What does "Strong" Mean?

[Gentle reminder, the Melvin Homecoming Party!  is October 14th.]

As I have been preparing for the surgery and the emotional weight of that situation, I have been told in a few different ways by a few different people that I am a strong person.  There's no way to say I agree without sounding egotistical on some level, but here we go anyway--there are some ways that I feel I am a strong person.

This has stirred up a few questions.  Why do I agree?  What is it that makes anyone strong?  What kinds of strong are there?  In trying to narrow it down, I've created a very basic outline below on some of the commonalities.  
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Step 1:  Suffer
Something "significant" has to happen to said person--without something to overcome, what does the person have to be strong for?  This world is chaos and "significant suffering" is inevitable, that everyone will lose family members, will go through their own self-crisis, will find themselves vulnerable at some point.  However, the timing of this suffering can also be a contributing factor in the "level" of suffering--for example, Andy and I were married ten days when I went in for my first surgery, and I will only be thirty years old going into this permanent ostomy.  As another example, a child with cancer can merit different reactions to a grandparent with the same condition, though this is all suffering.  I am not interested in labeling who has it worse, but mostly I want to point out that sometimes there are factors such as age, situation, how recent other events might be, that change the frame around that suffering.

Step 2:  Endure
Survive.  Live in spite of that suffering.  Take everything a day at a time.  Keep making phone calls to arrange appointments or government official or appeal an insurance decision.  Get through the immediate reaction with all the tears and anger necessary to do so.  

Step 3:  Bounce
This is a step beyond merely surviving, going back to living.  Begin to reclaim elements of your life.  Go back to work when possible.  Continue to smile even when you feel that you shouldn't remember how.  Find ways to laugh at yourself again.  Finding this new normal, it will involve letting yourself eventually feel some joy again.  Sometimes putting on a brave face, sometimes allowing yourself to be vulnerable.

Step 4:  Continue to Endure
Sufferings are not over even when they have passed.  What happened will always be a part of you.  Grieving is not about getting back to where you were before (the suffering); grieving is about learning to carry on.  If the event itself is truly over, there are residual feelings, trauma, relationship restructuring, and even legal paperwork that need to be addressed.  Things cannot simply go back to the way they were.  And things may not necessarily be over.  Losing a loved one begets rethinking traditions and day-to-day processes.  Recovering from abuse involves constant breaking and reforming of those learned habits, working through that trauma.  Dealing with a chronic illness is a terrible roulette, wondering when bad luck is going to find you again.  Keep enduring, keep bouncing, keep going.  Embrace the new normal, and each time it changes again.  Find a way to keep smiling.  

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The best answer that I have come up with, then, as to what makes someone "stronger" than someone else is that perhaps there is a certain manner that they bounce.  The severity of the suffering is important, but not as important as the resilience of the individual.  And another question:  what does resilience look like?  

I have retained an ability to laugh and specifically to laugh at myself.  I can swing things into a positive light.  I can talk about many components openly that others cannot.  I can knuckle down to make eight different calls in one morning to sort out my healthcare needs.  I can take time to be vulnerable.  I can be there to feel with others going through hard times, too.  Is that what strength is?  Is it one thing or a combination of things or are these just "signs" of what it is?

For all this, I still haven't hammered down a good, clean definition--and I've been sitting on this post, now, for a couple of weeks.  I think that means, then, that it is time to open up this question to you all.  What are your thoughts?

One of those Unspoken Complications

With Crohn's Disease, there are some issues and complications that come with it that are pretty obvious, particularly if you've been keeping up with my blog:  pain, fatigue, nausea, bleeding, diarrhea, general gastronomic distress, to name a few.  Then, there are a few less obvious ones:  issues with my skin, depression/anxiety, eye inflammation, minor infections, fistulas, higher predisposition to certain cancers, and all kinds of other minor annoyances.  However, there are a few other factors that are less obvious still and I want to address one that I've hedged around for a while.

Every time that any woman goes into a procedure, whether it's an MRI, major surgery, or most anything else, she will meet with a particular set of questions.  Sometimes, they might ask whether I had a hysterectomy first, but then comes the question that will always be asked, in some form or another:  "Are you pregnant or is there any chance you might be pregnant?"  This is often followed by "When was the date of your last menstral period?"  And if I've not had my menstral cycle recently enough, I end up peeing in a cup anyway so they can double-check before proceeding further, sometimes meaning that I get to be hangry for another hour or two while we wait for the lab.

I've got to be mindful of that.  Potentially getting pregnant, now, when everything is still terribly unpredictable, when I need different tests and different medications, I cannot afford to have anything stop my care.  Without being in remission, Andy and I could not and cannot afford to get pregnant--we haven't been in a place to consider when or if we want to start a family.  As such, I've made sure to be cautious, to watch and make sure that I didn't get pregnant.  This has turned into a fair share of anxiety.  

And then there's the tension of what this means about intimacy in my relationship with my husband.  When I'm too tired to make dinner or too nauseous to bother putting my clothes away before curling into a sad ball on the bed, there's also not a lot of energy or any kind of want to have sex.  With the rather inflamed and scarred rectum being so close to the vagina, even when I am feeling up to something we have to proceed carefully.  This gets disheartening for both of us.  

When I realized that I was not absorbing my birth control medication well taking it orally (since I wasn't absorbing anything well), I switched to another method.  I've counted and obsessed.  And I know they're going to ask me again in 57 days and probably a couple of times before in pre-testing.  As I'm thinking through the preparations, Andy and I have had the conversation that maybe I should stop taking my birth control.  Here's why:  taking birth control increases my chances for blood clots, which I'd like to mitigate post surgery; additionally, with everything inflamed with the Seton drains, my Nuvaring has been uncomfortable, painful even, at times; and the kicker on top, I have actively been draining additional fistula gunk through the vagina, which has been more uncomfortable still.  

I was talking this over with Andy, my anxiety around getting pregnant, my thoughts about being off of the medication temporarily, and a lot of overall frustration.  Then, Andy said something that truly surprised me:  "Well, what if I did something?"  

I hadn't even thought of it as a possibility.  There are new medications for male birth control or if we wanted to go something a little stronger, vasectomies can be reversible.  He's going to talk to his doctor to see what our options are.  Andy offered to take that responsibility off of my shoulders.  Andy offered to give me one less to worry about.  I've been so very touched by his gesture.  To me, it was a moment where I knew that Andy understood that my health is something that we bear together.  

Yeah, I think I'll keep him.

Save the Date!

Hey, all!

Andy and I have been starting to put different components in line as we prepare for my surgery.  And as we have been informing folk, many of you have been kind to ask variants of the question "What can we do to help?"

Well, that's a good question.  And I haven't really had a clear answer for it, despite a great deal of thought around it.  There are definitely things that people can do, and we're very grateful to have the help.  Some of the organization, though, that's the problem.  

SO.  I am pleased to announce that everyone is welcome to the

Melvin Homecoming Party on

October 14th from

1:30-4:00 at

First United Methodist Church  

211 N School St

Normal, IL

Important note:  there will be cake.

We will have sign up sheets for tasks like bringing meals, checking in on Andy, to be a random ride when necessary, to get me out of the house for an hour when I'm going stir crazy, and whatever else we come up with between now and then.  

We will have an education corner, outlining what an ostomy is and how to take care of it.  

There will also be coloring sheets.

I'll also have a guestbook where you can put any encouraging thoughts next to your name.  We will certainly be taking this representation of your presence with us to the Mayo Clinic.  

Now, if you can't make it, I do want to offer another way that you can help.  The first thing I would put out there is to please check on Andy from time to time.  It's more obvious to check in on me--and I appreciate it so very much--but I want to especially make sure he is not forgotten and that he feels supported, too.  Cards, texts, all of these gestures are appreciated.  I also want to offer another place, here, a link to donate, if you'd like to help out in that way, too.  While Andy and I are in such a better place financially now than where we were facing the last surgery where we don't have an immediate need, anything that anyone might want to give to help cover miscellaneous expenses is still appreciated.  Again, we're not expecting anything, but I won't lie:  money does help.  

Please feel free to swing by, grab a piece of carrot cake from Janet's, and say hi--your presence and solidarity with us through this transition in our lives is so appreciated.