Love and Butts

There are two things that occupy a lot of my thoughts: being a woman, and having a gross disease. As it turns out, these are two things that independently cause a lot of stress, and together form a force I like to call the Anxiety Antelope that often gets full control of my brain and my mouth!

"Madelyne, talk about your poops in public!"

Nearly four years ago, I was diagnosed with Crohn's Disease. Crohn's Disease is an autoimmune disease that tons of people have never heard of because, to put it simply, it's gross. I know you're going to go out and google it anyways, so I'll give you a brief rundown: Crohn's is an autoimmune disorder, meaning the thing that's making me sick is actually my own immune system being way too good at its job. It's so good, in fact, that when it gets bored it goes on a spree, attacking anything and everything in my digestive system, usually my intestines, and usually with inflammation! (More like inFUNmation...wait.) 

You know what it's like to have food poisoning? The agonizing pain? How terribly your body wants whatever is inside of it to come out immediately? All that nastiness is actually a result of the inflammation your body produces to kill off the icky thing inside of you. So, when it's bad, Crohn's is a bit like having food poisoning all the time, although somewhat localized to the lower regions of your digestive system. (You know what that means!)

As terrible as this all sounds, getting the diagnosis was actually an immense relief. I had been living with all of the symptoms and none of the explanation for almost two years, and had read enough WebMD articles to convince myself and anyone that would listen that I probably had about eight different kinds of cancer. (Like seriously outlaw WedMD for the love of god.) In fact, as I was coming out of anesthesia from having my very first colonoscopy (!), I sloppily grilled my gastroenterologist on everything he had found in my intestines. Distressed, he tried to delicately inform me that I would be living with an unpleasant disease for the rest of my life, but all I wanted to know was if there was anything more.  

After the "I'm-probably-not-gunna-die-tomorrow!" post-diagnosis high wore off, I was left with a lot of anxiety. My number one source of distress? The fact that we women aren't supposed to poop, especially gross disease poops. We are supposed to be dainty fairies whose buttholes are like belly buttons - cute and functionless. I know its ridiculous, and I know that most men don't actually expect all women to be delicate ballerinas that never need step foot in a bathroom, but the knowledge that I would probably be often dealing with all sorts of unpleasant butt-related problems for the rest of my time on this planet drove me to extreme social anxiety that I'm still fighting off today. 

To put it simply, I couldn't imagine a man ever loving me, butt and all. In my pre-diagnosis stress, I read John Green's tear-jerker "The Fault in Our Stars" (a terrible choice for someone who had let WebMD convince her she had cancer). The book made me sad (duh) but also irrationally angry. Sure, I thought, someone could love Hazel because her disease was endearing. She had to wear an adorkable oxygen tank and sometimes had dramatic coughing fits and she was sexily cynical about life. (Note: I am very aware that for the most part cancer is not romantic and quite unpleasant. I was distressed, ok?) However, I had none of the above, and found it difficult to believe that anyone would ever find my sudden and all-consuming stomach cramps and capacity for long and terrible bathroom trips anything but horrifying. 

The Fault in our Intestines

                                                

Crohn's is a hard disease to talk about for anyone. It doesn't take as many lives as cancer or ALS or any of the others that are routinely waxed about on social media, and like I've said, it's common symptoms are generally reserved for "not at the dinner table" discussions. It's harder when you're supposed to be a member of the "fairer" sex, and people don't tend to just laugh you off and roll their eyes when you talk about your bodily functions in public. Have you noticed that even in this post, which I told myself I wouldn't give a shit about (lol poop puns) I've avoided being too graphic? I'm still insecure that if I truly let it all out, people will realize I'm disgusting, stop talking to me, and I'll be alone with my overactive immune system and weak digestive system. 

I've been trying to come up with a Crohn's ice bucket challenge, but everything that comes to mind would probably not be something you'd want to share on facebook...

The pretty good news is that I'm on some sweet meds now, and I'd say I feel about 90% normal 90% of the time. I get to give myself an excruciatingly painful shot once every two weeks, and take a small dose of oral chemotherapy weekly which is super rad! I can't eat dairy, which might be the greatest tragedy of this whole ordeal due to the utter inadequacy of vegan mac and cheese, but I can eat vegetables again which is good... I suppose. However, I still struggle with the fear. Crohn's has no cure, only treatments. And while there is no reason to believe that mine will suddenly stop working without warning, the future is a bit of a mystery. As much as the internet would love me to believe that I can be a sexy lady not simply in spite of but because of my illness, I'm still not so sure. 

I don't think this post was meant to be particularly uplifting or encouraging. (Should it have been? What are blog posts really for anyways?) If you're reading this because you too have Crohn's, or something similar, and you're hoping that I will reveal the secret to confidence and love in the face of of poop-related adversity, I'm sorry. It's something I'm still far from learning myself. I know I should be talking about loving who I am regardless of what everyone else thinks, and I should be proudly declaring that I don't need a man to love me on account of how strong and independent I am, but those aren't the thoughts that keep me up at night. 

All I can say is that I hope that one day, I will be able to stand under a chuppah with a man willing to hold my hands and promise to love me through sickness and farts, intestines and all. However, if I'm being honest, I think that should be the vow we all take, regardless of autoimmune disorders.