I have twin toddler nieces. We talk about poop pretty openly. But this blog post will not be about toddler poop. This is a blog post where I stop being embarrassed and tell the world what's been going on with my health the past few months.
I've had a pretty shitty time. (Ha, ha. You'll understand that joke in a minute.)
I was diagnosed with IBS a couple of months ago. I was given a medicine. For a while, it worked. Life was great. I ate whatever I wanted, whenever I wanted. I actually gained a little bit of weight, so I stopped doing that and went back to my normal diet.
For absolutely no reason whatsoever, a couple of weeks ago my body decided to, excuse my language, totally fuck shit up.
The medicine stopped working. And then my body raged a war on me.
At first, I thought it was a reaction from the flu shot. And then I thought I had the flu. I wasn't vomiting, I didn't have migraines like I did last time I had the flu, and I didn't have any body aches.
The only symptom was diarrhea.
It never stopped. It just got worse.
I tried my best to hide it. I stayed home from work on the bad days. I kept a heating pad on my stomach to help with the cramps. (Someone actually asked me if I was pregnant. No, I am not. There's nothing in my stomach except irritable bowels. Sorry for the disappointing news.)
It's not just the diarrhea that's bad. The stomach cramps were, well, are, insane. I can feel my intestines freaking out about food. The pain never stopped or went away.
In the middle of trying to figure this out medically, I came up with a simple solution all on my own.
I stopped eating.
Eating solid food became a source of anxiety for me. I was ashamed about it, and I didn't want people to realize what was going on in my life.
The pain was mediocre at that point. Not eating is not the long-term solution to this problem, though. My solution was a band aid. I needed something more permanent. Something less stupid.
Oh, shit, I thought. I have to be a grown-up and talk to a doctor about my shit.
This week, I upped my game plan at my doctor's office. I left doctor No. 2's office with a prescription, went to fill it, and walked away when I was told it cost more than $1,000.
I was told to call the drug company. I did. They said they had never experienced the insurance and pharmacy technicality that I was dealing with. I was unique, they said.
They opened a case for me, gave me a case number, and said they'd get back to me in one to three business days.
I appreciate their help. I appreciate that they didn't tell me to buzz off. But telling me to wait three days is like telling me to wait three years. That's a really, really long time when your days involve not eating and running to the bathroom anywhere from 11 to more than 20 times a day.
FYI: That's not normal. Who knew? Apparently I have a severe case of IBS-D.
There is one medicine that can help with this. It's new, two doctors told me.
If anyone reading this blog post can honestly afford medicine that costs $1,000 a month, can we talk? I have a favor to ask you! One that will cost $12,000 a year!
I'll pay you back, if you give me a 0 percent interest loan and a 12,000 year pay off plan.
I parked my butt in doctor No. 1's office the day after I failed to get the medicine. I was not going to leave until I had a solution.
Be strong, I told myself. Stick up for yourself, be firm, and find a solution to this shitty, shitty situation.
I am on vacation from work this week. I spent hours, and I do mean hours, talking on the phone with the drug company, the insurance company, pharmacies, and my doctor's offices.
Sometimes, people were nice to me. Often, I left crying.
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One day, I gave up completely for about 20 minutes. I laid down in my bed and I cried. My Pickles Pug snuggled up against me and laid her head on me.
I cried. I wailed. I sobbed.
I don't even remember the last time I cried that much, that bad.
Sometimes, it feels like the entire world is against you. Sometimes, it feels like people are purposely not helping you.
My mom called me. I was so upset I couldn't talk. I told her I'd call her back.
The lady at the first pharmacy I went to acted like there was a cactus in her panties about this medicine. I fired them immediately and knew I needed a new pharmacy.
There's one pharmacy in town that is not located in a chain store. I went there, in my pajamas, with a tear-stained face and shaky hands. I thought maybe they'd help me.
After 20-minutes of giving up, I decided to not give up and try again.
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I gave up more than once.
During one of the times I gave up, my Mom decided to not give up on me. She made a phone call that eventually set the wheels in motion for a solution.
That's what great about great parents. Even when you give up on yourself, they never give up on you.
The only reason I got out of bed after sobbing is because, well, if my Mom won't give up on me, I better not give up on me.
The cool thing about my parents is that they're good parents.
I'm lucky.
I was an asshole to them more than once in my life.
I'm sorry for that.
I had my head up my butt.
(Butt reference intentional.)
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I waited until the crowd cleared out at the new pharmacy, the one not in a chain store. I went up to the counter, with my insurance card and the drug company discount card in my hand, and calmly asked to speak to a pharmacist.
In my experience, most doctors actually want to help you. Assistants, maybe not so much, but most doctors are good people and will listen.
(Getting to them is sometimes difficult. Let's not talk about that subject.)
The pharmacist that helped me was adorable. She's younger than me, and really tried to help me. I was in my pjs. It was very clear that I had been crying.
She asked me exactly how rough my day had been.
I looked that bad.
She took my information, and said she'd work on it and get back to me.
They called me a couple of times. They gave me a phone number to call, which eventually led to the drug company telling me they'd get back to me...eventually.
I hit another dead end.
A very long, very frustrating day ended with no solution in sight.
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The next morning, I woke up and decided to give the first doctor's office a try again.
Admitting you cheated on your doctor is never fun, but it just means that you want a solution and you want to do what's best for your body.
I told her everything. I told her every single shitty detail (see what I did there?!?).
She said she needed to call someone named Justin*. Who is Justin, exactly? I have no idea, but he apparently works for the drug company. This Justin character seemed to be the answer to my problems.
As it turns out, Justin has a lot of power.
Doctor No. 1 told me that I needed to leave her office with a solution. Running to the bathroom 11 times a day is not acceptable, she said.
"We need to get to the bottom of this," she told me.
Snort, I thought. I'll show you the bottom of this!
And I waited.
And I waited.
I played on my phone until my phone died.
When it died (my phone, not my soul), I sat in the exam room and wondered why the fate of my bowels depended on this Justin person.
Justin gets to decide whether I can eat solid food? Great, I thought. My life is in the hands of someone I don't know.
I thought about how much life sucks. I thought about how life isn't fair.
When doctor No. 1 came back into the exam room, I asked her if this was literally the only medicine on the face of the planet I could take.
Yes, she said.
Well...dammit.
I waited for a couple of hours. I could hear her on the phone with this dude, trying to find a solution for me.
It's not like I could get mad for waiting. I mean, it's not like I could say, 'How dare you spend time trying to help me? What are you thinking? Stop it!'
I sat there and waited. I, with a severe case of IBS, waited two hours.
Thankfully, the bathroom was around the corner. People with IBS care about shit like that.
It turns out that Justin is a really great guy. He called the pharmacy, the new one with the adorable, helpful young pharmacist, and blah blah blah, some more stuff happened.
That medicine that I was charged more than $1,000 for the day before?
I got it for free.
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That is the short version of the story. If you're wondering, no, I never went to a specialist. I have no appointment set up as of right now.
I fired doctor No. 2.
I told him that I liked him, but that I needed a solution now. Someone else beat him to that. We parted on good terms. He told me to go back to him if I ever needed him.
I said cool. Later, dude. Thanks for the original medicine. You did help me for a couple of months.
And then he asked me if I wanted to keep the specialist appointment that was set up for me. The one that I cried a lot about.
Um, I wasn't aware I ever had an appointment, I told him.
"You mean no one told you about it?"
I have two rules in life.
1. If you call a doctor's office wanting to make an appointment, and the phone call ends and you don't have an appointment, don't walk the other way. RUN THE OTHER WAY.
2. Communication is important. If a doctor can't communicate with their office, with you, or if their office can't communicate with you, that relationship is doomed. RUN THE OTHER WAY. The best doctor in the world can become the worse doctor in the world if their communication skills blow.
I denied the specialist appointment.
If someone says the word specialist to me, I'm going to punch them in the throat.
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That's the short version of the story. I have no idea what the future will look like. I was told that this is something you can't cure. It has to be managed, a lot like depression and anxiety.
Sometimes it will be bad. Sometimes it will be good.
In the end, I'm really thankful that nothing is seriously wrong with me. I'm thankful that my only problem at the moment isn't life threatening. It's annoying and it hurts, but it's not the most pain I've ever felt in my life.
It's irritating. I guess that's why the first word of this problem is "irritable."
I guess severe cases like mine can really be this bad.
In a word, it's shitty.
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*Justin's name has been changed. I changed it to Justin because the dude's name is a member of *NSYNC. (I'm 31 years old. I'd like to point that out.) Hopefully, I'm beating the Google search, because I'm pretty sure a guy who works as a drug rep doesn't give a shit about a 90s boy band and won't find this story about him when he Googles his name and his occupation.
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Secretly, I love using the shit references. There has not been a lot of happiness in my life the past two weeks. It's my one way of laughing about this.
I mean...it's just a really shitty situation.
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I have one more story about this.
Yesterday morning, I woke up to the sound of rain and thunder.
It was amazing.
I have three Pugs. They did not think it was amazing. They have small brains. In their minds, they think it's okay to poop in the house all day if it's raining.
Even if the rain stops in the morning, they still think it's okay to poop in the house. Even if I don't make them go outside in bad weather, even if I wait until it stops raining to stick them outside, they still think it's raining.
Yesterday, all three of my dogs pooped in the house.
The Pugs and I had a heart-to-heart conversation.
Pugs, I said. Don't you guys think I have enough poop in my life? Do you honestly think I want to deal with your poop, too?
Fyi, lecturing your dogs about IBS doesn't really work.
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When I left doctor No. 1's office, I had tears of happiness in my eyes.
This woman just spent two hours talking to a guy about my bowels. This woman actually listened to me. This women gave me a solution.
I went to leave, but I lingered a little.
I turned to her and asked if I could give her a hug.
She opened her arms and smiled.
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I wrote 2,000 words about poop.
I win at life.
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