Doctor, Doctor

Fuck these pills.

Turns out I do not, in fact, have a bad case of loving you. I have a bad case of nobody knows what the fuck is up with my body.

On the bright side, there is in fact medical terminology for what’s up with my body: Isolated, Idiopathic Colonic Ischemia. Basically the blood stops flowing to a certain area of my colon and it starts to ulcerate and die. And then for some reason, it stops and puts it self back together again. I chose to believe that this is further evidence that I am in fact, a Time Lord.

The down side of this is that while my doctor knows what my body is doing, she doesn’t know why. And that is unfortunately what we need to know. While it’s good to know the name of what is happening to me, it’s the name of a symptom and not a treatable disease. My doctor has run out of options for tests for me that will show anything new. She threw the book at me and nothing took. This is heartbreaking and crazy-making but a little unsurprising. She’s come further than any other doctor. She was the first one to look at Crohn’s and autoimmunes. Hell, she was the first doctor to tell me that my pain was real and that I should be taking pain killers which she then gave me.

Today we talked about a surgical option. During a colonoscopy she’d mark the area in my colon that has the most problems and then a surgeon (at a later date) would cut that section of my colon out. Sounds fun right? You know what’s more fun? They’re not sure exactly what would happen if they did that. They hope it would be gone and never come back, but they have no hard numbers to give me. It’s just as likely that it would come back in some other place or stronger than it is now as it is that it would be completely fine. They have no sureties for me, they just have hope. And that’s cool, I like hope. But you know what I like more? Solid evidence before you cut into my body.

So I’m going to get a second opinion. And I don’t know what is scarier, the idea that it is my best option or that it isn’t. Hope becomes a dangerous thing when you’re sick. I’ve gotten used to being sick. I’ve changed my life. I’ve found a way to be happier with a simpler life that doesn’t involve me working heavily. I’d just decided to go to art school. So what do I do if this fixes everything and I can go back? I know playing What if.. is crazy making, but when you’re chronically ill, playing What if is your entire life.

I think it’s time for a drink.

One response to “Doctor, Doctor”

  1. Meg, this is heartbreaking news. It would be difficult enough if you were my age, but for this to happen when you should be gearing up for a normal life (whatever that is!) is just plain rotten. Cheryl and I can both empathize (she more directly, of course) but that doesn’t help much. You show a lot of wisdom in your decisions to adapt to a lifestyle that won’t impact your ailing body as much as the career you’d been anticipating.

    Persistence counts. But the greatest comfort we’ve received has come through prayer, both ours and others’. The Lord never gives up on us, but sometimes He decides matters for us. Nothing new there!

    You show genuine talent in your art. God willing, this could turn out to be a better direction for you. You’ve always been creative (and I can say always because of our shared history) and we both look forward to seeing more of your artwork, especially as you begin formal schooling. You’re good now, and you have authentic, tangible potential.

    We will be praying fervently for you (and “praying fervently” in biblical Greek is a different word from “praying”. They had it right!) as will our friends and church leaders (who weekly ask for prayer requests from the congregation) whom we discreetly tell.

    And you can always call, home or cell (soon to be smart phone as we make our way into the present). If you have to leave a message, our highest priority will be to call you back ASAP. We love you vastly and want for the best for you, both in the immediate present and in the long-term future.

    Boppa and Cheryl

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