Schooling And Being Schooled By Chronic Illness: The Sometimes Glamorous Art Of Disclosing

In the same day, two seemly unrelated events occurred. 

The first was a student disclosing to me that they had been dealing with a serious illness.  I immediately felt for and empathized with this student.  I wanted to reach out and give the student a hug.  But I didn’t.  I listened.  And I did something that maybe I shouldn’t have done. 

I disclosed my illnesses.  I tend to do this when students disclose illness to me, because I want them to know that they are not alone, and that others have been successful despite seemingly great odds.  I don’t do it to steal their thunder, saying “Hey, I’m sick, too!”  I do it so they know that I really understand.

I really connect with these students.  This is confirmed for me every semester I teach, and makes me realize that wanting to work in higher education, specifically with chronically ill students is my calling.  It’s what I was meant to do.  

I’ve encountered very few people who have made my life easier, as far as being a graduate student with chronic illness is concerned.  But rather than be one of those people who is bitter and decides to make others’ lives miserable because theirs was made to be, I just don’t have that in me.  I’m not that kind of person. 

So I connect with the student on a personal level.  Because I understand them in ways that others just aren’t capable of because they haven’t experienced it themselves.

On top of that, I broke another rule.  Maybe a more important one this time.

I went on a first date and I disclosed my illnesses.  Maybe I was feeling ballsy because I had “outted” myself to the student a few hours earlier.  But it didn’t feel that way.  It felt like it was something I needed to do, so we could either get past it and move on, or stop right then and there. 

Because the reality is that chronic illness has impacted all facets of my life.  It’s the first thing that enters into the equation.  It has to. 

So maybe I made a mistake.  But my gut and my heart tell me that I didn’t.  They suggest to me that I did the right thing, in the right place, at the right time.  

This just proves to me that there is no book on disclosure.  Who you disclose to and when is ultimately your choice.  I have prided myself in the past about the “third date rule” on several occasions.  But now I’m not so sure.  If it makes sense to disclose, disclose. 

Maybe people have other views on this and think that I’m crazy for disclosing on a first date.  But honestly, what a relief it was.  We made it over that hump.  Doesn’t mean that it won’t come back to bite me in the ass, but right now things are holding steady. 

So, disclosure is a complicated animal.  I think we’ve all discovered that pretty early on in the chronic illness experience.  In some ways, disclosing forces us to live our everyday lives in full relief.  Every time that we admit to others that illness is happening to us, we have to live all that, that means for our lives; which I think we sometimes forget in the daily slogging along. 

Maybe it was easier for me to disclose in this situation because at the moment, I truly don’t look sick.  In some ways, that’s kind of tease because it puts people at ease.  But for me it has always been more about the “what if” th

When Illness Slaps You In The Face

When Brittney posted her theme for PFAM, my reaction was great topic, but it doesn’t really describe me right now. 

But oh how the mighty fall.  I was totally wrong.  Her theme fits my life perfectly right now.  Here’s why. 

I’d been feeling pretty good, despite having a busy travel schedule and some ups and downs. 

But then school started.  And the weather was cold and rainy. 

And the fatigue, the fatigue has come back full-force.

And it was Thursday afternoon last week.  I was exhausted.  I spent the afternoon on the couch.  But the biggest part of my week was still ahead.  I had to teach on Friday, three one-hour long classes, back-to-back.  

Last year I was on fellowship, which meant that I didn’t have to teach.  I got to cruise and do mostly what I wanted, while still receiving my stipend.  In theory, last year should have been uber productive.  But it wasn’t, for many reasons.  Mostly there was some serious family stuff that went on and then my breakup, which really brought life to a screeching halt for awhile. 

So I should have accomplished a lot last year, and I didn’t.   

And I honestly believe, and in fact now realize, how much teaching takes out of me.  It’s crazy because with attending the professor’s lecture (three hours a week), holding office hours (two hours a week), and my actual teaching time (three hours a week), that’s only eight hours a week that are completely spoken for. 

Then there’s my two hours a week of volunteering and my hour of kickboxing.

So that’s not really a lot of my time that is actually spoken for.  But then there’s teaching prep, which can take a while given the dinosaur of a copy machine that I have to deal with. 

I know that a lot of times I take on too much, and my days are filled with meetings and other commitments that come up throughout the year.  But I don’t feel overcommitted right now.  I just feel like I am not capable of handling what I’ve taken on, which right now, is at the bare minimum.    

In the past, I’ve been taking classes and teaching.  And with the way I feel lately, I honestly don’t know how I ever did it.  Maybe because I was already not feeling well, I pushed through, and didn’t pay attention to the fact that what I was doing was contributing to my un-wellness.  But this time, I went from feeling relatively well to feeling pretty awful. 

 

Ironically, illness’s way of slapping me in the face, of telling me to wake up and face reality, is by making want to sleep all the time.

I didn’t realize, or maybe I didn’t want to realize, that teaching is something that puts me more into illness mode than I was before. 

But it’s not as if I have a choice.  Right now, this is my livelihood. 

Clearly, I will have to find a balance so that I am able to get the things done that I need to accomplish. 

Leaving campus at 5:30 p.m. or later puts me at a deficit.  I really start to lose energy consistently around 4:30 p.m. on days when I haven’t had a chance to nap.  By the time I get home, it’s all I can do to make dinner and then sack out on the couch. 

I think the thing that makes teaching so exhausting is that it’s a performance.  You have to be on all the time.  You can never let your students see that you are having a bad or an off day.  And as someone with a chronic illness, I tend to have those kinds of days more than most.

But the thing that I forget the most, it isn’t the pain – although I’m certainly glad when the pain is gone or lessened – but it’s the emotional toll that pain and not feeling well takes.  It’s the laying on the couch on Friday night, my head is pounding, my ears and throat hurt.  I’m curled under a blanket, alone with myself and my thoughts and my pain.  And that just sucks!

You can’t be complacent.  You can’t let illness get ahead of you.  But then again, you can’t also get too confident or cocky, because when you let your guard down, when you least expect it, illness rears its ugly head, and slaps you in the face.

So when illness slaps me in the face, privately I mourn the period of wellness that is now gone, but in public, I plaster a smile on my face and act like everything is fine.  To not do that would mean opening myself up for an endless onslaught of student complaints.  It would mean making myself vulnerable to student disdain and dislike.  And that’s worse than feeling like shit.

The Soundtrack Of My Life (Or The Music That Gets Me Through Illness)

For the next edition of Patients For A Moment, Phylor asks us to offer up the songs that help us make it through.  I was totally up for accepting this challenge because it’s something that I’ve been thinking about for a long time.

Coming up with the soundtrack of my life is one of the things on my bucket list.  That might sound lame, but…

So, here goes.  In some ways, you can see that this list sort of works chronologically.  For the most part, these are all songs that I really came into contact with after I got sick.

“The Story” (Brandi Carlile) – “All of these lines across my face/ Tell you the story of who I am/ So many stories of where I’ve been/ And how I got to where I am/ But these stories don’t mean anything/ When you’ve got no one to tell them to […] You see the smile that’s on my mouth/ It’s hiding the words that don’t come out/ And all of my friends who think that I’m blessed/ They don't know my head is a mess […]”

I think this song is so true.  If there’s one thing that illness has taught me, it’s that I have a story to tell, a story that is unique and important, and that is what I have tried to share with my readers over the last few years.  The thing that I think a lot of people in life don’t realize is that we all have pasts.  Some people can conceal their pasts, and others of us wear them right out in how we look or the way we act.  We all have something.  And just one of the many things that are a part of me is chronic illness.   

“Closer To Myself” (Kendall Payne) – “Digging deep, I feel my conscience burn/ I need to know who and what I am/ This hunger jolts me from complacency/ Rocks me, makes me meet myself […] I've been everybody else now I want to be/ Something closer to myself […]”

This song is so important to me because it’s where the title of my blog came from.  And I think in many ways, it’s one of my life’s projects.  I’m trying to evolve and become the best person I can be.  

“Butterfly Girl” (Jalene Johnson) – “Do you only remember the way you used to be/ Full of fear and doubt and insecurity/ Taking things that people said to build a web around you/ Thinking you’d be safe in that place/ I know your frightened and your wings are frail/ But summer’s here and you’ve outgrown your silky veil/ The walls of your cocoon have left no room for breathing/ So break free…break free/ Butterfly girl/ Don’t you know your beautiful by now/ Too long in hiding/ Free to shine girl/ Time to spread your wings/ And show your colors to the world/ Butterfly girl/ Don’t you know that you’re a precious miracle/ Suffering transformed to something wonderful/ All the things that had you bound have only made you stronger/ So trust me and fly/ Trust me and fly”

This song really speaks to me.  Obviously the butterfly being the symbol for lupus.  I just think that this song encapsulates a lot of the thoughts and feelings I have about my life. 

“Everybody Hurts” (R.E.M.) – “When the day is long and the night/ The night is yours alone/ When you’re sure you’ve had enough Of this life […] Don’t let yourself go, ’cause everybody cries/ And everybody hurts sometimes […]”

When I’ve been at my most down and out moments, I have listened to this song on repeat over and over again.  It makes me feel less alone, even when I’m by myself and in pain. 

“Bravedancing” (Rachael Sage) – “You came to me like / Lightning upon a picket fence/ Shattering my illusion/ With shockingly bad sense/ And I may never feel the same/ But I won’t always feel this pain […] So let faith fall on me now/ I’m gonna be my own best friend/ And if you do not see me bend/ Then you will know I have been/ If you do not see me bend/ Then you will know / Where I have been/ Bravedancing”

I listened to this song a lot when I first got sick.  A friend left Rachael Sage’s CD in my mailbox, and this song really spoke to me about my experience with illness.  First shock, then anger, and eventually, acceptance…

“F**kin’ Perfect” (Pink) – “Made a wrong turn, once or twice/ Dug my way out, blood and fire/ Bad decisions, that’s alright/ Welcome to my silly life/ Mistreated, misplaced, misunderstood/ Miss, no way it’s all good, it didn’t slow me down/ Mistaken, always second guessing/ Underestimated, look, I’m still around” 

This song is both for me, and for all the haters out there, who have doubted me, especially after I got sick.  I’m still here.  Despite them, despite me, despite everything.  

“Live Like You Were dyin’” (Tim McGraw) – “[…] I went sky divin’/ I went Rocky Mountain climbin’/ I went 2.7 seconds on a bull name Fumanchu/ And I loved deeper/  And I spoke sweeter/ And I gave forgiveness I’ve been denying/ And he said someday I hope you get the chance/ To live like you were dyin’ [...]”

Being diagnosed with a serious and chronic illness is life-changing.  And while I may not have done a tone of seemingly crazy things (yet), I have learned to live my life differently, to not hold back, to put everything out there, and to live fully and out loud.

“Brave” (Idina Menzel) – “[…] And I might still cry/ And I might still bleed/ These thorns in my side/ This heart on my sleeve/ And lightening may strike / This ground at my feet/ And I might still crash/ But I still believe/ This is the moment I stand here all alone/ With everything I have inside, everything I own/ I might be afraid/ But it's my turn to be brave […]”

I’ve always considered myself a mature person, but illness made me grow up in an instant.  It forced me to take command of my life in ways that I never had before, and didn’t expect to have to.  Being strong and brave doesn’t mean being perfect, and it certainly doesn’t mean coming in nice, tidy package.  Life is messy and difficult, but being brave means being able to handle things first on your own, and then slowly, letting others in.

“One More Day” (Sinead O’Connor) – “[…] An angel weeps, I hear him cry/ A lonely prayer a voice on high/ Dry all your tears, come what may/ And in the end the sun will rise on one more day […]”

Usually, if we’re lucky, no matter how bad things get, we will get another day…

“Be OK” (Ingrid Michaelson) – “I just want to be ok, be ok, be ok/ I just want to be ok today/ I just want to be ok, be ok, be ok/ I just want to be ok today […] Open me up and you will see/ I’m a gallery of broken hearts/ I’m beyond repair, let me be/ And give me back my broken parts”

I think the lyrics of this song pretty much sum it up.  No matter what, I’m going to be “Be OK”. 

“Weight of the World” (Chantal Kreviazuk) – “I used to carry the weight of the world/ And now all I wanna do is spread my wings and fly/ I don’t know why I was so afraid...all the time/ Memories seemed to bother me…my whole life/ I used to carry the weight of the world/ And now all I wanna do is spread my wings and fly”

Illness makes you take fewer things for granted.  It makes you get rid of all the stupid, little shit you were holding onto.  It makes you let go of the things that really don’t matter and hold dear to all the things that do.   

“Temporary Home” (Carrie Underwood) – ‘[…] This is my temporary home / It’s not where I belong/ Windows and rooms that I’m passin’ through/ This is just a stop, on the way to where I’m going/ I’m not afraid because I know this is my/ Temporary Home […]’

Whether you read this song in terms of something existing beyond physical life, or as all aspects of life being transitory (as I do), this song speaks to me as being hopeful.  Being sick is just one part of who I am.  And how sick or well I am varies based on many factors in my life.

“Unwritten” (Natasha Bedingfield) – “I am unwritten, can’t read my mind, I’m undefined/ I’m just beginning, the pen’s in my hand, ending unplanned/ Staring at the blank page before you/ Open up the dirty window/ Let the sun illuminate the words that you could not find/ Reaching for something in the distance/ So close you can almost taste it/ Release your inhibitions/ Feel the rain on your skin/ No one else can feel it for you/ Only you can let it in/ No one else, no one else/ Can speak the words on your lips/ Drench yourself in words unspoken/ Live your life with arms wide open/ Today is where your book begins/ The rest is still unwritten […] I break tradition, sometimes my tries, are outside the lines/ We’ve been conditioned to not make mistakes, but I can’t live that way […]”

I love this song!  It is the most upbeat song of the bunch.  And it gives me hope.  I think it’s fitting to end where we started, with a story.  My journey is just beginning.  My story is unfinished.  

Some of these songs are rather obscure, so you may not have heard of them before.  That’s kind of what I like about some of them.  They feel uniquely me.  And I hope that these songs inspire you or bring you comfort in difficult times.  I have often cried while listening to many of these songs, but overall, I think most of these songs are rather hopeful.  

Illness has made me very introspective.  Of course there is a different cadre of songs that helped me get through breakups and other things that have happened along the way, as well.  But these are really the songs that I think of when I think of trying to cope with illness, being in pain, and feeling alone.

Now the music I listen to when I’m kickboxing and what I like to rock out to – and is now part of a playlist entitled “Jamz” (you know, ‘cause I’m so “gangsta”) – is decidedly more upbeat.  I am happy to share that if you’re interested.

So what are the songs that inspire you?

Las Vegas Is Not For The Faint Of Heart Or Chronically Ill

I recently spent four days in Las Vegas.  I was there for an academic conference.  But since I had never been to Vegas before, I tried to have a bit of fun, as well.

There were two ways to treat this Vegas trip.  The first was like many of the blowhards who were attending the conference – to totally and completely hate Vegas without really experiencing it.  Or to go full tilt and experience Vegas, and love it or hate, but coming to that conclusion in an “educated” manner.

(I’ll admit that it was slightly ironic to be presenting about being chronically ill against the backdrop of a place that is so much the antithesis of that)

And then there’s the reality of my chronically ill life.

While I had fun, I paid a price.

There was a bit of drinking (not much by Vegas standards because my tolerance is low because I drink so rarely now; see picture at the end of this post) and gambling, a bit of hot pink feathered hair extension debauchery (good for the next three to six months; see picture at the beginning of this post (and I’ll admit, I’m totally digging it)), and overall, a bit of wearing scandalous clothes and impossibly high heels.  Throw in a Cirque show and some shopping, and you pretty much have a quintessential Vegas experience.  Tame by many standards.  Apparently, not tame enough for me, so my body now tells me.

But we’ve all got to let loose every once in a while, right? 

I learned an important lesson.  Vegas is not for me, and I suspect, not for many chronically ill people.

Vegas is just too much of everything. 

First off, everywhere you turn is another opportunity to be totally overstimulated.  It’s exhausting trying to keep up with the sights and the sounds and everything else. 

The heat was horrible.  The temperature averaged 105 degrees for each of the days I was there.  You would walk a block and be soaking with sweat, not to mention completely parched.  Although, for me, one unintended consequence is that the heat may have saved my joints from an even more untimely demise. 

Going outside to the heat and inside to the full blown air conditioning, and going to bed late made me feel completely run down and exhausted.  Not only was I eating at crazy times, but more healthful choices aren’t easy to come by in Sin City.  The portions were ginormous.  Honestly, I couldn’t wait to come home, and get back to real life.  I need consistency to stay as well as possible, and if Las Vegas is anything, it is definitely not consistent. 

I had overextended my hip a bit in kickboxing earlier last week, and as my time in Vegas progressed, it only got worse.  Las Vegas is a place where you can’t really avoid walking around.  And like everything else, the walking is just too much. 

I finally caved and took a Prednisone because the pain was wearing on me.  I was getting short with people, and I realized that it wasn’t something they could understand.  Unless you’ve experienced pain where you can literally feel bone grinding against bone, you can’t begin to imagine the wherewithal it takes to power through it. 

While the Prednisone greatly improved my hip pain, two days later, and I am already seeing the effects on my face.  The cystic acne is back.  And as much as it’s unsightly, it’s so painful.  This is just one reminder of why I hadn’t taken Prednisone in months before I took it the other day. 

I got some pretty severe blisters on the top of my feet from my shoes rubbing the wrong way walking through the airport.  I hoped maybe the Prednisone would aid in healing, but the blisters are open and raw.  It kind of looks like a dinosaur took a bite out of my foot.  And you know, maybe one did.  I’ll never tell.  What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas.  Or so “they” say…

I guess it’s fitting that my return to Prednisone, even it was only a momentary lapse (I hope), happened in Vegas, because Vegas is life on steroids.

While “healthy” behavior is not espoused in Vegas, it’s clear to me that the smoke and heat and walking involved and the late nights are meant for a crowd who are “healthy” by “normal people” standards. 

The thing is, this whole experience brings up the fact that I’m 26 years.  Wanting to explore Vegas like other people my age isn’t so pie-in-the-sky.  But the reality is, by virtue of my illnesses, I have limitations.  And I definitely overdid things.  But it was hard not to.

For me, it was just too much.  I felt overwhelmed.  And now I feel pretty jetlagged and awful, and am trying to recover.  I also made the severe mistake of taking the red eye home.  It probably would have been fine if I wasn’t already exhausted, and then was put through the ringer by security.  I left Vegas at 11:15 p.m. Vegas time, 2:15 a.m. my time, and arrived in Detroit at 6:05 a.m.  The plane was cold, so I was pretty stiff and in pain by the end of the flight.    

I’m glad that my summer traveling is finally coming to an end.  I’m exhausted. 

So viva, LV NV!

Or maybe it’s more of ADIOS, LV NV.  I’ve had my fill, won’t be missing you, and probably won’t be coming back any time soon.  However, I will say that I could never really have fully understood what Las Vegas was actually like without experiencing it firsthand.  So I’m glad for that, and now it’s back to reality.

On What Ifs And Never Agains

My birthday was last week.  It came and went.  I’m 26.  Big deal.  I’m feeling pretty down about it.

Last year at this time…

Last year at this time I was planning for a future that no longer exists.  

As much as the dreams of getting married and having children are at the forefront of my mind, I refuse to indulge these thoughts.  I won’t buy wedding magazines until I’m engaged.  And I won’t buy baby name books and baby clothes until I’m having a baby.  The reality of possibly never having either of those things is too harsh to act like they are a guarantee, only for them to turn out not to be.

I can’t let the dream get ahead of me.  I can’t wish for it to happen and wish for it to happen only to have it not happen.  Everybody’s getting married.  Everybody’s having babies, and I’m just trying to hang on and get my shit right (literally and figuratively).

The bottom line is that we do what we do based on the information that we have at the time.  That’s all we can really go on.  We can’t change the past, and we can’t predict the future, no matter how much we would like to think we can.

So is there a part of me that questions what the medications I’m currently on are doing to my future odds of having a child?  Absolutely.  But the reality is, if I’m not alive, I can’t have a child.  So I have to focus on the fact that at least on most days, I am functioning with the meds. 

I’m kind of messed up right now.  I don’t want to be one of those bitter, single people.  Worse, I don’t want to be a bitter, single, chronically ill person who can’t get a man and is sleeping her life away on the couch on Saturday night. 

Love is like heartburn.  Or heartbreak is like heartburn.  Or something like that.  I think there are some guys who don’t know the difference between love and indigestion.  It feels the same to them. 

Heartbreak feels like shit.  Heartbreak feels like getting sick all over again.

Is that weird?  Am I crazy that I compare the two?

When my life turned into an after school special a few years ago my life was everything I had always hoped it would never be.  My life became a cliché.  And I hated it.  And I fell into the arms of someone I thought I could trust.  And he lied and cheated, but will maintain to his dying day that he is an upstanding human being.  And then I met my ex, and I don’t really know what else to say about him.  I’m so conflicted.  Love.  And hate.  So much pleasure, and yet, so much pain.  

And you know what is so fucked up about this?  I’m not the fucked up one.  These guys are totally fucked up.  AND NOW I’M FUCKED UP BECAUSE OF THEM!

And I’m fucked up because of illness, too.  It was so much easier to fight when the fight mattered to someone other than me.  And I know that it should matter to me when it’s just me in the picture.  But it’s so hard.  It’s so hard to fight to feel good and to stay strong.

Where Do You Go When You Don’t Have Any Fight Left?

But then I realize these words do not express who I really am.  They express me when I am down in the dumps.  They are me after I was dumped by a man I dated for over a year, who I loved deeply, and thought was “the one.”  

From the first moment I was born, I came out kicking and screaming, and fighting.  

I thought that I would fight until the end, to the death, for everything that I believed in.

Where did that person go?

I let myself believe that my life was going to get better. 

And I believed that.  And was seduced by that.

Where is the person who was always waiting for the next shoe to drop, anxious and on guard, but ready for anything?  

What happened to that person, who wanted to make it through graduate school if it killed me, who now feels content to fade into the background and disappear?  

Where is the snarky 20-something who questioned my rheumatologist at every turn, who now feels like being so agreeable?  

Where is the person who put it all out there, on the floor, who wanted to live life with no regrets, only to succumb to the heartbreak of being with a boy disguised in the body of a man?

I need to cut my losses, pick up the pieces, and move on.  But I wonder how much more heartbreak I can take, physically and emotionally.  I’m fighting with GI hoping that they’ll throw me a bone.  And I’m fighting with the universe.  A bone.  Just one.  Is that so much to ask?  

I don’t want to be so caught up in what ifs (the future) that I miss the present.  And I don’t want to be so caught up in never agains (the past) that I miss the present, too.  So how to cope with the unfortunate things that life has thrown at me, all the while remaining positive, upbeat, and happy?  How do I make myself a better person, despite the hurt and pain that others have caused?

How do I battle back against all odds? 

When The Shit Hits The Fan (Or When Patients' Rights Go Down The Toilet)

I had a colonoscopy nearly a month ago now.  And ever since then, my gut has been off.  A week after, my gut still seemed to be under the influence of the cleansing regimen.  But then a week and a half after, the total opposite happened.  Nothing was moving.  And it made me feel like shit.

So, sorry if this is TMI, but I had this incredible, uncomfortable urge to go to the bathroom.  But despite what felt like a hundred attempts, nothing happened. 

I tried everything I could think of; laxatives, a hot bath, exercise, an enema.  Nada.  Nothing really worked. 

And it was hard for me to walk.  I was in intense pain.  And I couldn’t even stomach food.  Just the thought of putting something else into my body made me feel queasy. 

I realize that something is very wrong here.  And I’ll admit that it made me freak out a little.  I don’t like it when individual systems start going awry.  It makes me wonder what’s next. 

I didn’t want to make a big deal out of it, but I decided to try and get in to see my primary care doctor, just to make sure that there wasn’t anything obvious going on that needed to be taken care of immediately. 

Because I don’t think someone my age, who is relatively active, and tries to eat a balanced diet, drink a lot of water, etc., should have this problem to the degree that I do.  And my PCP agreed.  She said that I am doing everything right.  So why am I having such a problem?

As for the results of the colonoscopy, they were rather inconclusive.  Aside from a few minor things, everything appeared normal.  But everything is NOT normal.  Maybe the problem is not located in my gut.  Maybe it’s farther on down the line.  You know what I’m saying?  Maybe I have a tight ass.  Yes, that’s my official diagnosis.

And for those who don’t know the physiology, I’ll give you a little lesson. 

The problem with stimulant laxatives, such as Ducolax and Correctol, is that they can cause severe stomach cramps.  On the other hand, laxatives like Miralax work by basically injecting water into your gut, which is designed to help get things moving.  Personally, in my experience, I have noticed that your body can become immune to laxatives.  Even though my GI doctor has told me that pretty much anyone can take Miralax on a daily basis, I have found that for me, it eventually stops doing anything.  That leads to the type of situation that landed me in the hospital at the end of last year.  My body wasn’t moving anything on its own.  This can lead to a bowel obstruction, or worse.    

When I saw my PCP a few weeks ago, I was having some problems, which have only continued.  She agreed that I should either get in to see my GI doc before my late November appointment (which has been rescheduled, read: pushed back, three times already) or I should start seeing a new doctor, one who is better-suited to deal with my issues.  She wrote me a new referral and sent me to managed care.  Managed care called GI and basically they refused to do either of the aforementioned things.

If you recall, this isn’t the first time that GI has been unhelpful in dealing with scheduling issues.  So for the last two weeks, I have been off and on the phone with GI, trying to come to some resolution.  I think part of the problem is that “chronic constipation” is a bullshit diagnosis that no ones take particularly seriously.  The problem is more like EPIC FAIL.  At times I feel like I am tethered to the bathroom. 

My current GI doc is an uber-specialist.   I was originally sent to her because my rheumatologist is friends with her, and he also suspected that I had Colitis caused by Cellcept.  Well, Colitis is not my problem, and my GI doc specializes in that.  I think that compared to most of her patients, my GI problems probably are minor.  But it’s all relative, and my life is being negatively impacted by my gut issues.  While I give her props for being the one to do my colonoscopy, she basically had no clue who I was at my last appointment.  And that was very discouraging.  I do believe that she is a great doctor, but I think after three years, with no real resolution of my problem, she’s not the doctor for me. 

Oh, but wait.  GI is refusing to allow me to see a different doctor to get a second opinion.  When did a patient lose that right?  I mean, really?  You’re telling me that the earliest my doctor can see me is November.  And when I ask if I can get in to see some one, anyone, earlier than that, you flat out refuse to let me do that?

Isn’t it endlessly ironic that GI has such a stick up its ass?  I have really tried to be nice, but I may need to call in reinforcements, namely my contact at Patient Relations, who helped me deal with GI last time, when GI refused to give me an appointment within the two weeks that was required after I was discharged from the hospital.   

To be honest, if GI wants to ice me out, that’s fine.  Just wait until I end up in the hospital again.  Then GI will have a real fight on its hands, because while I said I am having problems – and my PCP wholeheartedly agreed – GI is dragging its feet, and I don’t really understand why.

I suspect that this problem is not totally separate, and is directly related to my other health issues because I never had them prior to getting sick.  I do suspect that some of the problem is being caused by medication.  Although since I have finally found a regimen that works, I am not anxious to start playing around with things.

But I’ll tell you one thing.  If the problem really is simply constipation, it needs to get in check, because right now, it’s worse than my lupus and RA symptoms. 

Now isn’t that a load of shit right there?