My last storm was last November. I was severally dehydrated yet still flaring like there was no tomorrow. I was thin, pale, bearing able to walk, dress or wash myself. I was at rock bottom, despite being on Azathioprine to try and stop my Crohn’s symptoms. All the life was sucked out of me.
It got worse; I was admitted to hospital, got better for about 36 hours – where I was taken off all my medications, given IV fluids and starved – then I descended into hell. Up and out came GREEN EVERYTHING. That lasted for an entirely scary night, where I was watched like a hawk by several members of the nursing staff. By the morning, I felt so light headed I passed out on my way back to bed. The talks about my heart, liver and lungs began. The detested NG tube was discussed and placed.
Somewhere from inside of me, I found some fight. I somehow got the strength to pull my tube out of my nose and was forced to endure the placement of another one, to which I refused treatment for.
When I think of all the shitty times I’ve been through, this is the one moment that makes me thankful for my fight and drive. Every time I feel low and desperate for something good to happen, I go back to that Monday afternoon and remind myself of how ill I was and how awful that was. I never want to go back there, ever. Through choice, I fight myself every day in order to not get back there.
When people talk about invisible illnesses, they talk about 96% of all illnesses. Crohn’s is one of them. For me, that fight I has to remain invisible to the majority of people I deal with and see on a daily basis. It is a personal and private struggle.