I’m a rotten, non-compliant patient. With the exception of my crohn’s/AIH, and anticonvulsant drugs, everything else I take sporadically if the mood strikes me. I’ve been fighting with GI for about a year over the ppi and cholestyramine I’m supposed to be taking. I stopped cholestyramine because I couldn’t choke it down any more, and the protonix…well, I have some harebrained ideas about it exacerbating my gastroparesis so I quit that too. I can tell when I need it. The burning of gastritis is unmistakable. That’s not my problem right now. Reflux is.
“Well, hey ding dong, it’s made for reflux.”
Gosh, quit it with the name calling already, internal antagonist. I should mention that the reflux improved some when I quit taking it, thus confirming my suspicion that a sluggish stomach needs all of the acid it can get to pulverize the tasty bits floating around in my food bag, rather than propelling it up into my mouth. All results are subject to my bias. Maybe I should be taking it, but good luck convincing me of that.
GI doctor of the week is not only pissed off that I’m not taking my medication as prescribed, it also makes him believe something is wrong with my head. I must be depressed. Or crazy. I mean, why else wouldn’t I want to swallow 40 pills plus three glasses of orange flavored horse shit every day? I’m just exceptionally good at rationalizing faulty logic. It’s good for my creative spark.
June is shaping up to be a fun month. Read with sarcasm. The past couple of months have been a real joy as well. The weekend ended with an overnight stay in the medical doghouse because I had another frickin obstruction. It was just cheese enchiladas (and beans. D’oh.), for the love of Gouda. I got many much fluids, and a tube shoved down my snozzle to drain the kara juice and gas. Feels awful and awesome at the same time. They released me after I filled a hat with southbound waste. Hey look, beans! I’m having another endo balloon dilation next week, since the other one was a smashing success. I think I had a four month stretch in which I could eat actual food without a resulting intestinal traffic jam. The caveat being, they want me to spend prep day/night in the hospital to keep the fluids going in an attempt to spare my kidneys. Moviprep is a violent undertaking in ideal circumstances. I’m bringing my own tp, for sure.
My husband’s idea is to try to fix me with my bucket of assorted pills in the interim. He tried to put me on a schedule. Take drugs A through 103, then repeat. All stuff I only take periodically. He must think I need a nap and a fatal arrhythmia. Or that pain and being allergic to planet earth is causing inflammation to tie my guts into knots. He means well. I told him to stick to bones since it’s what he knows.
“But the bottle says to take every 4,6,8 hours, or twice a day. Why don’t you take them as prescribed?”
1) I don’t trust the drugs, and 2) I don’t trust the doctors, for the most part. I also had to explain the potential for drug interactions and the fact that most are as needed. Not just because it’s fun to take them on a schedule.
I’ve got trust issues. I could even joke that I believe they’re trying to kill me, but am I really joking? Hmmmm. What good is the medical system without medicine? Eh, what good is the medical system WITH medicine?
Just kidding. Sort of.