I'll give the warning now, this is going to be a longer post. I may even have to release it in parts. This only makes sense. It's been about three weeks since my last post I think, and A LOT has happened in those three to four weeks. To add to the length of this post/series is that I have a lot to say about what happened, what's next, and everything in between. Lastly, before I dive into everything I just want to put out there that I am very open about everything that I go through. I do this to encourage conversation. So if you have questions, comments, want to chat about anything or just drop a hello, head back over to the home page and use the "Contact Me" box at the bottom right. Now, let's jump in to the last three or four weeks of my life.
Where to even start? I guess the first thing to talk about is why it has taken me so long to come around and write this. The answer to this is twofold. First, I truly didn't expect my recovery to take as long as it did. As I write this today, I am still not fully recovered. I feel much better, but I am in no way back to my 100% yet and I am coming to terms with the fact that it is going to take a significant amount of time to get me there. But we are going to dive more into that when we get there in the story. Second, I needed time to process everything. Not only did a lot happen, but in my experience, it was slightly traumatic. I am trying to be real careful using that word because I think there are definitely a lot more traumatic experiences out there, but I also think we tend to minimize any trauma less than severe and that trauma can add up over time, exploding into our lives when we least expect it. Further, if I was to write this in the first week of everything going on, it would be completely different. I would be in the thick of it, with the feeling of the sky falling and life changing forever. It definitely felt like that at the time but to write and phrase this article and make future decisions based on this feeling would be unfair. For that reason, I always try to wait until I am on the other side of a battle to speak intimately about it. A General doesn't talk strategy in the midst of battle, but they will once the battle is won (although in my case, I would talk about it if I lost too - so much to analyze).
Going back three weeks, give or take a day, I was right where we had left off. My flare was bad. I didn't realize just how bad it was but I knew it was getting bad. But I was on prednisone, I was supposed to be getting better and I just needed to give it some time to work. I literally had deadlifted two days prior, and while I did have to run to the bathroom and fight through the pain, I had completed my workout. Nothing unusual here. The only thing out of the ordinary is that I voluntarily was staying home from jiu jitsu because I knew I couldn't handle the pressure on my stomach. Again, I thought it was a momentary set back and once the prednisone kicked in, I'd be good to go. Only.... the prednisone never kicked in and I was about to get floored.
Where it all changed was Thursday night. I was waking up every single hour, if not even more frequently, to run to the bathroom. It seemed like I had some sort of gastro/flu virus, which made sense because my daughter was sick the week prior with it. Yet, I forgot one important detail... I have a gastro disease, one that attacks my own tissue via the immune system. So here I thought that I was going to sleep it off and fight through it, not really piecing together that my immune system was about to go into hyperdrive after already attacking my large intestine for about a month and a half with no off switch. In my defense, I was sleep deprived so give me a break! Anyway, I woke up Friday morning basically unable to down the stairs. I had zero appetite (my appetite had already been gone for a few days but I was forcing down food - I couldn't even do that anymore) and I was barely drinking any fluids. I had to take a sick day from work and had my mom come over to watch my daughter so my wife could work. I spent the day in bed, only moving to run to the bathroom.
That Friday night was worse than Thursday night. I didn't get any sleep and the pain increased substantially. It felt as though I had swallowed a cat that was trying to claw its way out of my belly. There was no alleviation the entire night. When I "woke up" Saturday morning, if you can call hobbling out of bed after a sleepless night waking up, I barely made it up my stairs to my bedroom and the minute I saw my wife, I knew by the look on her face that it was time to go to the hospital. I could barely think, I couldn't stand straight due to abdominal pain, I hadn't had a sip of water in probably 12 hours, no food for days, and my wife's face said it all. I've been with her for over a decade and I have never seen concern on her face like I saw that morning. Deep down, I knew I was in trouble medically. I told my wife it was time to go and she sprung into action.
So, off we go to the hospital. I couldn't even wear my seatbelt properly because the pressure on my stomach intensified the pain and urgency to use the washroom. It was a 45 minute car ride of trying my best Zen meditation to get away from the pain and hope I made it to the hospital without having an accident. That part was a success, but needless to say my first stop at the ER was straight to the bathroom. I eventually got to triage, and it was a good thing my wife came with me because at this point the pain had gotten so bad that I couldn't put together a sentence. She had to explain what was going on, with my one word contributions and grunts either slightly correcting or audibly agreeing to her statements. Now I am sure you can imagine the state I was in at the time, but just to drive the point home, you know you are in a bad spot when the triage nurse starts showing visible sympathy to your condition, especially as a young male (demographic known for doing dumb shit).
Off I went through the system. Blood work, back to waiting room then off to assessment. Oddly enough, I guess I was visibly bad enough that I had an IV in my arm before I actually saw the first doc. Hats off to the nurse who did the IV because even in my dehydrated state, she got it the first try with minimal pain or annoyance. The ER doc was the next one in the room and did the exam I'm familiar with. Asked what was going on, about pain, abdominal exam, poking and prodding. The conclusion was clear. We had to figure out if I had a perforated bowel from holding out on seeking medical attention for so long, I needed something for the pain and IV fluids were going to be needed to hydrate me. So, it was over to the "treatment area" next where they hooked up my IV and gave me morphine and fluids. I also had to wait for a scheduled CT scan to see what was going on.
The next several hours were uneventful other than the fact that every 30 minutes was a mad dash to the bathroom and it was anyone's guess if I was going to make it in time. It was absolutely brutal. Although, there was moments of relief, or I should say hours, when I wasn't rushing to the bathroom immediately after I was given morphine... But more on this in a little bit because the reason for this relief is not a good one. Now, let's fast forward a couple hours to the CT scan bit. I was given the contrast to drink for the CT scan about an hour before I had to go. It was probably like a liter and a half of tasteless liquid that you had to force down. The nurse apologized as she handed it to me, saying that no one ever really likes the stuff. I'm not sure if it was the dehydration or what, but it really wasn't that bad. Maybe some will argue with me. After I finished my drink, I was put in a wheelchair and wheeled down to where the CT scan was to be done.
The CT scan was one wild experience. As I enter the room, the technician asks if I'm allergic to the liquid that they are going to put in my IV. Somewhere along the line, someone failed to tell me that they would be pumping some sort of dye into my IV so I light up like a Christmas tree in the scanner. I told the woman that I had no idea as this was my first CT scan and she responds with, "Well, I guess we will find out." I was thrown back at first. What do you mean "we will find out"?! But it was so off the cuff that I actually ended up laughing and appreciating the humor in that moment. Next, she went over possible side effects. I might smell something metallic and taste something metallic, weird body sensation, and it might feel as though I have urinated myself (even though you don't actually). Well, I can say that I know I am not allergic to the dye, but I did experience one side effect and it was incredibly odd. Yup, you guessed it, I had the feeling like you urinated side effect. Really strange but it goes away rather quickly.
With the test done, off I went back to my little treatment "tent". I basically had a drape as a door and cubicle walls to close me in. I could hear everything across the entire ER. Honestly, not much happened at this point for the next couple hours. It was back to waiting, in pain, followed by mad dashes to the washroom at the regular intervals. But finally my results came in and the doc came to see me. The good news, no perforated bowel. The bad news, my colitis was full on flaring worse than it had been before and I needed a colonoscopy to check extent of the issues. He immediately started IV steroids to fight the flare and warned me about some risks with morphine and ulcerative colitis. I didn't know this before but apparently morphine and ulcerative colitis don't mix. The doc said I could continue morphine for pain, but it ran the risk of turning into toxic megacolon. Basically, if that happened, I'd be off to surgery to have my colon removed. So, I stopped the morphine and the doc switched me over to tylenol. The tylenol really just took the edge off and didn't do much else. We scheduled a colonoscopy for the next day and then it was back to the waiting game.
I sat in my little treatment hut for the next 12 hours. Rinse and repeat of what I did while I waited before. Try to sleep, fail at sleeping, pain, run to bathroom, hope I made it, back to hut, try to sleep. It was the longest 12 hours of my life to get through that night. Not only was I dealing with my issues, but because of the nature of the ER, I was hearing everything else going on. People coming in constantly vomiting as their kids cry out worrying, other kids crying because they broke their leg, people upset because they want more pain meds an hour after they just got their pain meds. The list goes on and on. It was constant noise and commotion. Further, I was torturing myself mentally because I knew the doctor was admitting me for a couple days and I was awaiting my own room upstairs, away from the chaos of the ER. Every minute that went by, all I could think of was getting moved to that room, but that wasn't going to be happening for at least 24 hours. I was just making myself angry with the wait.
By 7am, a nurse came around and told me they were moving me somewhere more comfortable. Yes! This is the room I've been waiting for! I packed up what little things I had and went with the nurse. She led me down a hallway, across from the locked unit in the ER, and put me on a stretcher.... in a hallway. This was where I'd be more comfortable?! A place with less privacy across from locked units where patients are screaming and yelling nonsense? (This isn't meant offensively, this is actually what happened). Okay I guess I wait here until my scope. I waited and watched, because there was nothing else to do, as the other hallway beds filled up with people. Every spot was packed. There was non-stop traffic walking by my bed to the X-ray area. The only good thing was that I was real close to a bathroom this time. So here I waited for another 8 hours until my colonoscopy.
The chaos around me ensued as I waited for my scope. The time came, they wheeled me away, put me to sleep and did the scope. I can honestly say it was the most peaceful 15 minutes I experienced in the last month. I almost wanted to ask for another scope! Either way, didn't happen and I came back to reality, a harsh reality. It was confirmed that my colitis had escalated. My medication I had been taking was no longer working and I would need to try a new therapy for my condition. First things first, I would need IV steroids to get me back to eating and drinking. With this squared away, I was back to my hallway stretcher to wait for a room. Back to the chaos, back to the torture of waiting in my own head, worrying that my meds would come on time. The slow sands of time continued to fall through the hourglass. But eventually, the night nurse came running to me at around 10pm (I had returned to my hallway stretcher at 3pm after my scope) with pure excitement. They found me a private room! I was getting shipped upstairs! It was amazing news! The nurse was excited for me and worked on getting me transferred ASAP.
All in all, the ER was absolute chaos. Not just for me, but everyone around me. The nurses and doctors doing their job made me think of soldiers on the frontline in a Hollywood movie (I say this cause war is hell, even moreso than media shows us). Nonetheless, the endless number of patients they are seeing. The sights and sounds are also reminiscent. Constant groaning, crying, coughing, puking. People bleeding, pale as a ghost, barely awake and shuffling toward the next treatment area. Yet, in the moment, you are only focused on yourself. For me, it was about making it to the bathroom on time, fighting through the constant pain, and watching the minutes slowly tick by as I awaited an escape, whether that was back home or to a room upstairs. By the end of my approximately 36 hours in the ER, I was exhausted. I have competed in multi-match single day jiu jitsu tournaments before. I have participated in six hour game days of airsoft. Both of these are physically exhausting endeavours, and yet my time in the ER, where I was in a chair or on the stretcher was the most exhausting thing I have ever done in my life. I was exhausted, I was filthy, my mental state was not exactly functioning at top performance. It was a novel experience I hope to not repeat any time soon. Needless to say, the ER is a warzone in it's own right.
Now, there is more to this story and MUCH MORE to write. However, to keep it reasonable, I am splitting this into two parts. I think this is the best place if any to stop. So, that is it for Part One of my hospital stay. I will be writing a Part Two and a Where do I Go From here post next. The juicy stuff will be in that one, but I couldn't jump straight to that without providing any context or experience. So stick around for that next one, there's more to come and spoiler, I'm not going anywhere but there are some changes inbound.
Until next time...
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