My house was getting crowded. My dog food budget and vet bills were going up while my income was going down. This is not good math. But the fun was just starting in the soon to be The Great Dog Invasion of 2014. Thelma brought a little something extra to the party...puppies!!!!! That's right. She was the proud mama to 11 healthy pups. Eleven. Eleven of them. One poor pup met his demise in the middle of the road, and nine found new homes. That left one, Max. His story? Well, only a couple of months old, he had wandered into the road and was hit by a truck. His leg was broken. Fortunately, it was only a fracture, and could be healed by just splinting it and keeping him as inactive as possible for a few weeks. He made it through and I knew he was forever mine. He is the baby in the family. I love my pets, but dog food gets expensive, and I'm barely getting by as it is.

It wasn't long until the mild changes in certain, um, normal bodily functions began to become much more evident. My stomach was in knots. My bowels were completely unpredictable. Oh, and the pain. I started noticing a pain in my lower back, near my tailbone. Having had lower back problems in the past, I wasn't too worried. Years of cheerleading and some kick boxing classes in college, with a few minor injuries along the way had taken their toll. I was alternating between diarrhea and constipation, and the pain just got worse. Surely, not connected though, right? Are they? Maybe I have a pinched nerve near my spine. I will get it seen about just as soon as I land a full time job with insurance benefits. Spring turned to summer. The pain was excruciating. My bowels were no longer trustworthy. I feared eating out in public, knowing I may have to make a trip to the bathroom soon after. I was losing a lot of weight too. Not surprising considering I went from mostly sitting at a desk all day to running my butt off waiting tables in the summer heat. Lifting heavy chairs and being on my feet all day surely wasn't helping the back pain either. The stress from the situation is clearly giving me stomach problems, hence the irregular bowel movements. Now an abscess has formed in my right butt cheek. Hurts like hell. What is this new horror? Wake up one morning, abscess is so swollen and painful, I can't walk, sit, lie down. I've never felt a pain like this. Okay, I will go see my family doctor. I explain the situation. The abscess ruptures on it's own and I feel some relief. He is concerned about my list of symptoms. He starts me on antibiotics and urges me to get a colonoscopy just to check things out. It's probably a case of hemorrhoids causing some problems. Yes, hemorrhoids have also been a problem for the last few months. Yes, they are bleeding. Okay, I will make an appointment. I schedule a consultation.

I meet with a gastroenterologist, he examines me, and decides most likely, the abscess didn't fully drain and has now walled itself off, presenting a troubling situation. He starts me on four more (4!!!) strong antibiotics in an effort to break through the wall and keep this thing from becoming very serious. I'm a little concerned about it. The antibiotics make me sick. The diarrhea becomes worse. I have no appetite and feel like run over dammit. He calls a surgeon and sets up an office visit for me. He wants to get a second opinion. I meet the surgeon. I like him. He's very friendly and easy to talk to. He does a rectal exam. At this point, more people have poked and prodded my glory hole than is entirely appropriate. He tells me he feels a mass. A mass? Yes, but don't worry, it could be nothing. But you need a colonoscopy just to be sure. So I set it up with the gastroenterologist. And I wait.