I feel a bit guilty about not writing more about 2014. There is a non-trivial part of me that feels I should have shared more about my adventures in the moment.
There is absolutely no arguing that 2014 was an EPIC year for me. It was my first year of marriage. I traveled the world, met more amazing people and lived in Japan. I admit that I’m a bit impressed that I was able to pull it all off. There were a number of times when I thought it was all going to fall apart.
As amazing as last year was, it was also hard. Impossibly hard. And impossibly hard to describe because it was impossibly hard to do. Hard in ways I couldn’t have even imagined before the fact. Hard physically – on average I got on a plane every four days. I only slept in my own bed for three or four months of the entire year. I have a chronic illness that requires It was emotionally draining – when I was in Japan the only person I could really walk to was Will (who is great, but can’t and shouldn’t be my everything). When I wanted and needed to see friends and family I had to do so in giant tours that I was so exhausted by only a few stops in that I couldn’t really enjoy my time with them fully. I never felt like I really had a home. I couldn’t quite get comfortable in Japan – I was away too much and even if I had, I would have had to just given it up shortly anyways. And that would have been for the second time in two years.
2014 was amazing and utterly exhausting.
Talking about it while it was all happening, without some perspective would have been terrible and I’m glad I didn’t though I did take endless notes so I could later. And it’s starting to be later. It’s still too soon to talk about some things though there are things about last year that I could go on about for ages. For instance, the joys of the Japanese rail system. I’m not much of a train fan, but even I could see the beauty of that system’s precision.
Having an introduction to the blogging of my last year seems impossibly dramatic, even for me – but the truth is, I need to take this slowly. I need to process this with time – which is exactly what I couldn’t do last year.
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.