The first time

I was going through my old Tumblr to find my go-to chocolate cake recipe, and stumbled upon this… my first ever IBD-related blog post, I suspect. 25 May 2011. I thought I’d post it here for posterity.

Those were the days… incredible pain on the daily, uncontrollable urgency, no painkillers, incapable of properly attending lectures. But also, relatively simple meds with less impact on my total system. No surgery, no steroids, no biologics. Not even my full-blown diagnosis yet. Anyway, without further ado, here’s 20-year-old Briar’s words about IBD:

Continue reading The first time

this whereabouts

I am drowning in implications and connections. I had my first specialist appointment in months.

He didn’t suggest prednisone, so thank gods for that.

But I am back on potent-as-hell medication. New stuff (for me, not for the pharmaceutical world) so perhaps it will work better. And a scope on the cards next week, after which I will almost certainly be going on Humira, as long as I fulfil all of the necessary criteria. Humira, by the by, is the brand name for adalimumab, a TNF (tumour necrosis factor – mmm, tasty)  inhibiting drug that is used in the treatment of rheumatoid arthritis, psoriatic arthritis, ankylosing spondylitis, Crohn’s disease, ulcerative colitis, chronic psoriasis and juvenile idiopathic arthritis.

Thanks Wikipedia.

TNF inhibiters are more commonly known in IBD circles as ‘biologics’, for some reason. Also, I’ve already been on two of them (infliximab and etrolizumab) before. So, you can maybe understand that I’m not exactly jumping for joy at the idea of this magical solution. And for extra added fun, Humira is self-injected, and by most accounts, is rather painful.

I nearly cried when I was in the supermarket walking through the fruit section, because I really, really wanted to grab some delicious healthy stuff and eat it. But I can’t. I just can’t. I am yet to find a fruit that does not make everything much worse. Fructose is the devil. Acid is the devil. Food in goddamn general is the devil. I forced myself to buy ‘acceptable’ foods in terms of ‘things that my gut can handle’ – and I left with plain white pita bread, chicken, and chocolate biscuits.

My exciting diet, ladies and gentlemen.

The other super great thing (not actually super great) was being reminded, more explicitly this time, about how my intestinal and surgical situation has means that I need to think about ‘family plans’ sooner rather than later. ‘You don’t want to leave until you’re in your thirties,’ sayeth the doc. I don’t want to get all Rachel-on-Friends (per this video), but what kind of a timeframe does that really leave a misery guts of a mid-20s gal?

Combine this with the fact that I no longer have a de facto niece and nephew around to fill my baby-interacting needs, and it’s all rather a lot to deal with.

Fun.

how to be the sassiest girl in gastro

how to be the sassiest girl in gastro

always have an interesting pair of socks sticking out from your hospital gown.

scope went well enough, results were as expected – thank GOD – if the camera had showed that things were looking great, then i would have flipped out a bit, as i don’t want to be told ‘nah, we ain’t taking that out, it’s FINE’.

so now i’m going to be off to chat to surgeons next friday, and hopefully we’ll have a bit more solid info by then. hurrah!

close encounters of the bowel kind

Good morning, my pretties! Time for a brief intestinal update, because that’s what’s on my mind now. I’m on the final stretch before a colonoscopy today – down to no food, no fluids, absolutely nil by mouth (although I did brush my teeth – REBEL). I took a long luxurious shower to try to avoid total bodily dehydration… my veins are bad at the worst of times, and   it’s pretty grim when the nurses have to give up on you and pass you on to the busy doctors to stab you properly.

This is, for those interested, my third full colonoscopy. In addition to these, I’ve had… six (I think?) flexible sigmoidoscopies, which don’t require the drinking of nasty evil potions, but do require the eternal thrill of nurse-administered enemas prior to the exam. Fun.

The worst part is over, though (although the waiting waiting waiting at the hospital does tend to grind one’s gears a tad) – the actual procedure is relatively easy, compared to the prep, especially once the damned lure is in, and they load you up with fentanyl and/or whatever other fancy sedatives they’ve got in the mix. That ain’t so bad.

Sooooo I will probably post something slightly sedative-induced at a later point today, which hopefully will include pictures of the oh-so-fun experience.

Bisous,
Briar