Professionally Procrastinating At Life

So for the last twenty minutes I have been procrastinating by watching 2 wood pigeons trying to fuck the life out of each other on my shed roof. Ahh if only life was that simple, eating berries, banging other pigeons, shitting on statues and avoiding teenagers with airguns. Good times

I had another shite nights sleep last night thanks mainly to these awful reoccurring nightmares I seem to be having where I’m having surgery and either something goes tits up and I die or they open me up and tell me I have some kind of horrendous terminal disease. I do love my subconscious self, constantly trying to fuck me over. I then woke up with what seems to be becoming more and more frequent abdominal pain, right where my stricture is. Hrrmmm not so good me thinks. However, I would find it fantastically amazing if my body decides to hold its self together until the surgery, I’ll even chip in with less drinking and eating shit.

To be honest though I am far from looking forward to the surgery, I mean I know it’s going to make me better and improve my day to day life but I definitely am not looking forward to actually being cut open on a fucking table. Nowadays with modern technology and medicine, this kind of surgery is routine for hospitals, not for me though, it’s about as routine for me as me shitting in the queens handbag as a jubilee present. I know that realistically there are miniscule chances of me dying on the table in the operating theatre, but I’d rather acknowledge the risk and prepare for it. As the old saying goes, “Hope for the best. Prepare for the worst”. I mean saying that, the drugs I’m on now, some of them carry a real risk of serious side effects from lymphatic cancers to serious irreparable nerve damage that can cause MS, but the benefits outweigh the risks. The fact is that these drugs keep me (relatively) symptom free until this utter wanksock of a stricture turned up, which unfortunately due to its size and location it can only be dealt with via surgery.

However, getting past all the being cut open malarkey which I think I can deal with, we come to my next issue. As a result of this unavoidable surgery, I am going to have a fucking bag attached to me for the rest of my life, an ileostomy. To say that I am less than impressed is a massive fucking understatement, I think in fact, I would rather be thrown to a troop of raging horny gibbons who’s morning fruit had been spiked with Viagra than have it done. BUT I keep telling myself that it’s going to improve my quality of life and once I can wrap my head round that fact I think I’ll be able to accept it more. Hundreds of people have the same operation every year but I still feel like I’m being hard done by and cheated out of a normal life, but at the same time, I’m now in the mindset where I just want the fucking whole episode over and done with so I can start trying to claw back some form of normality with everything from getting a job, to going out with mates. So the sooner this surgery is over and done with the better.

Remember, it could always be worse 😛

Insanity Wolf: He always has useful advice!!


I so need to take part in something like that haha

So live your life so the fear of death can never enter your heart. Trouble no one about their religion; respect others in their views, and demand that they respect yours. Love your life, perfect your life, beautify all things in your life. Seek to make your life long and of service to your people. Prepare a noble death song for the day when you go over the great divide. Always give a word or sign of salute when meeting or passing a stranger if in a lonely place. Show respect to all people, but grovel to none. When you arise in the morning, give thanks for the light, for your life and strength. Give thanks for your food and for the joy of living. If you see no reason for giving thanks, the fault lies in yourself. Touch not the poisonous firewater that makes wise ones turn to fools and robs them of their visions. When your time comes to die, be not like those whose hearts are filled with fear of death, so that when their time comes they weep and pray for a little more time to live their lives over again in a different way. Sing your death song, and die like a hero going home.

Chief Tecumseh (Crouching Tiger) Shawnee Nation 1768-1813

My new ethos in life

Step One: Begin vomiting words onto laptop

Where on earth do I even begin. The begging I suppose.

Right, well about 2 months ago I walked into St. Barts hospital, up to the first floor and instead of turning right as I normally do into the medical outpatients wing I turned left into surgical outpatients. I was due to see a surgeon for the first time to discuss ” the possibility of surgical options” which is a nice way of saying we definitely need to chop you  up a little bit but don’t want to scare seven shades of shit out of you.  I checked myself in and took a seat. To be honest, I can’t even remember what was going through my head, I think on a subconscious level my brain was stopping me from thinking about it. I don’t remember walking into the consulting room just vaguely bits of the conversation, I don’t know if that just because of my abysmal memory or because I had so much going through my head at the time.

To cut to the chase, and my god are these people blunt about what has to be done, they want to take all of my large intestine out, leaving me with a bag for life, and I’m not referring to those big orange fuckers from Sainsburys.

Yes sports fans, I am due to have an epic bit of shit surgery, but on the bright side it will be keeping me alive for the forseeable future and if I can get my head round it, it will only improve my day-to-day quality of life. They want to do it as I have a 20cm stricture in my large intestine and a shed load of active disease aswell. So they figure fuck it, lets get rid of it all and be done with it.

I’ll sum up the last few years with the main points of the story. Now I have been in a pretty sad state of affairs for the last 4 or so years. I was first properly diagnosed with Crohn’s disease in my second year of University and eventually in my 3rd year it had become so bad that I was hospitalised for a short stint, although it seemed like years. see below.

This is what happens when you don’t eat all your vegetables

So during my stay I was fitted with one of the above bad boys, a naso-gastric feeding tube, aka a long yellow straw that goes up your nose, down your throat into your stomach and feeds you with this ideal diet which helped to pack weight on me. This was because at 6′ 2″ and weighing under 8 and a half stone I was massively underweight.

Since then I have been on various drugs, some which work, some which don’t. Currently I inject myself once a week with Humira, a drug, which to be fair, has worked wonders for me although it does have some pretty shitty side effects that I have somehow, so far, managed to avoid. Also I’m on Azathioprene, another immunosuppressant, and clomipramine, which is for my fantastic anxiety attacks I get due to constantly having to worry where the nearest fucking toilet is every second of every day.

Now since being diagnosed, I just about managed to graduate university in Industrial Design with a 2:2. I’ve only managed to do one full-time job, and even then I struggled. I cannot tell you how much I hate not being able to go out and work a full-time job and earn a half decent wage. At the moment, I have been properly signed off work until after this operation.

I go and see my surgeon in just under 2 weeks, where they will discuss the procedure with me in-depth and put me on the list for surgery which unfortunately does mean another 3 to 4 week wait till it actually gets done.

I’m now at the point in my head where I just want it over and done with. Its going to be a shit procedure with bullshit things like having to have catheters and drains hanging out of me when I wake up and then 2 months of recovery at home, but if and when I come out the other side of it my life should change dramatically for the better. I’m so fed up of spending what feels like half my life in various toilets and having my life dictated to me by some shit fucking disease whereby I can’t go out and work, I worry anytime I leave my house and only feel comfortable enough to venture to a handful of places.

However, hopefully soon all of that should change =D

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