November 24, 2009

In the past few days my Crohn’s has been a roller coaster. It was great for a while, not so much urgency, but then came some blood. But then, I went about 8 hours without seeing the inside of a bathroom (which never ever happens to me, usually not even when I’m supposed to be sleeping), 5 of which I spent on a bus. Since I got off the bus it’s been a different story. Urgency, repetition, no formation whatsoever, but luckily no more blood after that one time.
It’s stress. Midterms, sickness, essays, preparing to come home for Thanksgiving while trying to pull together Christmas gifts to take home with me- and they all band together to deprive me of proper sleep. Stress ensues and there goes my Crohn’s.

Same thing for nerves on a smaller scale. When I was a kid, I remember having fake Crohn’s emergencies (not like I was faking it, like my insides were faking me out) whenever I was nervous about something. I had to run out of the Splash Mountain line at least twice or three times in sixth grade because I was so scared to ride, and then I would feel like I desperately needed to get to a bathroom. Of course as often happened back then, when I got there, nothing came of it. (Happy ending- I eventually managed to get on that ride, and I loved it!)

Looking back, I’m realizing that since then, I’ve gotten great at this. I went to see 2012 with my Dad tonight, and had to go to the bathroom literally three times during the movie. But I managed to catch it before the “oh my god run!” stage and still time my exits so I didn’t miss anything monumental. It does, of course, help that my Dad pays enough attention during movies to give me a full recap of what I missed when I get back.

The other thing I’ve gotten awesome at is finding bathrooms. Has anybody else noticed this? Not only do I scan a location for the nearest bathroom as soon as I get somewhere, but most of the time I know exactly where to look, if the building plan is at all intelligent. My family routinely asks me where the bathroom is if they need it, even if I haven’t been there yet either, and I can almost always tell them. It’s sort of like a superpower- a sad, sad superpower.


On an unrelated side-note, “how was your poop?” has now come into my family’s arsenal of phrases. My Dad has asked it of me at least three times since I’ve been home, and it still makes me feel better. It doesn’t seem like it would, but it does. I’ve always known my Dad didn’t judge me for pooping all the time, but it’s nice to hear it out loud. Though I would not particularly appreciate hearing it at Thanksgiving dinner.