As previous articles of mine will informed you, I have Irritable Bowel Syndrome. I have been suffering from it for the past four years, and so far, I think I’ve been dealing with it quite well. You may also be aware that currently, I have a broken ankle (and actually have nothing better to do than write). I’ve found writing for my blog has helped alleviate the boredom that comes with sitting in the house all day waiting for my bones to knit together. Finding topics to write about hasn’t been too difficult, and last night, my IBS decided to give me yet one more thing to memorialize, so strap in a get ready!
Yesterday was a day similar to all of the others. I sat on the sofa, I wore my boot and I watched TV. I surfed the web, I read a book and I also ensured that I ate. All of my food yesterday was safe for me to eat, because why would I eat something that would make my ass explode? What would be the point in that?
Husband was very sweet yesterday and took me out of our house for a drive in the car to go and get some ice cream. I rarely get out of my pyjamas these days and so you can bet all your money that I left the house in my pyjamas. I was only going to be sitting in a car, no one would see me. Shame the neighbours had to get an eye full though. To say I looked like I’d been pulled through a hedge backwards is an understatement.
We went to bed as normal, read our books and drifted off into a nice, peaceful sleep. My foot and leg had been particularly uncomfortable during the day so I was pretty pleased to be sleeping off the discomfort, or through it anyway. Turning in bed seems to wake me up so every night I expect to stir at least a handful of time before the alarm goes off. I began to stir, at what I later learned was 2:00am. I thought it was my foot but the pain seemed to be much higher up. That is when my foggy brain realised that I was being stabbed through the gut with a javelin. The pain in my stomach was white hot. Husband woke and asked if my ankle was okay and when I told him it was my stomach he knew what was going to happen.
Normally with a flareup I’m pretty quick to get to the bathroom. My broken ankle however prevented me from going at my normal pace. I also was not as graceful and quiet as I usually am. I managed to grab the crutches and clattered and banged my way in an IBS parade through the bedroom, to our bathroom. Upon reaching the bathroom my brain also registered that I didn’t have my phone. I minorly raged at this point as I wouldn’t have anything to distract me. I was just going to have to stare blankly at the bathroom wall.
When I have an attack in the middle of the night, I tend to go in and out of the bathroom multiple times, but this time had to be different. I physically could not keep hopping in and out because I just didn’t have the energy and the ankle could only take so much. I made the conscious decision to stay in the bathroom until I knew I was finished.
The white-hot pain crept lower and lower down my abdomen. My guts started to make noises that sounded more fitting of a horror movie than my body. The sweat poured from every pore in my body and I knew this was going to be a rough ride. Once the pain got to its horrific crescendo, that’s when the acid came out. I’m surprised the water in the toilet bowl didn’t start to boil. I’m also surprised the ceramic didn’t crack open. Our toilet must be made of sturdier stuff.
I got back into bed and sat up for a while. I retrieved my phone and started rolling through the late-night dreck that seems to appear on Facebook. I was woozy and more than a little tired, but something still didn’t feel right. Roughly thirty minutes after I thought I was finished in the bathroom, my body perked up and said “Bitch you thought you were done? How cute! Now move before I make you do something embarrassing!”
Grabbing the crutches again I paraded through the bedroom and as I got to the bathroom I suddenly had to clench. Have you ever tried to clench your butt while using crutches? It’s not easy. I powered through and made it to the toilet. Half a second after I sat down, that’s when my body turned on the tap. No pain, just a leaky faucet butt. Sorry to be crude but it’s the only way I can describe it.
After what seemed like a life time in the bathroom I finally made it back to bed. The fatigue was definitely real and the aftereffect of the flareup made me want to sleep for about a year. It was a really horrible hour and a half and not something I would like to repeat anytime soon. With IBS it is tough tough to predict when you’re going to have a random flareup. This one took me completely by surprise. Now, almost 12 hours since the ordeal began, I’m finally starting to feel like myself again, or as much as possible as this damn ankle is still annoying me. It is throbbing every so often and really bothering me, but I just keep telling myself that it is healing. If I had to give this IBS flareup a star rating? It would be a four out of a possible five. It was painful and made even more awkward by the broken ankle, but it is definitely not the worst I’ve had.