To say this past week has been overwhelming is an understatement. I went to the emergency room last Thursday because of lower abdominal pain that was so severe I couldn’t walk upright. I knew that it was related to my Crohn’s disease, and I thought I would be prescribed a steroid and sent home. Instead, I was admitted to the hospital.
After blood work and a CT scan, I discovered that my bowel was severely inflamed and I have an abscess on my right side that has created an infection in my body. I also have a small fistula. (If you don’t know, a fistula is when the ulcers within the intestine turn into tracts and create an abnormal connection between the intestine and another part of the body.) I was given antibiotics for the infection and after three days, I was transferred to Johns Hopkins Hospital.
When I got to Johns Hopkins, a team of doctors discussed treating the abscess with antibiotics, draining it, or surgically removing it. Since it’s not a good idea to perform surgery during active inflammation, they’re currently focused on draining the abscess; I’m waiting to hear when this will happen.
In the past four days I’ve been poked and prodded for more reasons than I can remember. I haven’t been allowed to eat or drink anything since I was admitted to the hospital, and I’m hungry, like VERY hungry. Most importantly, I miss my girls. I miss them most at night. I miss giving them a bath while singing songs and watching them play with toy ducks and seahorses. I miss towel drying their hair and helping them pick out donut-covered pajamas. I miss the smell of Mackenzie’s apple-scented hair detangler. I miss curling up with the girls in bed and reading a good book. And I miss holding hands as a family and praying before bed time. This is when I feel like the disease is taking something from me. This is when I feel like everything around me keeps going while I play catch up.
Thank God for my husband, here with me now, asleep in the uncomfortable chair next to my bed.