Well, I’ve got c. diff again. I have no idea how long I’ve had it for. I have no idea what caused it this time (maybe those antibiotics I took for bronchitis back in February?!). We almost didn’t even catch it. The test was an afterthought before we were supposed to be starting me on more involved treatments for my colitis.
So that was a mindfuck.
I stared at the test results for a good long minute before it occurred to me that maybe I should be calling my doctor instead of dumbly staring at my monitor.
I had this for a year and a half not so long ago. They just kept throwing more and more expensive pills at me until I splurged on a poop transplant (because insurance didn’t really cover the whole thing). Then I was largely okay for months and months.
So when I talked to my clinic and they started laying out a months long antibiotic taper, I started having flashbacks to the endlessness of all of this shit before and asked if we could skip all of the antibiotics (which only worked while I was on them and as soon as I stopped taking them, it came back) and just go straight for another poop transplant.
Which I have coming up on Monday afternoon.
This time around, it’s been both better and worse. Better in that my doctors spent zero time fucking around this time and we’re immediately doing the thing that worked like a charm last time, so there will be much less time this go around that will be spent in pain, losing weight, or letting the depression sink it’s jaws back in. Worse in the implications of the fact that this fucking happened again.
We’d had a treatment plan in place before this test result came in. Does this change things? If not going into the more involved treatments means that I’m going to keep getting c. diff over and over again until maybe one time we’ll miss it and maybe that time it will fucking kill me because the symptoms are the EXACT SAME FUCKING THING AS COLITIS.
But brain weasel health-related frustrations aside, I am extremely well cared for. I am one lucky asshole to have developed IBD fifteen minutes from one of the best care and treatment centers in the world. For example, the lady scheduling the poop transplant took a minute to tell me about what a badass the doctor who was going to be performing the procedure was in the field of inflammatory bowel disease, and I had the idle thought, one of the finest minds in his field is going to be shoving poop inside me next week.
And folks have been making sure I’m okay in the interim, rubbing my back when my guts
are cramping, getting me food, bringing toilet paper. The GF and my friend-fam have done an excellent job keeping my anxious brain from taking over.
So in the meantime, I’m going to continue to pretend that I’m not a little bit queasy a lot of the time and a lot queasy a little bit of the time; and I promise not to get angry at myself for having to take it easy or take a day off just because nausea, unlike abdominal pain, is not something that can just be powered through or ignored.
*from a discussion about the trophy my GF made for me before my first poop transplant in March of 2015.