It might be three days after Christmas and most of us are finishing off our turkey and drowning in the reality of eating far too much sugar, fat and general stodge, but I’m determined not to let Christmas go. I don’t care if it’s days after the real event, I just can’t seem to accept that Christmas is over. It was over far too quickly for my liking. There wasn’t any snow, just rain and wind, and there wasn’t even slightly enough carol singing to satisfy my never ending need to sing loudly and off-key while jumping around like a teenager.
This year I want to make up for all those years that Christmas has just been another meal to try and sit through while my IBD kicks off. I want to get back the Boxing Day spent in a gastro ward with prisoners (literally) keeping me awake while bagging their handcuffs against their hospital beds and feeling like curling up in a ball and dying as a Scrooge-Esk nurse places a nil by mouth sign over my bed (I swear with a naughty twinkle in her eye, as if saying no more turkey for you) before racing off to tuck into the giant mountains of chocolates at the nurses station! Post Christmas has always meant two things – regret that I didn’t squirrel away more food for my enforced fast and an insane longing to be left very much alone.
Right now we are smack bang in the middle of that period where I never have any idea what to do with myself. It’s that bizarre period in between Christmas and New Year where all you can really do is: a) eat yourself into a new dress size; b) join all the other manic people and hit the shops. Today we tried to hit the shops. I won’t be doing it again. Firstly I seem to have caught a cough that makes me sound like I smoke 100 fags a day, my impetigo is back in my nose making me feel like I’ve tried to stuff burning coals up my nostrils, and my fistula is going mental. I just couldn’t cope in the crowds, I felt like I was going to have a panic attack. Indeed I felt the normal hot waves and flushes of panic I get when my Crohn’s/Colitis is about to have an incident. I tried looking around the shops, fighting the old woman hogging the Warehouse rail filled with dressed far too tight and young for her age, but ended up tensing my butt cheeks so hard to stop an unexpected escape of bloody mucus I must of looked like I was trying to crack a nut. I was determined not to loose sight of the dress I wanted to grab and not miss it by racing to the loo. I would have won the dress with my constipated elf impression too, if I hadn’t felt like I was going to pass out, and, due to my butt squeezing exercise, the hot mucus started to squirt out through my fistula causing me to almost double over in pain….hobbling out of the store I must have looked like id been punched in the stomach and kicked in the shins during a bargain bust up.
I think it’s safe to say I won’t be joining the throngs again. I arrived back home with two pairs of high-waisted jeans for a bargain price, but was so exhausted I collapsed onto the sofa. It seems so chaotic following the amazing magic and tranquility of the past few days enjoying Christmas and watching War Horse with my family…I’m going to do the rest of my sales shopping from the comfort of my home within metres of the loo to avoid anymore mucus moments.
I’m starting to think about next year and what I want from it. This year has been a mixed bag both health wise, emotionally and career wise. I’ve been through more pain than I could have ever imagined, I’ve been to hell and back, I’ve wished for death and I’ve come out of the other end. At the same time I’ve made some incredible friends, been on some stunning holidays, eaten like a King, swum, ran and jumped like an idiot. My weight has plummeted and then slowly built back up. I’ve been off work for half a year and then come back to two awards and recognition for a job well done. I’ve loved, cried, howled and giggled my way through 2013… but now it’s time to shake it all off and look forward to 2014.
Next year I will finally wave goodbye to my mucus fistula (fingers crossed) and the pain in the arse which is my rectal stump. And, if all goes well, I will finally slam the door in the face of the illness which has so far tormented me like a little snotty gremlin hiding under my bed for my entire life. When this happens the world will be my oyster, there will be nothing except myself holding me back. I will be able to go as far as I want and achieve whatever I want to achieve. But to do that I know I have another bout of horrendous surgery, another lengthy period off work and another painstaking recovery to go through.
Perhaps that’s why I feel so down. But I think it’s more likely to be the festive blues. Time to get my guitar out and trying to strum away those dark skies with some tuneless random cords I think 🙂
After all Christmas isn’t over yet…. As a friend said “we’re only on four turtle doves in our office”.