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Captain No Colon

Please Keep Away From the Animal

"Can I come visit?" " Do you want Company?" "I just want to stop by for a second and bring a gift, please?" No. Simple and upsetting. Everyone "understands" but how can they? No one else is locked in the hospital, permanently attached to an iv pole, and confined to the bed. No one else spends 24 hours a day with their body writhing in pain lying in the fetal position. Maybe fetuses, but the unborn don't count. Not one person, except Survivor contestants and the homeless, can comprehend not showering for days turned into weeks. Unable to stand long enough to get clean.  Having their mother and sister wipe them down with bath cloths and shaving their legs with cups of water and razors. 25 going on 90. A role Jennifer Garner would never play, maybe Meryl.

My hair in an unwashed bun, sweat soaked gown, unruly eyebrows, and hairy limbs, I can get over. Being unable to speak, move, joke, or smile. That I can't get over. I can't have you looking at me and seeing in your eyes the sadness and pity. Or even the empathy and compassion. I can't get better and make you feel at ease. I can't jump out of the bed, yell haha, and have Ashton Kutcher come out of my bathroom. I can't even guarantee I will be awake. Tubes coming out of me and ivs filled with pain medicine and bags of fat, drains catching blood and liquids. I'm a shell riddled with holes recovering from surgeries and devastating diagnoses. I'm Casper the unfriendly, unwashed ghost.

I am only 25, but I can't remember a point in my life where I felt healthy. It started at 10 and dramatically worsened for 10 years. The past five have been spent discovering new and different pains. Everyday I wake up hoping today will be the day I go into remission. Some days crazy thoughts run through my head. Why couldn't I just have cancer? You either beat it or you don't. You don't suffer for your whole life. Thoughts that sicken me. Thoughts that come in as quickly as they disappear. But it terrifies me that they come and keep reappearing.  Not only is my body betraying me on a hourly basis, but my mind is starting to turn on me. I feel like Regina George at the end of Mean Girls, because everyone I thought had my back lied to me.

No matter the conditions, I am a fighter. I am a victor. But my fight, my journey is mine.  I hate to be touched, kissed, or hugged when I feel sick. Why? I find my disease vile. And when my disease has taken over, even for the briefest of moments, I am disgusting. No one can make the putrid stank of Crohn's leave, but me. No one else can fight it. I can't be touched because I need to harness all my strength to stay alive. And your slightest of touches makes me retreat into my foulness. And every time I have to fight it off, more strength is used and I never know when it will all be used up. Basically I am a Superhero and my diseases are the only things that can make me less awesome. I shall now go by Capt. No Colon. 

I am a strong, confident woman. I love to wear flirty dresses, adorable headbands, pearls, and jaw dropping, envy inducing heels. When I go out I want people to look at me and find me beautiful. I want strangers to check out my great "ass"ets and smile. Making people laugh and smile is my heart. When you come to my home I love to entertain you. When you are around me I want you to find me attractive, hilarious and witty.  This is who I am. And damn am I great. But the only way I can stay truly amazing is by not letting anyone see me out of my costume. 

In case anyone was wondering what I meant by bags of fat or ivs. This was taken on the day of my blood transfusion. February 2014 


  1. This is awesome, I could not have written this better or more truthfully myself. It is really how we IBDer's feel


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