The Nice Guy Vents – The Crohn’s Saga Part 89

Sometimes when you’re feeling frustrated and overwhelmed, you vent. I guess this was my time. I’m not proud of this, but it happened, so I have to include it as part of the story.

My surgery team wasn’t stupid. They knew I was in bad shape when they came into my room. They did say hello and ask how I was doing, but they certainly weren’t being chipper or oblivious. Actually, I’d say their demeanor was more regretful than anything else. However, despite their caution, I still lashed out.

I’m not a highly confrontational guy. People who casually know me often think I’m relaxed and low key. However, those who know me well are aware that underneath my serene facade, I’m usually frantically processing something or another. I internalize a lot of stress and a lot of pain. I’m sure that’s one of the reasons my Crohn’s Disease is always so active. Regardless, everyone has a breaking point.

In the 25 years I’d had this disease, I’d endured a lot. It had been 25 years of  needlesticks, pokes and prods, fatigue, diarrhea, vomit, arthritis, brittle bones, brittle teeth, stunted growth, sores, blood, pain, isolation, embarrassment, depression, and anxiety. I once had a doctor walk out of the exam room without closing the door, leaving me bare assed for the entire waiting room to see. Another doctor once ripped open two fissures during a test and left me in agony and bleeding all over the table because he didn’t bother to read my chart beforehand. Leading up to this surgery, I’d been sick for over a year. I’d had to take leave from a job I cared about. I’d been forced to rely on my fiancé to take care of me, leaving me scared that it could destroy our relationship. Add a bad recovery, a catheter, an ng tube, and an ostomy, and I finally couldn’t keep all of it in anymore.

Luckily, my team were professionals. They took what I said in stride, offered the services of a psychiatrist, then just let me be alone for a while. I don’t like it when my emotions get the better of me and I’m grateful to have been in a safe place for that. The silver lining is that I finally got to let some of that pent up pain and frustration out. Aside from feeling like a jerk, I felt better afterward. I felt relieved. I guess that’s why they call it venting.