Some days I feel too young to have a bag--especially one I know I can't ever get rid of. I thought I could get a reversal, but innumerable polyps throughout my colon, rectum, and anal canal kept the doctors from doing it. Almost three weeks out of surgery and I feel okay most of the time. I still can't run and really shouldn't work, but I have to have some for of money. So in a week I'm going back to one of my jobs in a small tea shop.
I wasn't supposed to be moving right after surgery, but the complex dragged their feet with my paperwork. I had to stay a week at my dad's house before moving in with my new roomie--who I creep out sometimes, so at least I can laugh at that. So in the same two weeks, I had major surgery and was moved from my dad's house--this is also the first time I've ever moved out--into an apartment in the projects. At least my roomie is okay with Steve's needs. Oh, right. I named my stoma. Helps keep the mood light when I have to deal with him... It.... Something.
I guess the thing that bothers me is that this isn't the first major medical catastrophe in my life. My mother had Gardner's and got colon cancer when I was nine. She died a few weeks after my eleventh birthday. She also had a heart condition and polycystic kidneys. As it turns out, I have all three. Until I was seventeen, I only thought I had the heart condition. At school one morning, I went into super ventricular tachycardia and my brain went without oxygen for over six minutes. I woke up a week later in the hospital wondering what had happened. I fell out of the bed sometime during that week I can't remember and hit my head on the floor. The doctors took me in for a CT Scan and saw the osteomas on my skull and jaw. A nurse recognized them as a symptom of Gardners and I was tested. The test came back positive. On a hunch, my dad requested I get my kidneys looked at. They were covered in large cysts.
Gardners is hereditary. My mother passed it down to me, and possibly my two siblings. In a way, I'm glad I have ovarian cysts, as well, since that lowers your ability to reproduce. Maybe, if they get bad enough, a doctor will give me a hysterectomy, too. I don't want my kids to go through what I have. I don't want kids. I know myself well enough that if they aren't of my own blood, I won't love them as deeply as if I carried them myself. I wouldn't care for them right.
.....Looking up at this choppily written post, I feel like it's more of a "Why me?" thing than I intended it to be. Oh well. I'll talk more later. Havea nice day.
Sven
I wasn't supposed to be moving right after surgery, but the complex dragged their feet with my paperwork. I had to stay a week at my dad's house before moving in with my new roomie--who I creep out sometimes, so at least I can laugh at that. So in the same two weeks, I had major surgery and was moved from my dad's house--this is also the first time I've ever moved out--into an apartment in the projects. At least my roomie is okay with Steve's needs. Oh, right. I named my stoma. Helps keep the mood light when I have to deal with him... It.... Something.
I guess the thing that bothers me is that this isn't the first major medical catastrophe in my life. My mother had Gardner's and got colon cancer when I was nine. She died a few weeks after my eleventh birthday. She also had a heart condition and polycystic kidneys. As it turns out, I have all three. Until I was seventeen, I only thought I had the heart condition. At school one morning, I went into super ventricular tachycardia and my brain went without oxygen for over six minutes. I woke up a week later in the hospital wondering what had happened. I fell out of the bed sometime during that week I can't remember and hit my head on the floor. The doctors took me in for a CT Scan and saw the osteomas on my skull and jaw. A nurse recognized them as a symptom of Gardners and I was tested. The test came back positive. On a hunch, my dad requested I get my kidneys looked at. They were covered in large cysts.
Gardners is hereditary. My mother passed it down to me, and possibly my two siblings. In a way, I'm glad I have ovarian cysts, as well, since that lowers your ability to reproduce. Maybe, if they get bad enough, a doctor will give me a hysterectomy, too. I don't want my kids to go through what I have. I don't want kids. I know myself well enough that if they aren't of my own blood, I won't love them as deeply as if I carried them myself. I wouldn't care for them right.
.....Looking up at this choppily written post, I feel like it's more of a "Why me?" thing than I intended it to be. Oh well. I'll talk more later. Havea nice day.
Sven
