Being sick is one of the most difficult things for me. It’s a psychological mind game. Not only am I unable to be productive¹, which is something that normally keeps me sane, it’s the only situation in which I feel like I can’t take care of myself. All I’m left with is this misery, this suffering that mentally wears me down. On a long enough time line (though I’m talking months to years), I lose the will to live.

I started getting some symptoms since Tuesday afternoon, when I was feeling faint at work. When I woke up the next day, the symptoms had gotten worse. I spat into the sink, and cheered the fact that my phlegm wasn’t dark green, which is the case when I have strep throat (something that seems to happen annually to me). I should say that I only suspect swine flu, since I didn’t have a blood test confirming it, but the person who gave it to me told me she had it, so I’m going on her word, and my symptoms match up with how swine flu is different from seasonal flu.

For me, it’s been:

• runny nose with extremely watery mucous
• stuffed nose
• loss of appetite
• mildly sore throat
• dry cough
• headaches
• very slight fever
• hot flashes and sweating

This flu, though drawn out, has actually been easier than strep, which is so painful for me that I get fairly severe headaches. I went through two entire boxes of tissues, and I’m sure I would have gone through more, I had not spent almost the entire time like this:

On the upside, it was an excuse to drink Neo Citran every night, which I also call Yummy Sleep.

In the five days since I realized that I have the flu, I didn’t leave my house, aside from going across the street to buy groceries. Not a single one of my friends called me (although some of them probably didn’t know I was sick), which was a little disheartening, but I didn’t let it get to me. Jen offered to pick up groceries for me, but I didn’t take her up on it because the offer was enough of a morale boost.

This time, I survived, I did it by myself, and I’m stronger for it.

To keep myself sane, I watched a record number of movies. Usually, it’s hard for me to watch movies, because I feel guilty for not being productive, but this time I embraced my sickness. I may watch one every two weeks when I’m healthy, but this time it was nine in five days (ten if I hadn’t passed out in the middle of Bob & Carol & Ted & Alice). Here are some quick reviews. Warning: SPOILERS.

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1. I have the motivation, but it isn’t enough when my head feels like it’s exploding from the inside. [↑]

One of the drugs I’ve been prescribed for my colitis, Asacol, is delay-released, which means it has a special coating that makes it travel through the stomach, and absorbed only in the colon. This specific brand is released in the left and end of the colon, which is where my colitis is. I often get conflicting advice about how to take the drug:

• The instructions that came with the medication say it can be taken with or without food
• The first pharmacist told me to wait an hour after eating before taking the pills
• The second pharmacist told me I didn’t need to wait and could have it with food and other medications
• The third pharmacist told me that delayed release drugs should be taken on an empty stomach, and may have conflicts with other drugs
• My gastrointestinal specialist told me I could take it with food

It’s generally taken that the doctor’s advice takes precedence over anything else. But as a person who works in the medical industry, where doctors are frequently revealed to be incompetent, I know that not all of them know what they’re talking about.

Scary, for an industry in which we put so much blind faith. Who am I supposed to believe?

The doctor told us she has another 5–6 months. Her colon is so enlarged from the tumor that it’s thicker than her spine, and the procedure was just a temporary solution to prevent further blockages.

How strange it is to “know” how much time there is left. I guess that’s why they call it a deadline. I had already assumed that this would going to be the last time I could see her, but that won’t make it any easier when I have to leave.

I’m grateful to the people who have been sending me their regards. It’s a nice comfort. One of the best pieces of advice came from Charlotte, who told me to “not leave anything at all unsaid to her…leave no questions unanswered, and to not withhold any affection you feel for her”.

I had come to Hong Kong with the intention of telling my grandma how important she was to me. Finding the right words in Chinese to express exactly what I wanted to say.

But trying to speak with her has made me realize that she doesn’t care about any of that. She’s a very practical woman, almost to the point of tactlessness. For almost her entire life, married at 14 and as a single parent of seven kids, she’s had no time for words or feelings.

I’m here, and that’s how she understands how I feel.

Grandma’s at the hospital. She woke up this morning with pain all over her body, but more severely in her lower abdomen. They quickly drove her to the doctor, and it turns out there’s been a blockage in her colon. This afternoon they performed a procedure to expand the colon, and it went through without any complications. She’s resting at the hospital for the night, and my family is taking shifts to stay with her.

I’ve been stuck at home all day. Everyone else has been at the hospital and they decided to leave me behind. I’m on immune suppressing medications and the hospital is full of germs; getting sick myself is the last thing I need, especially when it means that I wouldn’t be able to see my grandma, as her immune system is even lower than mine right now. I would only be in the way if I was there anyway.

I’m scared. I’ve never dealt with any kind of sickness like this before. The only people in my family who have passed away were always far away in Hong Kong.

And now I’m here.

The cancer has spread to her bones and several major organs now. We asked the doctor not to tell her, but we can’t do anything against his moral obligation to inform the patient. Either way, she doesn’t know how serious it is, whether it’s from shock and denial, or memory loss.

But she’s awake, and aware, and feeling no pain, which is good enough for me. The most we can do now is to try to make the rest of her life as enjoyable as possible.

She thinks she’s going to be fine. Keeps telling me that she’ll take me to a nearby park when she’s better. As much as it hurts me to know this won’t be possible anymore, it’s relieving to know she’s so oblivious. We don’t let ourselves cry around her, for fear that she may realize how bad it is.

Her face is more sallow, her fingers and legs emaciated, but she still has her thick, black hair¹. Aside from a distended stomach, it’s hard to tell that she has such a grim prognosis.

But by far the hardest part is having to coddle her like a child to take her medication. Telling her she’s a good girl if she swallows her pills and rewarding her with ice-cream. That we’re only strict because we care about her. It tears me in half when she gives such a painful look of distaste with every pill we hand her, 18 a day.

She used to be so strong. Now we have to be strong for her.

1. “I used to have even more”, she tells me. [↑]

Warning: This may be a little too much information for some. I find it funny that almost a year ago, Tiana crowned herself the winner of our inadvertent competition on gross-out bodily function blogging, and specifically mentioned that to top her period-blogging I would need to do a live blogging of a colonoscopy. I was too sedated to do a live blogging, so this is a night-of blogging.

Bishop takes rook-pawn, Tiana. Your move.

Before

The first (overnight) laxative is to clean out your colon of all solid wastes. It doesn’t kick in overnight, it starts working in about an hour, which means you aren’t going to get much sleep.

The second laxative (magnesium citrate) makes your intestine absorb water through osmosis, so that you start passing liquid for a more thorough cleaning. The magnesium citrate wasn’t as bad tasting as I expected (sort of a chemically sour lemonade), but that, along with having to drink ten glasses of water to make it effective, did make me slightly nauseous.

When liquid comes out of you from this end, it doesn’t make a nice contained splosh. No, it goes everywhere. I lost track of how many times I went to the bathroom, and used almost two rolls of toilet paper in two days. And when you wipe this many times, even three-ply, ultra-soft toilet paper feels like it’s coated in diamond dust and dipped in acid.

I was able to get through a decent chunk of my novel, The Last Light of the Sun, and learned from GQ how to “Work That Tan”, why Shia LaBeouf is the upcoming bad boy of Hollywood, and that Rolex makes a $37,500 nautical watch.

You really don’t feel like doing anything but lie around when going through this. As such, I was able to finish God of War 2, and unlocked the awesome Cod of War costume, which still makes me laugh every time a Greek soldier addresses Kratos as “My lord!” when he’s wearing it.

During

Every person I spoke to who had a colonoscopy said that it was a breeze. Not so for me.

Pretty much as soon as they injected the sedative into my IV, I passed out, only to be awoken by bouts of agony. I’d say that for the entire procedure I was only conscious for about two minutes in total, but those two minutes were not fun. I don’t think I would have woken up if it wasn’t for the pain.

Part of the discomfort is supposed to come from injecting air into the colon so they can better see the colon. I couldn’t tell if it was that, the instrument they used to do it, or the endoscope itself snaking into my colon, but I felt a sharp pressure on both the anal cavity, and inside the colon.

I remember screaming through gritted teeth, grabbing the handles of the bed, swearing, and thinking that I should have better manners before passing out again.

At one point, someone also had to hold me down, and uttered comforting words, but I couldn’t make out what he said.

After

Since the colon is inflated with air, I was warned that I’d be passing gas for a while after the procedure. This is true, and very involuntary.

I have severe ulceritive colitis, which is an inflammatory bowel disease. The doctor showed me pictures of my colon; the right side is fine, but the left side is so inflamed that it’s black, red, and bleeding. All the information is being sent to another specialist, whom I’m very glad to be able to see soon.

I was pretty groggy for a while after, partially because I hadn’t eaten in two days, and partially because of the sedative. Every time I stood up, I felt like I was going to pass out.

Right now, I have to take 12 pills a day, one of them being prednisone, a steroid to suppress the overactive immune system responses, the other being mesalamine, an anti-inflammitory drug to bring the swelling under control. These drugs are scary. The side effects are pretty bad, but the doctor judged the benefits to outweigh the potential risks.

I may have to take pills (considered “maintenance medications” to prevent relapse) for the rest of my life. While I feel this lowers my quality of life, it’s much better than dealing with the flare-ups and side effects of colitis. Aside from that, the only cure is to have part of my colon removed in surgery, which I really don’t want to do.

The diagnosis of having a chronic digestive disease is not great, but I’m very relieved to have an explanation of the mystery pains, along with a treatment plan.

I hate, hate, hate being alone when I’m feeling sick. My stomach still feels very funny and unsettled. So Julie came over last night to hang out a bit and to take my mind off everything, and watch some Robson Arms.

I’m just coming off a moderate cold I’ve had for the last week. All the classic symptoms — runny, stuffy nose, congestion, slight headache, yellow phlegm — but oddly enough, barely a hint sore throat. It’s been unpleasant to say the least.

A little while ago, Tiana wrote “I look in the bowl after to see how impressive it was. I’m pretty sure you do too”.

This cold has made me realize that I not only look in the bowl (I’m sure Freud would diagnose us as being fixated in the anal stage of psychosexual development), but I open my Kleenex after blowing in it as well, to check for discoloured mucus, phlegm, blood, or bits of brain that may have escaped through my nose.

I called in sick again today, but this time I didn’t go in.

In Psych 101, you learn that a group of students are sprayed in the face with the cold bacteria during their exams, while a control group is sprayed during the regular school year. The result is that the students going through their finals are more than twice as likely to get sick. Stress lowers the immune system, and the lesson here is that there’s a direct connection between the health of the mind and the body.

Knowing this isn’t enough to prevent it. Sometimes it all adds up, and you get worn down.

Little surprises come in the form of friends offering to pick things up from the pharmacy, people I’ve never even spoken to asking if I’m okay, or care packages from ex-girlfriends, consisting of chocolate bars, vitamin C drops, African peanut soup, a DVD of BMW shorts, and even a get-well-soon card.

It’s been rough going the last few weeks. Every day is a conflict between doing something relaxing, doing the chores that will make me feel comfortable, or going to bed. Even now I can’t relax. I clean my mirrors of fingerprints in between sentences, or brush Dolly of excess fur as she forcefully nudges my wrists in mirth, and only continue writing when I come up with the next idea.

A sore throat and weary body had me calling in sick today (I suspect that I caught something from petting the same cat as Karen yesterday, who’s seems sick as a dog), although I ended up going in and working six hours anyway. All the extra curricular things are slowly wearing me down. There’s the two side-businesses, the new effort of learning as much as I can about my new Canon Rebel XT by photographing everything, and the blogging. I also started table tennis again, although I’m not sure how often I can attend, taking four hours out of a weekday. The one reprieve is a LAN party I’ve had planned since September that starts tomorrow, and even though it’ll be a good weekend of gaming, it’ll still mean little rest. Normally I’m planned, prepared, and practiced for a LAN, but this time it’ll all be improvised.

I’m being tested, and even though I know that I’ll get through this, it’s still difficult. I’m forced to deal with people I’ve avoided my entire life. I’m pushing myself past the limits of anything I’ve ever gone through. To be honest, it’s a little easier than I would have imagined. The strength and confidence that I’ve gained over the last two years has helped tremendously. Knowing that things get done in their own time keeps me from being overwhelmed. If I can make it through this, I’ll be stronger than ever.

I’m lying down, naked from the waist up, giggling uncontrollably. The nurse dampens some tissue with rubbing alcohol, and rubs down my torso methodically. I feel it evaporating off my skin, staring at the ceiling, unsure of anywhere else I could appropriately keep my eyes. Suddenly, there’s a sharply dragging pain on a small area, and I see her making quick, short arm movements in one direction.

“Ow, what is that?”, I ask jovially. I’m still giggling, a result of my nervousness. She picks up on this.

“It’s sandpaper. Haven’t you ever been exfoliated?”

The sandpaper removes the dead skin, making the electrodes stick better.

“Are you telling me that this is going to make my chest glow, and reduce the appearance of any lines and wrinkles?”

She playfully returns, “On these five spots, yes.”

Afterwards, I’m told to sign a form with a short explanation on what is being done, that acknowledges my understanding.

Holter monitoring provides a continuous recording of heart rhythm during normal activity. There is no discomfort associated with the test.

I’m given a journal to record any abnormal heartbeats, whether it’s a skipped beat, an extra beat, or an irregular beat, but for the 24 hours that I’m wearing this device, I don’t write in it once. It’s a guessing game for them, to sort out the what’s normal and what’s not. After any test they do, urine, blood, stool, holter, they say the same thing: we’ll call you if anything shows up in the results.

They always say, no news is good news.

I went in for a few hours of work, which was torture without having consumed more than 40 grams of carbohydrates, 8 grams of protein, and 180 calories in the last three days, but really, I can’t afford to be sick. I’m going to try to make it in for a few more hours tomorrow, if I don’t feel as weak and light-headed, but they already know that I may not be coming in at all. To stave hunger and dehydration, I’ve been drinking as much water as I can before it makes me feel nauseous again.

John also said something that hurt me enough to make me cry (somehow I manage to lose more fluids). Even though his offhand comment was uncalled for, it’s partly my fault; being either hungry, tired, or sick can make me into a very cantankerous person, but all three combined is as dangerous as juggling chainsaws. In reality, it’s no excuse. I’m determined to apologize the next time I speak to him. As starved as I am, pride is always a hard thing to swallow.

I stepped outside in the late evening, wearing my cotton hoodie, and realized that it was still too warm to be wearing anything with sleeves. It felt completely odd to be outside in the dark, when the sun already sets so late this time of year, and still be uncomfortably warm. I was reminded of past summer nights spent with Darren, being in the middle of the park at midnight with nothing but a blackened sky above us and a jungle gym around us. It made me realize that I haven’t been out past sunset since I’ve moved here, something I don’t particularly mind when I have the comfort of a house, a computer, and a housemate.

Hence the absence from work. It feels like the long weekend burned me out, and I need another one. Thank god it’s already Wednesday.

Really, it’s probably just a mild stomach bug, causing my body to reject everything but very dry, thinly sliced toast that comes in packs of eight, named after the stage name of Australian opera singer Helen Porter Mitchell. I suspect that I’ll also be able to consume collagen processed from pork skin, cattle bones, and cattle hide, but I’m still waiting for it to set in the freezer.

I feel so helpless when I’m like this. I generally don’t worry about much, but health is the only thing that I can’t look at cerebrally. I’m not even comfortable writing this. It just keeps making me think of how bad I feel. Too nauseated to fall asleep. Too tired to do anything else.

There were two other things I was going to write about, but this is the only thing I think I can get down. Too tired to write, and too nauseous to sleep. I tried to talk through it with John first, to get my thoughts in order, but there was only one conclusion.

I only feel alone when I’m sick.

There’s this thing that’s missing, and if I generalize it enough, it comes down to someone with unconditional acceptance. One may think of the classic maternal figure: a person who can be depended on, no matter what the circumstances. With the (ideal) mother, even aside from a physical presence, there’s a mental support there. Someone who’s willing to go out of their way to help in times of need, dire or not. Someone who asks, “Do you need anything?”, before one may actually consider such an idea.

Of course, this is a very specific example, and many other people usually fill such a role, such as relatives, spouses, or friends. Unfortunately, I still find myself without, in these exact areas. I have no family in close proximity. I’m single (and even though I’ve had my fair share of chances to be with people who were willing to unconditionally accept or help me, this wasn’t enough for me to stay with them).

The case of my friends is more complex. Out of the six, two live in different cities, and it remains that Aaron, Pat, Trolley, and Shirley are the only ones who can simply physically be there for me. Shirley is almost always automatically too busy, being the mother of three children and the holder of a full-time job (I don’t know how she does it), so she’s the last person I try to bother. Aaron is seldom there for me, because he’s almost always doing something else, and I never fall high enough on his priority list. When I needed his help during a particularly stressful day, he was out of contact. When I was having a bad shroom trip, he was with his brother (although he did talk me out of one last year when we went camping, which I appreciated greatly). When Louise hurt me for the last time, he was having dinner with his grandparents. None of this is the fault of either Shirley or Aaron, but simply due to the fact that both people are busy. Too busy for me, at least.

I’ve learned that right now, the only people I can depend on are Trolley and Pat, and even then, I still try not to rely on them. Trolley will hang out with me to make sure I’m okay, is willing to get me anything I may need or want, and will even let me decide what we listen to (a very generous gesture), in times of trouble. However, he isn’t as open about how he cares about people, so even though I know that he cares, he doesn’t show it enough for me to be comfortable asking for help. This isn’t his fault; I require a significant amount of reinforcement to be comfortable enough to go to others, and generally it’s more than most people naturally show. Pat is also someone I can call up when I need to, but usually he’s so busy that I need to book him two months in advance. This discourages me from going to him, but he’s one person who will definately make time for me when I ask him.

Perhaps if my friends realized that I only ask for help when I actually feel like I need it, whereas some may think that I go to them for superficial problems. I try to get through as much as I can by myself, but when I can’t handle it alone anymore, I look to others. When I’m turned away in those times, it hurts more than anything else.

Part of this may be blamed on my own low tolerance for pain and sickness, but I don’t think that such a thing should matter. People experience suffering differently and have varying thresholds of pain. What’s important, to me, is whether someone feels like they’re alright or not, not whether or not they actually are. Even if I know that I’m going to get through whatever temporary affliction I may have, it still helps to have someone willing to be there for me (John believes that this simple mental support contributes greatly to the healing process), even if they also know that I’m going to be alright. For example, when I’m hungover after a night of binge drinking, and it seems like I’m throwing up the lining of my stomach, I feel like shit. It’d be nice to have a person who’s willing to help me keep my mind off the nausea, willing to get me whatever I need to cure the hangover, even though it was my fault, my stupidity that got me there in the first place, even though we both know that the hangover will eventually go away.

And if I was comfortable enough to ask this from my friends, maybe I wouldn’t feel so alone.

I’m sick.

Going into work today was a mistake. I’ll be staying home tomorrow.

I’m sick. There’s been a virus going around, started by Mr. Wheaties, propagated by god-knows-what. Wheaties is over it now, and Nick and Trolley are just finishing up. I woke up yesterday with a very slightly sore throat, but this morning the irritation is much more distinguished. I don’t seem to be having any other symptoms though, such as a runny or stuffy nose, which are generally extremely common for me. I’m beginning to suspect I may just have a throat infection, but I won’t be able to tell anything until tomorrow. One thing is for sure though, with the rate that these symptoms are spreading, I’ll be sick for a long time.

The good thing, if it can really be considered a good thing, is that I’ll be able to down some Neo Citran, which tastes like yummy metallic lemonade, or god-awful what-the-fuck-did-you-do-to-these-cherries cherry juice. The best part is how well I sleep after Neo Citran makes me too drowsy to operate heavy machinery.