Posted 1/1/2016 8:03 AM (GMT -6)
Way to shoehorn two subjects into one title.
Anyway, I spent the last day of 2015 seeing my surgeon. My mum came with me this time. I think she had the idea I wasn't telling the surgeon anything, when in fact I find her (the surgeon, that is) quite easy to talk to and Crohn's is one of the very few subjects left in my life I am vocal about.
There's not very much to report. I saw the images from my flex sig. There was inflammation and ulcers that were typical to Crohn's. Just as well it looked like Crohn's, because the biopsy results weren't actually back yet. For reasons too long and boring to go into, this time I actually wanted to know my biopsy results, but it'll have to wait until next time, I suppose.
I expressed my fears about a stricture based on the amount of pain I was having. The flex sig didn't appear to show anything, so my surgeon has ordered a small bowel MRI. I feel a bit guilty for having all these tests, almost like I'm on a one-man mission to bankrupt my hospital or something. We talked about the pros and cons of steroids. Basically, if I take steroids and respond, that will be a very good sign my abdominal pain was caused by Crohn's and not, e.g. adhesions. However, my surgeon did say she'd rather I avoided steroids until after the MRI scan, which is fine by me. I've had experiences in the past of steroids removing an inflammatory stricture and my IBD nurse telling me everything was hunky dory as a result, so I fully understand my surgeon's reasoning.
She was very, very good, the surgeon. As for non-steroid medication, I'm seeing my GI in a couple of weeks, so we agreed to leave that to him. Not like the options are that great, but even if I booked surgery tomorrow I'd still be waiting a few months - might as well try something in the meantime.
This post is already longer than I anticipated, and I haven't even covered the nervous breakdown yet.
Basically, I'm just having massive anxiety attacks all the time. Had one on Christmas Day which ended in me running out of the house, driving away and sobbing my heart out for an hour in a dark country lane. That still was more fun than the weird guilt-tripping which was to follow from my dad on Boxing Day. (On the plus side, my friend was marvellous on Christmas Day, texting me for hours.)
There's more, but suffice to say eating now induces terror in me. It's the pain. It's the one symptom I can't stand. I do take painkillers - more than I feel comfortable with - but they don't always kick in properly or last very long when they do. The pain isn't severe enough that I can justify a visit to A&E, and I'm not having systemic symptoms like fevers. But it goes on for hours, which it never used to do, and it's very hard to ignore.
I have no safe foods. Low-residue still causes pain, maybe not as much as a bowl of undercooked broccoli would, but I still suffer for many hours.
And my mum doesn't understand why I'm so anxious. Or what it's like to be terrified of a basic function that is unavoidable, i.e. eating. And to say I'm not sleeping well would be an understatement.