The Next Day Of IBS
In my first ranting, I spoke about being in the throws of an active flare-up. I shared a photo of what this looks like while I am at the office in a public setting. However, there is a falseness to that. You saw me, at work, in my work guise. I am wearing make-up. I am dressed in my office wear. I have done my hair for the day. This doesn't negate the massive flare-up that I had, but it doesn't show you the rawness of what that flare-up does.
This is the next day. This is after taking my meds that help keep me asleep through the night so that I don't wake up in immense pain. I slept for over twelve hours. My hope was to rest this beast. Calm it down. Then awake the next day, maybe not at 100% but at enough to get me to the shower and presentable for a full day of work.
This was not the case. I will share two photos of what the next day can look like. One where I am woken up two hours before my alarm with intense pain. I laid there for a moment, I willed the pain to go down. I grabbed my phone to check the time and did the mental calculation so I could negotiate with my body; if you calm down now we can get x amount of hours of sleep. It wasn't working. And in my haze, I thought to snap the true photo of being awoken by this beast. I want to be honest and true to myself in this blog. There is nothing in these images that is graphic or anything like that. These are all at the selfie stage. Just the look on my face and nothing more.
This is a face that realizes she is going to have to get up and face the music. This is a face that is calculating if she has any more sick days to take while knowing for certain she doesn't (my vacation days and sick days are one in the same and I am getting married this year - which blows more than half of them). This is just the beginning of the pain, a sample. And I begrudgingly pulled myself from my warm covers to face what was to come.
And I wasn't prepared. You see, a day after a flare-up; I am usually fine. Again, not 100% but fine enough to make it through the day. And as long as I am careful with what I eat and my stresses, I get through it just fine and am a productive member of society.
But I stood up this morning, and a wave of pain descended. I went from 4 to 10 on that scale that doctors believe accurately describes what you are feeling (really, we all feel pain differently. A 10 for me is someone else's 3). I ran to the bathroom. This was Flare-Up: The Revenge. I won't go into detail, we don't know each well enough for that just yet. But just know I was doubled over, wondering if I could curl up on the floor instead of sitting there.
This is that selfie. This is mid flare-up. This is not staged. This is the exact moment when a wave of that pain descended. This is important. I have been in theatre all my life. I could stage this easily, but where is the truth in that? I want this to be taken seriously. So, I had my camera at the ready and managed to snap this shot when it happened.
Oh yes. That is sexy. Isn't it? A far cry from yesterday's photo where I am attempting to retain my calm as I am in a work setting. And appearances are everything in the corporate world. But at four in the morning, appearances can go f**k themselves. This is right before I screwed my eyes shut tight. Luckily, the pain was over in less than a minute. It happens like that sometimes. It leaves no physical trace. There are no scars to show off, no rash as though I had an allergic reaction, no fever, nothing to prove this even happened. The big downside of silent illnesses. I can't prove to you it happened. You can give me a colonoscopy at that second and my body wouldn't show anything had happened; any trace of what it just put me through.
The reason I bring up the next day of a two day flare-up is not only to show you the raw reality of me, but to show you what happens in real life. In real life, I have an 8am - 5pm corporate day job. In real life, I have bills due and a fiance that is on workers compensation for an accident. In real life, his paycheck is delayed and mine will pay all our house bills, but what about after that? In real life, I have a wedding to plan and pay for and an apartment to keep up.
I have a life to live.
Now, that was a little dramatic; so breathe easy. Financially, we are fine and will make it. The wedding is right on track and doing good (and under budget currently - knock on wood). My apartment is fine. The fiance is healing well and making his way through physical therapy. In reality, I have an amazing supportive family that will not let me fall.
Of course, that is not where the mind is at at four in the morning. My mind is grudgingly accepting the fact that I will have to text my boss and ask to work from home. Again. My mind is accepting that there will be x amount of trips to the bathroom today. My mind is going over my stomach safe recipes and whether I have the ingredients to make one of them just so I eat something today.
It all worked out. I have a privilege here. And I know, privilege is a hot topic of the day; but it is there. I have a boss who believes in my illness. He is understanding. And I have a job I can do from home just as well as at the office. This wasn't always the case (but that is another story for another). I have a fridge full of stomach safe options I can make. I have enough stomach safe fluids to stave off dehydration. And I can rest easy (though I never do - also a story for another day) knowing that I won't walk into work the next day and pulled into an office where I am told this happens too much. I am never questioned about the amount of bathroom breaks I sometimes take. No one is laughing at me or offended if I can't eat the communal food that is sometimes out. There is a privilege there. But we will discuss that for another day.
Let me leave you with this rambling; a flare-up can last more than one day. It can come in waves. A flare-up can last less than 20 minutes and you can move on. There is no predicting how the body will react. And my next day selfies show a woman in pain, battling an unseen beast that allowed her twelve hours of sleep before striking again.
Thank you for those twelve hours beast, but I really didn't need to battle you this morning too. Nothing personal.
This is the next day. This is after taking my meds that help keep me asleep through the night so that I don't wake up in immense pain. I slept for over twelve hours. My hope was to rest this beast. Calm it down. Then awake the next day, maybe not at 100% but at enough to get me to the shower and presentable for a full day of work.
This was not the case. I will share two photos of what the next day can look like. One where I am woken up two hours before my alarm with intense pain. I laid there for a moment, I willed the pain to go down. I grabbed my phone to check the time and did the mental calculation so I could negotiate with my body; if you calm down now we can get x amount of hours of sleep. It wasn't working. And in my haze, I thought to snap the true photo of being awoken by this beast. I want to be honest and true to myself in this blog. There is nothing in these images that is graphic or anything like that. These are all at the selfie stage. Just the look on my face and nothing more.
This is a face that realizes she is going to have to get up and face the music. This is a face that is calculating if she has any more sick days to take while knowing for certain she doesn't (my vacation days and sick days are one in the same and I am getting married this year - which blows more than half of them). This is just the beginning of the pain, a sample. And I begrudgingly pulled myself from my warm covers to face what was to come.
And I wasn't prepared. You see, a day after a flare-up; I am usually fine. Again, not 100% but fine enough to make it through the day. And as long as I am careful with what I eat and my stresses, I get through it just fine and am a productive member of society.
But I stood up this morning, and a wave of pain descended. I went from 4 to 10 on that scale that doctors believe accurately describes what you are feeling (really, we all feel pain differently. A 10 for me is someone else's 3). I ran to the bathroom. This was Flare-Up: The Revenge. I won't go into detail, we don't know each well enough for that just yet. But just know I was doubled over, wondering if I could curl up on the floor instead of sitting there.
This is that selfie. This is mid flare-up. This is not staged. This is the exact moment when a wave of that pain descended. This is important. I have been in theatre all my life. I could stage this easily, but where is the truth in that? I want this to be taken seriously. So, I had my camera at the ready and managed to snap this shot when it happened.
Oh yes. That is sexy. Isn't it? A far cry from yesterday's photo where I am attempting to retain my calm as I am in a work setting. And appearances are everything in the corporate world. But at four in the morning, appearances can go f**k themselves. This is right before I screwed my eyes shut tight. Luckily, the pain was over in less than a minute. It happens like that sometimes. It leaves no physical trace. There are no scars to show off, no rash as though I had an allergic reaction, no fever, nothing to prove this even happened. The big downside of silent illnesses. I can't prove to you it happened. You can give me a colonoscopy at that second and my body wouldn't show anything had happened; any trace of what it just put me through.
The reason I bring up the next day of a two day flare-up is not only to show you the raw reality of me, but to show you what happens in real life. In real life, I have an 8am - 5pm corporate day job. In real life, I have bills due and a fiance that is on workers compensation for an accident. In real life, his paycheck is delayed and mine will pay all our house bills, but what about after that? In real life, I have a wedding to plan and pay for and an apartment to keep up.
I have a life to live.
Now, that was a little dramatic; so breathe easy. Financially, we are fine and will make it. The wedding is right on track and doing good (and under budget currently - knock on wood). My apartment is fine. The fiance is healing well and making his way through physical therapy. In reality, I have an amazing supportive family that will not let me fall.
Of course, that is not where the mind is at at four in the morning. My mind is grudgingly accepting the fact that I will have to text my boss and ask to work from home. Again. My mind is accepting that there will be x amount of trips to the bathroom today. My mind is going over my stomach safe recipes and whether I have the ingredients to make one of them just so I eat something today.
It all worked out. I have a privilege here. And I know, privilege is a hot topic of the day; but it is there. I have a boss who believes in my illness. He is understanding. And I have a job I can do from home just as well as at the office. This wasn't always the case (but that is another story for another). I have a fridge full of stomach safe options I can make. I have enough stomach safe fluids to stave off dehydration. And I can rest easy (though I never do - also a story for another day) knowing that I won't walk into work the next day and pulled into an office where I am told this happens too much. I am never questioned about the amount of bathroom breaks I sometimes take. No one is laughing at me or offended if I can't eat the communal food that is sometimes out. There is a privilege there. But we will discuss that for another day.
Let me leave you with this rambling; a flare-up can last more than one day. It can come in waves. A flare-up can last less than 20 minutes and you can move on. There is no predicting how the body will react. And my next day selfies show a woman in pain, battling an unseen beast that allowed her twelve hours of sleep before striking again.
Thank you for those twelve hours beast, but I really didn't need to battle you this morning too. Nothing personal.
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