A love letter to my beloved bowels:
I love you. I'm so grateful that I have you in my life. I remember, in June, when Dr. G told me that he was going to have to take part of you out, I was hit with a sudden (and horrific) realization that my time with you might be shorter than I'd planned for it to be, and I was afraid that I would lose you. I want to make sure that you know that I have so appreciated all the work you have done for me, my whole life. You are awesome.
That being said... Am I the only one who misses the old days, when I could eat whatever I wanted and still be able to poop like a normal person, once a day, between 7-10:00 AM? No, I didn't think so. Also, the cramping and the explosive gas. Can we do anything about those?
I really want our relationship to work. I do. I need you in my life. I can't imagine what it would be like to try and live my life without you. (Scratch that. I can imagine that scenario, and it's pretty ugly.)
I've spent a lot of time, thinking about you and me and how maybe we can make this work. I've tried modifying my diet, but it seems that changing what I eat doesn't make you any happier. I've tried throwing more fiber at you, and that doesn't seem to make a difference, either. For a while, I was afraid that drinking 64 oz of water a day might drown you, but now I'm wondering if maybe, somehow, a gallon a day isn't enough water for you to do all the work you need to get done, and you want more?
I want to make sure you know that I'm committed. I'm in this, for better or for worse. I love you, and I'm willing to do anything I can do to improve our relationship. I truly believe that, together, we can do anything. I wrote this letter because I thought a little more open communication may help. If there's anything I can do to help you, I will. (I'm currently thinking a modified version of "You scratch my back and I'll scratch yours." I'd include that in this letter, but I'm afraid that my mother might read this and be horrified at my speaking so openly and casually about poop. Again.) You just let me know if there's anything I can do for you. I am here for you.
Yours. Forever and always,
Here's hoping this little letter will work some lover's magic on my loopy belly. I had a nice talk with the MRI tech this afternoon. She explained that one of the reasons they don't me to eat or drink anything before the scan is that food and drink can activate a bowel, and they want mine to be as still and quiet as can be, so they can get good, detailed pictures.
I literally laughed out loud, and then said "Yeah, good luck with that. If I could figure out a way to keep my bowels quiet, I would be all over it!"
Honestly. My guts. They kill me. ... I mean, I love them and I'm grateful for those that I still have, but at the same time... they kill me. Dead.