Since October, I have been in pain. My bowels have been very angry at me. I’m always, always tired. Running had been hard–all the training and no improvement. It’s been a rough few months.
Granted, I wait until after my races and then after my Chewie passed to go to a doctor, but then it was a parade of prodding, poking, probing, prying, and poison radiation.
My PCP ran a series of tests and then referred me to GI doc. The GI doc passed the pain in my lower left abdomen as a torn ligament and then ordered a colonoscopy and a gluten sensitivity, without really asking me any questions. After the procedure, the nurses stuck me on a hard chair in a hallway because all the privacy booths were full. When they emptied, they left me there in pain. After 45 minutes, GI came over and told me no inflammation was found, so I shouldn’t worry about UC like my mom and that I should take probiotics.
I called my OB/GYN and sobbed through the whole ordeal, explaining where my pain was and when it occurred. After hugging me, he ordered an Ultrasound and a then a new MRI. He even checked my gall bladder because one of the pains I was experiencing seemed to point to gall bladder attack.
All of that, and the diagnosis merely revealed my little aliens. I’ve been keeping them as pets for a while, but it’s time they come out. On July 3, to be exact. Perhaps I’ll keep them on my mantle.