I have written blog posts for the past four Fridays exactly, and where has it gotten me tonight - but a rainy, and thundery Thursday in a Boston hospital, belly aching slightly and nestled into a bed full of blankets and pillows.
My life is like the current reminder on the television, ‘Please Stand By.’ When I came into the ER two weeks ago, I was planning on a 24 admission at most, but certainly nothing that involved a real admission and roommates and rounds of doctors and crying and needles and real pain and frustration, but just because I didn’t bargain for it clearly didn’t mean it wasn’t coming to me.
As always, it seems like my admission was a trial of complications and miscommunications - not listening to the 20 year old girl and instead of the doctors all of the time. But there has to be a compromise. This morning, the doctor came in and smiled and me and said, “You were right, weren’t you?” Duh, you think so?
There have been several times when I have collapsed in my hospital bed way too early to be considered a real bedtime (aka 7:30-8 PM), wrapped in a friend’s sweater crying, feeling utterly overwhelmed and annoyed and unsure. And once the tears were dry and I was able to speak without sniffling, I realized that all I wanted was a big hug and someone to tell me that they loved me and that everything would be okay - even if it seemed like a total big lie.
I know that I am really honored with so many people that care about me, and yet I find myself completely incapable of asking for help. I think it’s a completely admirable quality in a person, I just can’t seem to rouse myself to do the same. I don’t need to prove anything to anyone, and yet was stubborn to my Mom insisting that she was coming to take care of me. But let’s face it - at the end of the day right now, I just want to be a little girl held by her Mom and being told that everything is going to be okay.
When nurses - who have been so lovely and wonderful - comment on my schoolwork and my tip taping away at my laptop, they say that I must be so organized and all of the like. And while that’s a very nice compliment, the truth is that it’s simply practice. Practice and determination, of course, but mainly good ol’ fashioned practice about how to be sick and be a student, the two are no longer mutually exclusive things.
I didn’t want to start my school year in the hospital, but then again, I don’t think anyone wants to start any type of life in the hospital. But it happened, and so life will go on. They found more Crohn’s - duh - they finally managed to get a PICC in for fluids - duh - and discovered that I was in fact the biggest expert of all - DUH.
This post isn’t terribly anything - inspiring or exciting or whatever. But here is what it is - it’s a post on a Thursday, it’s a slight change of pace, it’s my determination to pick up and carry on and live the life I want.
I was telling a friend the other day that this isn’t the life any Mom or parent wishes for a child, but by the very same token, it is not to say that it’s not a life worth living or a life that won’t be beautiful. It’s just one that will have more bumps in the road, more bruises in my hand, my scars on my belly.
Days can suck when you have IBD. And that’s okay. If we pretended that they didn’t suck, we’d be nuts. But days don’t have to - and won’t always - suck. So in the words of a good friend of mine, keep your chin up, your gaze steady, and your stride strong - you will get there (and so will I), IBD and all.
Jennie
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