What a difference a year makes.

One year ago this morning I was waking up, grabbing everything I could and putting things together last minute and preparing to head into surgery number three for the year. I was sitting in the triage room watching Judge Judy and talking to nurses. I was signing my life away as they told my husband the risks of what could go wrong.

A year ago this evening I found myself waking up in an empty hospital room, my colon for the most part gone. Or at least a good chunk of it anyway.

Again.

Somewhere my husband along with the rest of my family was waiting below in a waiting room. I was dazed and confused, while I knew what had gone on, I was alive, I still didn't know just how much had gone on, if they had been able to clean things up. How much they had taken out this time.

A year ago today.

Its funny just how vivid these memories still are. How I can remember waking up in that hospital room wondering where everyone was, as I was told they would be waiting. I can remember watching Judge Judy and how I looked at the clock and thought 9 in the morning was way to early to be watching her. The helper who reminded me a lot of my grandmother, she grabbed me an extra blanket when she saw I was shivering so hard I was shaking. The nurse who loved my fun socks-for the record they were moose ones my mother in law got me for xmas.-I remember it all.

To this day there is still things that brings it all back. The smell of the bath wash I used for instance. Or the jeans that I wore into the hospital, I swear still holds that hospital smell. How my nose still stuffs up has never been quite right.

And in the year since, recovery has begun, I have noticed things 'move' a lot more easily. Though I still have to remain close to a restroom. I still don't eat like I used to. I am doing good if I eat a full meal. OK I can't remember the last time I actually ate a full meal since the beginning of 2011. I do however eat snacks to try and help. If I eat to much, I hurt. If I eat to little, I am weak still, my energy levels wave. My scar remains still, and I assume I shall always have it as a reminder of what the year brought.  And just last week, I was given the go ahead to have another child if we should choose to. We have yet to make the call, but it was a piece of good news since we were wondering if the thought of another kid would even be possible, or would the surgeries put an end to everything. 

I can't say that a year out has made me less nervous of it happening again. For there in the back of my mind, no matter how many days go by, no matter how much they tell me, a little part of me is wondering, nervously if this will ever happen to me again. There is no guarantee I suppose. After all they told me two times before that it would never bother me, and it happened still. Twice.  Still I would like to think.

That with each passing day, things will get a little easier. And the nightmares of 2011 will be a thing of the past.

The new normal

Perhaps I should get used to this. My new normal. Though what that is, is beyond me. Its knowing now, whenever I have pain in my stomach it means a trip to the hospital. Just to be sure. Because well you never know. It means random spasms and bloating for no apparent reasons. And it means that no doctor can really give me a full answer because they aren't even sure exactly what is going on.

This is my new normal.

It means things could be going well for a few months that I totally forget the fact I had three surgeries last year. So well that you would never even know this. And in the next instant, a minor stomach pains means something so much more. Leaves me questioning things.

This is my new normal.

I try not to think about how my life has changed in the year and a half. The weight I have lost, the appetite I have lost. I have tried to focus on things like my son, and my husband. And the good things in life that I have had. Because otherwise the fear that something would return and send me back into the hospital and on the surgery table

Sometimes its a lot easier said than done.

Especially when that pain comes so unexpected. And you know exactly what that means. You push yourself as much as you can to avoid the inevitable. But in the back of your mind you know its just a matter of time before you call the doctor and hear the words that you don't want to hear at all.

This is the sort of normal you have to get used to...

Like it or not.

How to save a life.

Growing up I was probably one of those kids picked most likely to live in a bubble. It seemed as though I had everything, a physical disability, a learning disability. Asthma. And countless amount of allergies. I can't recall the number of times I sat inside trying to catch my breath after a couple of minutes out in the backyard. The pollen, the oak, the flowers, the bugs. You name it, I seemed allergic to it.If those weren't enough, pile on the food allergies to beef, pork and dairy, and it may seem to you I was a pretty sick kid.

I assure you I wasn't. Thankfully none of the listed above where serious enough to kill me. Well as long as it was in moderation's that was. Felt horrible, Check. Get sick. Check. Break out, swell. Check. But nothing was going to send me rushing to the hospital in fear of my life.  Well all except one.


Penicillin and molds Yes that's right, if anyone wanted to know how to kill me off, you now know. I am told it wouldn't take long either. Good and useful information if not to me, then perhaps to an enemy maybe?

I remember my parents would buy me bracelet/necklace after bracelet/necklace replacing them when I lost them, it wore down to the point it was unreadable. Or I broke out thanks to a nickel allergy-told you I was one of those- I hated wearing them I admit. I am pretty sure I even lost a couple on purpose. I didn't need one more thing to tell the world I stood out. And I always figured someone would be there to tell them right? I made sure to tell anyone who hung out with me that I was allergic to them so I was covered. Truly I didn't see what the big deal about wearing one was.

But then I grew up, and I started working. And I had to take metro on a daily basis. And the whole sniper thing hit the area. And it truly made me start thinking. I reevaluated the whole wearing a medical alert thing. I went out and bought a cheap one. It broke. I replaced it. That one too broke. As did the three that followed. And before I knew it, I once again said screw it and stopped wearing them. I started joking I was going to get it tattooed across the inside of my left wrist...and actually got no laugh back. My mom, who isn't the fondest of the tattoos and pretty much cringes whenever my little sis comes home with a new one just sat there smiled and said. 'You know that isn't a bad idea.' My husband, and even dad-who likes them less than my mom-both agreed.

It was a joke. Really it was. Because knowing my damn luck I would be allergic to the ink.And I was pretty sure I would chicken out, and just the thought of getting one for medical reasons seemed kind of ridiculous really.

It has been a running joke of ours ever since.

Until today, when I came across a report about the latest tattoo trend: Medical Alert tattoos. Mostly by those who are diabetic. And while they said medical association does not totally encourage those with medical needs to get a tattoo specifically for this, they said they couldn't deny that it just may save a life or two. 'You can't lose a tattoo, you can't break a tattoo.'They did make sure to say a bracelet is still what most look for, at the same time they can't ignore the sign if it is just right. And where does the medic interviewed recommend?

'The inside of your left wrist. Medics are trained throughout the world to look there first.'

Maybe my idea wasn't so ridiculous after all.