Then This Little Thing Called Life Happens... Literally

July 21, 2009

So, you may have noticed that I haven't been blogging for the last three weeks. The reason is simple, we've been a little... er... distracted around here. After three, yes count them, three pregnancy tests, I found out I was pregnant on July 21st.

And I couldn't be more thrilled! In fact, I'm still floating around on Cloud Nine.

So how does this effect my ride. Well, first I called my doctor to find out what she thought medically. Medically speaking I'm clear to ride. There are some restrictions. Number one my heart rate has to stay below 140 beats per minute. Also, I need to be extra sure to stay hydrated and if I don't feel well, stop.

Okay, so in the first few days of glowing pregnancy I thought this all sounded very reasonable. I normally train with my heart in the 160 range, so dropping it 20 beats per minutes shouldn't be a problem. Right?

Yeah, right.

So as you may notice after July 21 my time and distance significantly dropped. It was a lot harder than I thought it would be to keep my heart rate below 140. I mean seriously, grandmas on their way to get ice cream were passing me. But I was still riding and committed to Get Your Guts in Gear. Just because I was averaging 9 miles an hours on flat bike paths doesn't mean I couldn't still ride.... and at that pace I'd be riding all day.

Then this little thing called pregnancy hit.

And I started sleeping. Then sleeping a little longer. It took a lot of effort to get up, wash and go to work, much less swing my leg over a bike saddle.

And then a little bit of reality hit me. Do I really want ride 210 miles over 3 days while tent camping, all during my first pregnancy?

To be honest, the answer is no. I'm not what you'd call a roughing it type. When it's for charity and raising awareness I'm on board. But add to that I'm sleeping 10 hours a day, bloated and craving copious amounts of rare steak smothered in dark chocolate, not so much.

So I've decided to not ride in the 2009 Get Your Guts In Gear Midwest Ride.

But I do think the best way to lose baby weight would be to train for the 2010 Midwest Ride. After all, my due date is March 26... that leaves me plenty of time to get up and get going, and I think little Ambric would enjoy being pulled in a baby trailer.

if it's not about the bike, then what's it about?

So why a bike ride? Why a 210 mile, 3 day ride? There are lots of other great ways to raise money and awareness for Crohn's and colitis, most of which don't require sleeping in a tent for three nights. I don't know why I'm drawn to a bike, but I know where I started. The following is the story of how I first started bike riding. More importantly, it is the story of B.J. and I. B.J. was the first person I met that openly talked about colitis and his colectomy, which he had at 17. I called him when I was first diagnosed. I'd like to say he was a shoulder to cry on, but in actuality he is my antagonist. "Just get it cut out. Then you can move on with your life" was the piece of advice that he gave me over and over.

Summer 2001

Want to go for a bike ride tomorrow? I'm going to Wetmore Landing. The instant message from B.J. popped up on my computer screen.
How far is that? I typed.
About seven miles.
Seven miles didn't seem that far to me. Of course that would also be seven miles back, but I wanted to get in shape so I replied,
Sure. It might take me a couple of hours, but I'll go. I added a smiley face to let B.J. know I was only joking about taking two hours.
If it takes you two hours to get out there, I'll leave you behind. B.J.'s reply didn't have a smiley face.

I met B.J. the fall of my sophomore year at NMU. I was living in the dorms and he was an RA. We naturally had an antagonist friendship. One of the first times I was in his room I bumped a lamp shade and move it from it's perfect alignment. Within two minutes B.J. adjusted it back. Later I found out that he though I purposely came into his room and "bumped" things. In actuality I'm just klutzy. That winter I took a job as an RA. I called B.J. a lot to 'discuss' my RA problems. I was actually whining and he didn't hesitate to point that out to me. I also called him when I had my first bout of colitis. He told me to not fuck around and get it taken care of.

Summer came and the campus emptied out. Our jobs changed and we both worked as summer security assistants. Basically, we lived in empty dorm buildings and made sure they were not vandalized. It was a job that offered a lot of play time in the Marquette wilderness. We started rollerblading together a couple of times a week (yes, some of those times were down the empty hallways of the dorms!). Then came the big bike trip.

On the afternoon of the Wetmore Landing trip, I waited for B.J. outside his building. I knew he biked a lot, but it was mostly rough terrain mountain biking. He was just getting into road biking.

When B.J. appeared I realized that his idea of 'some road biking' and mine were polar opposites. Attached to the back of his Specialized mountain bike was a fully loaded bike bag, two water bottles, some fancy looking handle bars and his pedals weren't normal looking either. Later I'd learn that those fancy pedals required fancy shoes that 'clipped' into the pedals.

"Do you have water?" he asked while tightening his ponytail under his helmet.
"Yeah," I nodded to the Aquafina bottle I'd duct taped to my handle bars.
"You know water cages are like five bucks. Eight, if you get the really good kind."
"Right. I'll keep that in mind."

He just shrugged and started off.

"The goal is to keep your RPMs high, so keep your bike in a low gear. You don't want to have it in too hard of a gear because you'll just fatigue your muscles quicker. It's about endurance, not strength," he coached me. "Professional cyclist keep their RPMs at about 130. I can only go that fast downhill, with the wind pushing me. Other than that I try to stay between 90 and 100."

"When you start to go up a hill down shift so you are peddling at the same rate you are now. Once you start to go downhill shift to higher gears. You want to maintain the same amount of forces on the pedals at all times," I watched Brian's legs trying to mimic his steady rhythm.

"Also, I'd get a helmet." I tried to reply, but it was between breathing and talking and I choose breathing.

We were traveling on Country Road 550 from Marquette to Big Bay. The road really should have been named Rural Rough You Up Road 550. Pot holes, a non-existent shoulder and blind corners was the course of my first 'road bike trip'. I made a note to buy a helmet the next afternoon. B.J. led the way, his white t-shirt and green gym shorts billowing out behind him. I tried to mimic my cadence after his steady one, but the distance between us lengthened. Ahead was a small hill. Concentrating on B.J. I tried to keep up with him, but I lost sight of him around the wide curve at the top of the hill. I was at least a minute behind. When I finally crested the hill and corner he was waiting for me.

"Hills are evil," I gasped. B.J. had a full smile plastered on his face.

"I look at it this way. Hills are like your life. The more you dread them, the harder they are. You are just have to tell yourself you are going to get to the top and don't stop. Sure at first your thighs are burning like hell and your mind is screaming to stop, but once you get past that, you just go numb and all you thinking about it biking. Each hill makes you stronger for the next one. Just like life. Everything you do makes you stronger." B.J. re-clipped and started off again.

It did not take us two hours to make it to Wetmore Landing. Instead it took about 45 minutes. Following a trail that traced Lake Superior, we biked to an outcropping of rocks. It was almost July and the sun was finally taking the winter chill out of the smooth black rocks. Sitting on the edge of the rocks a cool mist from the Lake rose and covered my bare legs leaving me covered in goose bumps. Next to me B.J. was leaning back with his face raised to the sun.

"Truthfully, I didn't think you'd make it past five miles," he confessed.
"Why did you ask me to come then?"
"To see if you'd do it."

I studied a black lump along the shoreline and asked, "Isn't that Little Presque Isle?"
"Yeah."
"How far away is it do you think?"
"About another three or four miles, I think, if you follow the road."

We both sat in silence.

"You know we'll end up in Big Bay if we aren't careful," I joked.
"We have two months before staff training starts. What else are you doing this summer?"
"Nothing." That summer we rode our bikes twice to Big Bay, fifty-five miles round trip both times.

We joked that there was nothing to do that summer. That's why we rode endless miles every week-- we were bored. The truth was I was chasing B.J. trying to find the peace that he appeared to be at with his colitis. I wanted to see my life as a series of hills that were just making me stronger for a larger challenge. But I couldn't. I was becoming weaker. I was losing more blood. I ignored his advice to not fuck around and take care of myself.

Two months after my last Big Bay trip I passed out in the shower.

It's Only a Weed if You Don't Think It's Pretty

If it's not broke, don't fix it.

If you're regular, don't change your diet.

I had been eating my high vegetable diet for two months and was feeling great. I'm also the world's biggest cheater, so I'd sneak a cookie or piece of dark chocolate every once in awhile. I did notice that after eating a cookie, I'd feel "off". I also noticed that I could no longer stomach my once daily mocha. You'd think I'd take a clue, but I didn't. I just figured my system wasn't used to the sugar.

Then came Strata Night. My friend Krista came over to color Easter eggs and we made strata (what else do you do with 2 dozen eggs?). We used 100% whole wheat bread. That night I had a migraine and felt like I'd swallowed glass shards. One of my co-workers has Celiac disease and has been telling me to get tested for several months. I finally started to think there might be something to her suggestion.

Now I'm stubborn and sometimes I need a third degree burn before I learn my lesson. So six days after Strata Night I had a piece of toast with peanut butter for breakfast. Within two hours I was vomiting and had a screaming migraine. Lesson learned.

I did insist that my primary care physician test me for Celiac disease and it came back negative. Right now I'm in the process of determining what my tolerance level is, but I'm not to excited to get burned again, so I'm just as happy to be gluten free.

As for the connection between my colitis and gluten intolerance, I don't know if I'm an unique case or not. I do know that diseases are autoimmune disease of the digestive system. Ulcerative colitis is limited to the large intestine. Celiac and gluten intolerance is centralized in the small intestine. Autoimmune diseases tend to run in pairs.

So am I surprised? No.

Is there anything I can do about it? Yes. Don't eat gluten.

My dream is for someday colitis' cure to be a diet modification.

When You Lay in Clover Beware of Bees

Training: Week 9, Day 1

Distance: 11.67 miles

Time: 1 hour 2 minutes

Power Song: Shadow Play by The Killers

Finding out I was gluten intolerant began with a minor bowel obstruction, that hoodwinked my doctors into believing was my gallbladder. Yeah, I can see this is going to need an explanation.

November 2008 Eric took me to the ER for extreme pain in my right side. I was relatively assured it was a bowel obstruction-- I'd had one the year before and clearly remembered the symptoms and namely the pain.

At the ER the doctor of course ran a battalion of tests before shipping me off to my surgeon in Grand Rapids. Iwas hospitalized overnight and sent home.

Two weeks later my primary care doctor called and told me I need to have my gallbladder removed-- apparently, I had more than 20, but less than 30, gallstones and they were the cause of my earlier hospitalization. I was a little shocked to say the least that this was the first time I'd heard about gallstones-- or maybe the drugs in the ER scrambled my short term memory.

Long story short, I couldn't have my gallbladder removed until January and I was instructed to eat a bland diet until surgery. Following doctor's orders, I spent the month of December eating toast, soda crackers, pasta and feeling like I was dying a slow death. By the time I hit the operating table in January I was screaming for them to take my gallbladder out! I couldn't believe that my condition deteriorated so quickly because of an organ the size of a walnut.

Needless to say after my gallbladder came out I needed to detox myself of my high carb bland diet. I started following a no sugar, no wheat diet that my mom had been using to lose weight.

This is what my daily menu looked like:

Breakfast: 1 oz of oatmeal (the real kind, not instant), 8 oz of plain yogurt (the real kind with no flavoring added) and 6 oz of fruit

Lunch: 4 oz lean protein, 6 oz. of cooked vegetable, 6 oz. of raw vegetable w/1 Tbsp. dressing

Dinner: 4 oz lean protein, 6 oz. of cooked vegetable 8 oz of raw vegetable w/2 Tbsp. dressing

I thought for sure I was going to die.

My impending death wasn't because this menu didn't include dark chocolate (which was a concern), no, I was more focused on the amount of raw vegetables listed. Raw is not a word that most colitis sufferers like because if it's raw, it's going to make you raw. However, I had to break my high carb life or my pants weren't going to fit anymore, so I decided to try it for a week.

And I'll be damned. I was fine. In fact, I felt solid and regular--- words that hadn't describe my bathroom habits in several year.

TBC

The Missing Grain

I had a very nice compliment from two coworkers today-- they both said that I looked like I was feeling good- better than I've ever looked.

The truth is I feel the best I've ever felt.

There is more to my story than just colitis. For roughly a year I've felt run down, had extra digestive problems and lots of migraines. I just thought it was all related to my lack of a colon. Four month ago I finally found out what the problem really was-- I'm gluten intolerant.

For anyone who doesn't know about gluten intolerance here is your mini-lesson. Gluten intolerance is the small intestines inability to properly digest wheat, barely or rye in varying degree. People who cannot tolerate any form of gluten at any level have Celiac disease. I can tolerate small doses of gluten without major problems, but I still prefer to not take a chance.

For years whenever I had diarrhea I'd eat a bland diet of toast, soda crackers or pasta waiting for things to calm down, but during the past year that strategy hadn't been working. Also, whenever I ate spaghetti or Eric's wonderful homemade pizza, afterwards I'd feel like I was digesting razor blades. I thought I'd just eaten to much or the tomato sauce was getting to me.

Nope, it was the gluten.

I've been gluten free for 3-4 months now and I feel amazing. I can honestly say that this is the best I've felt physically in almost eight years.

Blog It

Training: Week 8, Day 2

Time: 1 hour 20 minutes

Distance: 15.87 miles

Power Song: Hang Me Up to Dry by The Cold War Kids

The Detroit Free Press ran an interesting article about blogging on Sunday, July 19th. The focus of the article was that blogging can help boost your career. Not only can a blog show potential employers that you can write, or not, but it can also highlight your personality, or lack of, and show that you have drive, or lack of. Basically, your blog can be an on-line resume. So I wonder what potential employers would see in my blog?

Would they only focus on my health issues and see me as someone who'd miss work? Or instead would they see someone who calls in sick because they are honestly unable to come to work?

Would they focus on my past medical history as a potential disability? Or would instead they see that I'm driven despite the odds?

Will my resume be marked as fallible? Or instead will my fallibility highlight my adaptability?

These are all questions I had to ask myself before I started this blog. My current employer knows of my colitis and is very understanding. But what if they weren't? My dad heavily counseled me to 'edit' anything that could endanger my job. It's wise council.

But I can't do it. If I going to write about my life with colitis, then I'm going to bare it all. I'm tired of keeping quiet and feeling like I should hid this part of my life. I've done nothing wrong. Colitis is just something that happened to me. And it's a sucky part of my life. It's something that happened not because of a lifestyle choice, but because that is just the way my life played out. And yeah, there are parts about it that aren't pretty. Some of it's really depressing actually. And hiding it, only giving part of the story, just makes it worst for me. Because when I don't give the whole story I feel like I've done something wrong and I haven't.

So yes, maybe this blog will red flag me. But honestly, in the end, I can't work for someone that will hold colitis against me. I give 150% when I'm at work. And when I'm not there it's not because I'm at the beach or taking a bullshit 'mental health' day. I've not there because I can't be there.

Colitis has taught me to work harder.

Canine Cool Down

Training: Week 8, Day 1
Distance: 11.67 miles
Time: 57 minutes
Weather: 67 and sunny
Power Song: Dashboard by Modest Mouse

There is one casualty in my quest for a good cause- the dog.

I adopted Queen Mab when I was a junior in high school (hahahaha did my parent laugh about that when I moved to the U.P. for 5 years and they kept the dog!). Mab is in herself a medical miracle. At nine months old a hit by car accident left her with a broken right hip and snapped left knee. Then she developed urinary tract problems which require special food and medication. And she's allergic to pollen, which requires medication. Then she had this weird blood issue where her body stopped making red blood cells and she needed a blood transfusion and medication. And then she started having seizures, which requires medication. Oh yeah, and within the last year she has snapped the majority of her teeth in half, which thankfully doesn't require medication. My dog takes more medication than all my grandmother's combined.

When I moved back home in April 2004 my parents had two rules for me #1- I must live within one hour of my surgeon. #2- The dog was moving with me. In comparison, I actually think the first one was the more negotiable.

Moving Mab for a roam where you may country setting to a bedroom and a half apartment in the middle of the city was not an easy transition. To make matters worst my roommate had a cat. In order to keep both our wits Mab and I would take nightly walks. Over the years these walks have become a part of our daily lives. But now with me training, the walks have slowly died off.

Mab gets so excited when she sees me in my workout gear and then is so disappointed when she's left behind. I wouldn't be surprised if she chews my tires off my bike one day. I really need to throw her a bone (horrible pun intended) and start taking her for a walk as part of my cool down.

Day Lilly Blossoms Only Bloom One Day

From my front yard.

My driveway is lined with day lilies. I love them. They are pretty. They are hardy and don't require a lot of time on my part. Their blossoms only bloom for one day, yet, each plant has several blossoms to display. Within a few years they spread and claim an area as their own. There are several varieties. And they are resilient.

Yesterday's post was heavy and I feel it necessary to tell you that's how I felt at the time. I was 24, had just ended a three year relationship, was recovering from a colectomy, worried about my academic future and had years worth of denial crashing down on me. In light of that, I think I was in rather high spirits!

Also, it didn't last.

I can only lick my wounds for so long before my optimistic side takes over. However, I would be lying if I said I still don't have times where a lot of those old thoughts rise up. This past week was a rough one for me. I just didn't feel well. My abdomen ached and that repeat pain in my side was back. Motrin wasn't enough to take care of all the aches. It was hard to sleep because I couldn't get comfortable, but once I did, I was out for 9-11 hours. Sleep is usually my indicator that something is up. When I feel great I sleep 7 to 8 hours, but when I'm not feeling well that bumps up several hours, plus I can take a nap in the afternoon.

Obviously, taking an afternoon nap and going to work took up the majority of my time last week, so I didn't train for Get Your Guts in Gear. But that was last week, and I'm going to deadhead it like I do my day lilies. I might have missed one week, but I still have I lifetime ahead of me and I'm not going to miss out mourning for one lost week. Colitis has made me resilient.

Really?

June 2004-

Why me?

Why me?

Why me?

I could ask this question a thousand times and never grow tired of it.

Why me?

Of course I knew the world didn't revolve around me and that bad things could happen to me. Yet, I never really though anything "bad" would happen. But here I was in Muskegon living a reality that I though would only happen to other people.

It was during this time that the permanency of my colectomy stuck me. There was no going back. Using the bathroom every 2-3 hours, night or day was not new, I'd been living that life for a long time, but before there was always the hope that I'd recover. That there would be a drug that would put me in remission. Or prednisone. There was always good ole pred. Yes, it was horrible for my body, but it gave me a quasi normal life.

But now things couldn't be undone. As a fellow colectomy survivor put it, "Your colon is now in a jar a formaldehyde and being used a paper weight to hold down the bill for your surgeon's new BMW."

What would I do for a job? For now I was working for my aunt and there was an employee bathroom three steps away, but what about when it was time to get a teaching job? A first year teacher getting a room next to the teacher's bathroom was as likely to happens as NMU saying, "Don't worry about the last four years, it was on us!"

What would happen if I needed to go during a test? Who'd watch my class. I could lose my job if I left a class unattended. What do I say in an interview? Not that I'd say anything! I'd almost rather not get a job, than discuss my intestinal issues with a principal during an interview.

And there were other things. Like children. For a women a colectomy reduces her chances to conceive. But if I do, what if I give colitis to my children? How could I give this to someone else. I couldn't live through it, watching my child have colonoscopy after colonoscopy, taking drug after drug, only to have a colectomy in the end, knowing that I'd given to them. Knowing it was my fault. They'd hate me. I'd hate myself.

I could adopt. But what kind of mother would I be? Always sick. I'd be the mommy who's always "not feeling well". Not able to keep up. What would that do to my family?

And who'd want to marry me? I'm sick. Defective. Damaged and missing parts.

I have a shorten life expectancy.

No health insurance company will cover me.

I'm prone to bowel obstructions.

This might not be my last surgery.

I'll have to buy toliet paper in bulk from Sam's Club.

Same goes for Hemroid cream.

I'm paranoid to use a public restroom.

I won't use my own bathroom without turning on the radio/shower/faucet.

I'll always be looking for the next bathroom.

I'll always carry extra toliet paper and underpants in my car.

Life isn't fair.

You can always go home, but how long do you want to stay?

Training: Week 7, Day 2
Distance: 15.46 miles
Time: 1 hour 3 minutes
Weather: 72 degrees w/83% humidity
Power Song: Sabotage by Beastie Boys

Who would have thought Gatorade actually works? I always figured that 'sports drinks' were more marketing spin than substance, but it seems to be helping me stay hydrated. Live and learn.

May 2004- So not only was I angry (filled with dark rage would really be more accurate), living with my parents and jobless, but I also had to return to Northern Michigan University to pack the rest of my apartment and watch my best friends graduate.

It's a horrible thing to hate your best friends for graduating. And my hate really was an irrational since I wasn't even due to graduate until the following fall.

But I did.

They were going to be able to move on. Change the world. Start on all the plans we dreamed about for the last fours years. And what was I doing?

For three years I'd been in denial about my colitis. For three years I'd been numb to any emotion attached to my health. For the most part I'd even insulated myself from the pain of having a colectomy. But that all changed.

Pure and fresh anger pumped through my body filling me with renewed energy. A job. I needed a job and found one as a veterinarian's assistant. Apartment. I needed to get out of my parents' place, so I got a place with my cousin and repainted the whole place. As a side note, it's always best to discuss color choice with your roommate before you paint.

And despite keeping myself busy, I'd still lay awake at night, staring at the newly painted walls, screaming inside my head, Why me?