Hmmm, so March 5th. So many things have changed since then and its crazy to think that the last time I sat here and did this was months ago.
I was deep in the muck and mire of another UC flare which I have come to know is severe.
I had no energy and the couch and I were really good friends.
My car had just died out on me and we weren't sure what to do with it.
I needed a proceedure and we weren't sure how to pay for it.
. . . and . . . and . . . and
Now life seems like a runaway train. The engine seems to keep the coal shoved in and the caboose is struggling to stay attached as it waves back and forth, tipping from side to side on the tracks as onlookers flee in panic.
About two weeks ago, I went in for a procedure known as a Flexible Sigmoidoscopy. Those of you familiar with a Colonoscopy pretty much know this procedure. A "Flex" as I like to call it--makes conversation a bunch easier--is a Colonoscopy, the doctor just doesn't go as far up your colon. Many people are afraid of this procedure. I love it, although I'm not too happy about why I'm enduring it. First, I have to be poked with a gigantoid needle (okay, maybe I'm a bit shy of metal being shoved into a protected vein) that delivers "saline solution" into my system. Quite frankly I loved it this time because of the prep. I wasn't able to have anything by mouth for the 4 hours prior to the proceedure and was required to finish the "lovely mineral water taste"-ing prep solution 6 hours prior to the proceedure. My proceedure was at noon. The math meant that I was waterless from 8 to 12! For those of you who know how much water I drink, that's EONS!! By the time I wabbled in to the room, I was requesting as many electrolytes as they could shove in me. Lightheadedness directed my path and I was all to excited to get the Flex over with.
While in the procedure room, they gave me "fun drugs" which made me dizzy. Not the kind of dizzy that makes your knees buckle on the bridge and cling to the nearest handrail while heaving over the edge, but the kind of dizzy that is fun. As I lay there, I could see the machine telling me what my blood pressure was, and . . . all the other numbers. When my doctor gave me the fun drugs, the numbers started slow dancing with each other, but my head was still on the pillow.
DON'T READ if you're sqeamish
Here's the cool part (and could be not-so-fun part). I am laying on my left side looking at the screen the doctor looks at and I get to see my colon and intestine! Because I'm a bit dizzy, it looks weird. It seemed like my intestine were discolored, in the brown-ish, off-colored way . . . instead of healthy pink with veins. I didn't see much, but then again, I can't say my eyes were in the best of working conditions either :)
START HERE if you skipped
Then, she slammed me with the news. I was diagnosed with moderate to severe UC, but on my paperwork, it was severe. She then told me she was putting me on a potent drug--one I never thought I'd be on, and walked away.
I'm finding it quite difficult to deal with people who aren't willing to talk with me about what's going on with my body. A change is definitely in store.
Because of the results, my life has been rocked.
This drug effects pregnancy, BIG TIME. That means we can't even try to conceive. It wouldn't be too great an idea now anyway because the Flex drained us financially. The drug seems to be effecting me, but I still can't nail down how. The last couple days I've been in PMS land for no reason. I've felt like its the end of the world, and I also don't have any energy. I'm just licked!
Mike has been in the dumps too and he said such an amazing thing to me the other night, but I have to lead in to it.
Because of my emotional earthquake, I've really been leaning on him for support and leadership. He, however, is also quite drained. I basically unloaded my tears on him and part way through our conversation when I said, "I really need your support right now", he responded, "It's hard to give support when we're both spent." Not the same words, but you get the idea.
How true is this? When I'm spent, and he's spent, there really is no energy between the two of us to give support. So now is when we are so dependent on God. All we can do is cling to each other and hope that the last 4 years of our marriage will not be indicative of the rest of our lives. We can only hope for God's intervention.
Meanwhile, the apartment is still "home" and life still goes on. I am doing a fairly good job keeping up with my goals of reading the Bible (now in 1 Sam, but should be somewhere in Psalms), keeping the house clean, and keeping up with myself.
While writing this, I feel like it might be hard to follow. If that's true, just know that its my meds talking :( Clarity is unfortunately, something I've lacked since the procedure.
The only thing I feel I can hold on to is God's promise to us, and a life much different from that we are living now.
More to come later.