Dealing with Crohn's

Subcutaneous Humira Injection

[Scene One - Flashback]

Last night I had to take my daily and weekly medications. It started with a small handful of pills. Then I had to self-inject Humira followed by self-administered Mesalamine enema.  I'll be switching back to the Mesalamine pills soon; after I have finished a 28 day regiment of enemas.  Yeah me!

I tried to back off of my weekly dosage of Humira and it nearly brought me to me knees.  After about a month, I noticed a distinct chance in my health.  I started to get stomach cramps, which were followed by heavy days of diarhea and bleeding. Something was definitely not right.  I remembered that I had a stockpile of Mesalamine enemas, and and promptly switched to nightly enemas. I also switched back to weekly Humira shots.  That seems to have done the trick, cause I'm feeling much better now. :-D

You don't look sick

[Scene Two - Recurring]

Being medically retired by Chron's disease has it's ups and downs.  When I'm feeling well, I make a point of participating in community activities.  Invariably, when I'm networking at an event, I'll met an old friend or someone asks me what I do.   My answer varies, but if I tell them that medically retired, a common response is "You don't look sick!"   Which probably seems true, but it is still far from accurate.

These are many situations (like a night of self-administered medications) that pass by in private. If they are effective, then no one knows about the sacrifices an IBD patient makes to sustain his energy, strength, and motivation.  Because my handicap is systemic, and not overly visible, like a missing limb, I can understand why people can conclude that I'm physically fit.  Of course, they don't see me when my hemorrhoids are throbbing with pain after 10 evacuations during a single day.  On those days, I usually don't stray far from my bed and a toilet.

It's a ironic twist of fate.  If I'm managing my medications and diet then I seem fine, if I'm not or if I'm having a flair-up, then I'm simply absent.  If I do happen to venture out when I'm experiencing a flair-up, then everyone is visibly unsettled by my contorted faces and lack of energy.  Unfortunately, it comes down to one of two situations.  When I feel bad, I usually suffer in silence.  When I feel better, than no one even knows I'm sick unless I bring it up.  More and more, I just avoid the subject.  Either way, IBD is an ailment that forces its' victims to suffer in silence.