The Reset Diet Begins Tomorrow

posted in: Sicky 21

The_Women's_Auxiliary_Air_Force,_1939-1945._CH200

 

Thank you, thank you, to the ladies I spent time with in Michigan yesterday. What a great day it was! The leaves on the drive up and drive back were stunning — but they had nothin’ on you, girls.

In other news, I did a lot of food prep in the kitchen this evening because tomorrow, difficult as it’s going to be, I will begin a round of my dreaded-but-amazing “reset” diet. I’ll tell you what I mean in a second.

My guts have been having a hell of a time this year because I’ve been eating with no regard to my intestinal health. Being so gimpy in the gut department, I’m supposed to avoid certain things and generally eat foods that have been stamped “anti-inflammatory.” Yeah, well, guess what my favorite lunch is when I’m zipping from one thing to the next? Pizza, of course — and we’re talking a cheesy, saucy slice from Pauly’s around the corner, not some kind of gluten-free, “mock” pizza made on a cracker and a prayer. (You think that’s gonna get this woman through two classes, an advising session, a trip to Michigan, and three writing assignment deadlines? Ha!)

Beyond that, I’ve been enjoying a falafel here, a coffee and almond croissant breakfast there, and so on. Not a lot of veggies. Lots of pasta. And oh, the sugar … Sophie gave me a whole bag of candy corn punkins’ last weekend and they’re gone, now.

The good news, I guess, is that at least I don’t see that my wack-a-doo grad school diet has gone to my hips; this is probably on account of all the walking and/or literal running I do every day to get to all the places to do all the things. The bad news is that intestinally-speaking, I’ve hit the wall. My tum hurts all the time and I’m so sick of constantly excusing myself to go to the bathroom. I take medicine for this stuff but my belly situation doesn’t have to be this tough. I can manage a few things, diet-wise, and make it better. So it’s time.

 

The last time I did the Specific Carbohydrate Diet (SCD) was a couple years back, when Yuri and I were in New York City. I was having a very, very hard time with my health situation at that point, so I did the reset and yes, it helped. Read this and you’ll understand what I’m beginning tomorrow.

I’m telling you about this because I need to stay accountable — and I also need support. Embarking on this “medicine” is not easy. When I wake up tomorrow, I’ll be waking up to a long week of nothing but hamburger, homemade jello, and homemade yogurt. And chicken broth. That’s pretty much it, and it’s not so fun.

Except.

When you bear incessant knocks and rumbles in your belly like I do; when you are exhausted/demoralized from the daily effort of endless bathroom trips; when you want to remember what it was like before you had a bowel disease that took you down hard, a tough diet doesn’t feel so tough.

It tastes like relief.

Winged Victory: I Am Better.

posted in: Sicky 5
Winged Victory of Samothrace. Photo: Wikipedia
Winged Victory of Samothrace. Photo: Wikipedia

Sometimes, the universe cuts you a break and life’s cheese grater is swapped for a feather pillow. This morning, I flew into NYC to have a procedure that would determine the health of my intestines.

Diagnosis: awesome.

There is no detectable inflammation. My pouch is scarred, it’s too small, and related aspects of all this will cause me discomfort from here on out, but how could I possibly care when the doctor tells me I’m not bleeding internally? My long-lost colon literally ate itself to death, but it appears my j-pouch don’t even want a snack.

When you think you’re on a bullet train to very bad news, it colors everything you do. Having a bad day? It’s worse than it would be, because in the back of your mind, you think, “This day is lousy and also I’m dying.” When you think the clock is ticking toward bad test results, a good day is tinged, too, just a little, because you find yourself fleetingly thinking, “This day is fantastic; I don’t even care that there may be something terribly wrong with me.” O, pernicious subconscious; how ye thwart joy and gladness.

That this burden is lifted from me for the foreseeable future… It’s hard to express my relief. To be absolutely honest, the tiny August Strindberg in me does wonder how long the good news can last, but the Chiquita Banana in me is beating him down with a banana.

I’m okay. I’m okay. I’m okay.

 

On Hospital Advocacy, Part 2.

posted in: Day In The Life, Family, Paean, Sicky 4
Sally Field and Crystal Lee Sutton, the woman who inspired the 1979 film, "Norma Rae." Field won the Oscar for her role in the movie.
File under “Famous Advocates.”Sally Field and Crystal Lee Sutton, the woman who inspired the 1979 film, “Norma Rae.” Photo: Wikipedia.

If the first trip to the ER in Atlanta was harrowing and depressing, the second trip restored my faith in humanity. Oh, it was still harrowing and there was plenty to be depressed about, but I had a friend with me on the second trip and that made all the difference. (First half of this two-part post here; more on how I got here in the first place, here. )

So there it was, Saturday morning. I’m in my hotel room, and nothing good is going to happen. After agonizing deliberation (because I didn’t want to make a fuss, be dramatic, or admit defeat) I called my friend and colleague, Marlene.

A word about Marlene.

You know the feeling you get at Thanksgiving dinner when all the casserole dishes have been put out and your mom has finally taken off her apron and is sitting down for Pete’s sake; when everyone has wine and rolls, and the turkey’s out and the gravy pitcher is already making the rounds; that moment when everyone raises their glasses to toast and the kids are toasting with juice or milk and you’re just overwhelmed with love and gratitude because people are generally good and the world is spinning at the correct speed for once? That feeling? That is Marlene. She is the embodiment of the Thanksgiving toast. She is everything that is good.

She’s also a successful businesswoman at the helm of a national network of convention center-sized quilt shows — including Quilting LIVE!, the show that had taken me to Atlanta. Tools Marlene carries at any given time might include: a laptop, bluetooth headset, box cutter, first-aid kit, talent contracts, cash box, dinner reservations and a little gift she got you, just because. As you can see, Marlene is a good person to call when you’re slightly dying.

Marlene arrived in lightning speed and helped me down to the car. Her husband was waiting right outside. (Don’t get me started on Stan; if Marlene is the Thanksgiving toast, Stan is like, birthday cake the day before your birthday.)

Here are excerpts from conversations that morning at the hospital. These are pretty much verbatim and all illustrate the need for an advocate at the hospital — preferably Marlene:

Conversation No. 1
NURSE: (to me) What do you do, hon?
ME: (weakly) I’m a…quilter. Writer.
MARLENE: This young lady is a national television star. She’s a magazine editor, an author, and an expert quilter here for the quilt show in town this weekend. She’s a dear part of our team and we care about her very much. We’d like to see the doctor. Now.
NURSE: Uh, yes, right away!

Conversation No. 2
ME: (feebly, to NURSE.) Please… The pain medicine. Please, when you —
MARLENE: (to NURSE.) I’ve asked you three times for lidocaine and pain medicine. If I have to ask again, I will not be very nice. Thank you, we appreciate it.

Conversation No. 3
NURSE: Okay, here’s that pain medicine. This should help.
ME: Oh, thank you. Thank you.
MARLENE: Now we’re getting somewhere. (to ME.) I’ll go down and get the prescriptions, hon, you just sit back and let that take effect. That’s the good stuff.

The help with the nurses, the coordination to help cover my show duties that morning, and of course the ride to the hospital — all that was beautiful. But perhaps the best thing Marlene did for me was when I lay on the bed in the exam room, twitching and gnashing my teeth. She stood above me and smoothed my hair, stroked it softly as we waited for the doctor. That simple, compassionate action did more for me than the Dilaudid, I swear.

“I miss my cat!” she laughed. “You’re my cat right now, Mar.” And she made me laugh, and I felt better. And then, ever thinking, my advocate said, “Does this bother you? Do you want me to stop?”

And I said, “No, no. Please. It’s wonderful.”