IBS …. holy crap

ibs

I have suffered with IBS since about 1994.

Need to know what IBS is – check out this link and this one, and then you know.

I am sure I had episodes (what I politely call bouts of swelling, cramping, sweating, crying and looking like I am 7 months pregnant) before, but I recall them from 1994 onwards.

I am not sure I know what caused IBS.  I still am not sure exactly what my triggers are.  I am not sure how to relieve the symptoms.

It is excruciating, and I thought over time it would get better – the last two or three years have been a slow and gradual dip into the hell that is irritable bowl syndrome.

IBS is the same as a stomach ache, as a Migraine is the same as a head ache.  Nothing like it.  The only similarity is the area of pain.

I know that when I have too much: pasta, meat, tea, a bad combination of food, too much food, white bread, the wind blows slightly north-easterly, I watch too much Toddlers and Tiara’s.  The point is I have no idea and short of lying in a drunken stupour and not being aware of anything, I really have not found the trigger and the cause.

I merely deal with the symptoms.

I go into spasms and it kicks it off.  Some times it just gradually grows worse and worse until my skin is stretched so taught that I start t0 walk like I am pregnant and hold my lower back.

My stomach swells – I start to get spasms, that start in my abdomen, then spread out into my back and then I think into my brain.

On the upside, and really I mean this sincerely, some people suffer from such explosively bad diarrhea that they cannot leave the house – “fortunately” I am on the other end of the scale, and get so constipated there is actually no realistic manner anything is or can come out, without the introduction of a large garden hose and a fair amount of water pressure.

A fairly good bout of IBS makes me want to purchase a sawn off shotgun, kill everyone and then myself.

All I can think of doing is getting in to bed with a hot water bottle, taking a stupid amount of Librax and sleeping, and when I wake up taking another handful of Librax and repeating the exercise until it is no longer needed.

It is not loads of fun.  It makes a barium enema look like Disney Land!

I have had a bout which started about two weeks ago, and somehow managed to find a way to get more sore each day.

The problem with being in excruciating pain is you lose your sense of humour.  Like totally.

You start to develop a sincere disinterest in everyone’s babble-babble because all you can feel is your pain – and really the energy it takes to pay attention is almost impossible.  Yesterday my mom was trying to show me the house they had renovated — I was leaning over at 90 degrees holding my side and going “huh-huh-huh”and the pain was so bad I actually could not hear what they were saying.

Which was a pity as they had done a phenomenal job.

I have realised I would make a poor amputee or person with cancer (yes I realise that is somewhat politically incorrect) -anyone who is sick or injured and who has a jolly composure.

You know how sick people sometime have that upbeat attitude and you get all soft and squishy about them and say “why, my goodness she is an inspiration!!” yep, I would be nothing like that.  NOTHING!

I would be the opposite of what ever that is.

I would be the one no one wants to visit, and no one sends cards to.

I would be folded triple in my hospital bed swearing at the help, and be a bit sour when you popped by to brighten my day.  I might even say things like “fuck you and your carnations, you have no idea of the amount of pain I am in … ”

I might move between that and promising sexual gratifications (which I would pay for, but not supply) to anyone who was able to push up my Morphine supply and promise me relief-giving suppositories on the half hour.

The last three weeks have been slightly less than fun.

Last night I stood and cried in the shower and wondered if there was any way in hell if my stomach could actually be pushed out any further without me being given a surprise baby shower and being asked to pant and not breath.

After I wiped the snot on the towel I decided to see if I could overdose on Dulcolax.

The short answer is no.

But if you take enough you will wake up at 4am. Not gently.  But in the “sit up screaming WHAT THE FUCK” as you fly out of bed to find the nearest toilet – BECAUSE THE EARTH IS ABOUT TO SHOOT OUT YOUR RECTUM.  But not in a fun way.

Holy cheese and rice.

I think I might have broken the septic toilet.

I have decided to sit here quietly and say nothing as I watch the plumbers work – every now and then I shake my head in agreement and say “those damn kids, you never know what they shove down toilets ….. tsk tsk tsk ….”

IBS.  I have nothing good to say about that heinous bitch.

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