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Training: Week 3, Day 2
Distance: 0
Length: 0
Power Song: Music from The Piano by Nyman
I spent this weekend with a general pain that by Sunday night had upgraded itself to needing Darvocet. Monday morning wasn't much better. And this is the part that enrages me.
Do I go to work? If I go to work, everyone will ask how I feel because I don't look well. What do I tell people? Laypeople can't handle the truth of my health, it's an uncomfortable topic unless it's going to end with a crude punch line. But if I stay home what do I tell my boss? How many times can I call in sick, before it becomes an issue? Will I become part of the working population that is not promoted because of my colitis? Worst yet, I live in Michigan, what happens if I lose my job because of my colitis? My job provides the insurance. What happens if I lose my job and we lose our insurance? No insurance covers me because of my pre-existing condition, and the ones that do cost an outrageous amount.
Ultimately, I call in sick. My abdomen is too swollen to fit my work pants and I can't stand up straight.
Pain plus swelling equals a call to the doctor. But which doctor do I call?
My primary care physician? Maybe I just have gas.
My OBGYN? Maybe I have really bad PMS.
My surgeon? I don't want to see him. Seeing him means there might be a complication. The pain isn't like it was last year when I was blocked, but it's not very far away on the pain scale. My food is still moving, so I can't be blocked. But my abdomen is swollen. And it's my former ostomy that's radiating the pain.
Common sense prevails and I call my surgeon, who slips me in for Tuesday afternoon.
I hate this. I'm not able to function effectively at work, but I'm aware enough to be bored at home. I can amble downstairs to put in a load of laundry, but pushing the vacuum cleaner requires too much abdominal strength. The dog is thrilled that I'm home, but wants more than petting. Eric sees me home and is worried we'll be in the hospital soon. Someone calls me to do something tonight and I have to give out the lame excuse that I'm not feeling well.
I missed my ride on Sunday and Monday was a planned recovery day. Today is going to be another recovery day, but not the kind that I want.
It isn't the pain that frustrates me. If it was only pain, I can plow through that. It's the constant weight of deciding how much to tell people, who to call and finding something to do besides watching the stupid box (TV).
I feel trapped.
Openly talking about about my health is not 'smart' career wise and socially unacceptable. But not talking about it makes me a liar. I have to talk about it. I'm an open person. When someone looks at me and asks, "Are you feeling okay?" Instead of saying, "I'm tired." I'd rather say, "Well, my watery diarrhea kept me up last night, so I guess no more watermelon for me!"
Well... maybe I should work on fine tuning that last one.
I spent this weekend with a general pain that by Sunday night had upgraded itself to needing Darvocet. Monday morning wasn't much better. And this is the part that enrages me.
Do I go to work? If I go to work, everyone will ask how I feel because I don't look well. What do I tell people? Laypeople can't handle the truth of my health, it's an uncomfortable topic unless it's going to end with a crude punch line. But if I stay home what do I tell my boss? How many times can I call in sick, before it becomes an issue? Will I become part of the working population that is not promoted because of my colitis? Worst yet, I live in Michigan, what happens if I lose my job because of my colitis? My job provides the insurance. What happens if I lose my job and we lose our insurance? No insurance covers me because of my pre-existing condition, and the ones that do cost an outrageous amount.
Ultimately, I call in sick. My abdomen is too swollen to fit my work pants and I can't stand up straight.
Pain plus swelling equals a call to the doctor. But which doctor do I call?
My primary care physician? Maybe I just have gas.
My OBGYN? Maybe I have really bad PMS.
My surgeon? I don't want to see him. Seeing him means there might be a complication. The pain isn't like it was last year when I was blocked, but it's not very far away on the pain scale. My food is still moving, so I can't be blocked. But my abdomen is swollen. And it's my former ostomy that's radiating the pain.
Common sense prevails and I call my surgeon, who slips me in for Tuesday afternoon.
I hate this. I'm not able to function effectively at work, but I'm aware enough to be bored at home. I can amble downstairs to put in a load of laundry, but pushing the vacuum cleaner requires too much abdominal strength. The dog is thrilled that I'm home, but wants more than petting. Eric sees me home and is worried we'll be in the hospital soon. Someone calls me to do something tonight and I have to give out the lame excuse that I'm not feeling well.
I missed my ride on Sunday and Monday was a planned recovery day. Today is going to be another recovery day, but not the kind that I want.
It isn't the pain that frustrates me. If it was only pain, I can plow through that. It's the constant weight of deciding how much to tell people, who to call and finding something to do besides watching the stupid box (TV).
I feel trapped.
Openly talking about about my health is not 'smart' career wise and socially unacceptable. But not talking about it makes me a liar. I have to talk about it. I'm an open person. When someone looks at me and asks, "Are you feeling okay?" Instead of saying, "I'm tired." I'd rather say, "Well, my watery diarrhea kept me up last night, so I guess no more watermelon for me!"
Well... maybe I should work on fine tuning that last one.
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