Thirteen pills a day for ten days. Plus the regular assortment of living the gaspatch five a day pills. Clear liquids for two days. And no fun for RS for what seems like forever.
My colon knows what scares me.
Adventures in trail running and other disgusting things you didn’t want to know about RS
Peggy and I had a ten-mile trail run scheduled Sunday. We looked at the map, planned an easy out and back loop and the next morning we left at 6:30AM, found the parking area we were looking for on the first try and began our run with the temperatures of only 76 degrees. I actually thought it might snow because we haven’t seen less than 100 degrees in over two months.
It was fantastic. We were trail-running Goddesses. Until . . . we reached our turning around place and discovered we were already 1 hour and 45 minutes into our run. Uhhh, not really sure what happened there but considering I get lost backing out of the driveway I think we took a wrong split somehow and ended up going the long way. It’s an 18-mile trail with several shorter loops. I reckon we missed those loops because we ended up doing the whole freaking trail. Not that I’m complaining, but
- We didn’t bring water for 18 miles
- We didn’t fuel for 18 miles
- It was reaching 100 temps again and
- Four hours later we sat on the side of the road and pouted because not one single person we asked along the trail [and there were many] knew where they were either. And honestly, they really didn’t seem to care. A different breed these trail people.
Finally, I flagged down a cyclist who led us in the right direction. Turns out we were sitting on the side of the road panicking only about ¼ mile from our car. Although, after running for 18 miles, ¼ mile more seems like forever and during that foreverness, my stomach started to rumble. Rumble in the worst way.
And here is where we begin the disgusting part. About a month ago I started having really weird diarrhea – the kind that makes you seriously consider swallowing a bag of concrete. And not just regular diarrhea, diarrhea supplemented with yellow pus. (See, I told you it was disgusting.) I’m sorry, pus can come out of many orifices in the body, but when it starts coming out of your ass it’s time to call a doctor. Seven specimen containers and a week later [I’ll let you fill in the blanks] I discover my colon is the lucky host of a toxic-producing, deadly bacteria called Clostridium difficile. or C. Diff.
The most popular ways this bacteria can come into your life are like this:
- Antibiotics for other infections can kill the good bacteria and the bad bacteria, AKA c. difficile, take over – re: of which I took amoxicillin after a recent sinus infection.
- From hospital stays because c. difficile is resistant to most disinfectants commonly used in hospitals – re: hysterectomy and removal of giant tumors from my gut in April.
- From nursing homes or long-term care facilities for the same reason – re: 17 days of sitting with my grandmother in long-term care as she was dying last January.
So there we have it. It’s just all around ugly. And unpredictable. Now I’m on a horrible medication called metronidazole, of which the side effects include: rash, itch, flushing, fever, bloating, headache, dizziness, vomiting, dark urine, loss of appetite and paraesthesia. And guess what? I have all the side effects EXCEPT the loss of appetite one. I feel worse on this medication than I did without it. Not to mention how I feel when the wind blows some frack air this way. Oh, AND as a special bonus – no wine while on this medication. A girl just can’t win.
I’ve been able to manage running and my colon on short distances . . . but 18 miles? Lets get back to the rumbling. I threw my toxic-infected, rumbling gut into the hot, hot car – soaking wet, covered in dirt and salt, more tired than anything you can image – and then I couldn’t figure out how to find the potty area. Impending emergency and I saw the potty but somehow drove through the gates and passed them. Perhaps I was delirious. Anyhow, a little bit of speeding and an illegal U-turn later I ended up at a filling station just in time not to humiliate myself and save Peggy from what could have been a near life-altering experience.
Why am I telling you all of this? Because running an unplanned 18 miles on the trails, while residing in a toxic gas town, with a toxic-producing bacteriafied colon and toxic-side effecting medication, uphill both ways, in Texas heat, didn’t just earn me a dirt tan, I now own that dirt tan.
I think we might be ready for our half in September! Woo Hoo. Go us – even though we walked 6 of those miles – we finished 18 miles. La, la, la. Trail girls rule!
They took my freaking kidney*
Over five years ago I wrote a post about my uterus and the discovery of my fibroid tumors. I had two small tumors embedded in my uterine wall and one small pedunuculated tumor on the outside of my uterus. The peduculated fibroid grows from a stalk on the outside of the uterus . . . and because it’s just hanging there the tumor takes every opportunity it can to be as kinky as possible – twisting and turning and pinching and causing me all kinds of problems. They were small but still troublesome and the doctor tried this and that and this until we found something that worked and surgery was avoided and other than the occasion gerbil with sharp teeth invading my uterus, life was good again.
A few years ago I slowly started feeling really tired. All. The. Freaking. Time. I blamed it on fighting gas, getting old and gaining weight. The only logical thing to do, right?
Logical until one day not long ago I found myself in so much pain that I walked into the doctor’s office saying I’m not leaving until you find out what’s wrong with me. So, once again, I was in stirrups, staring at the ceiling and being felt up by instruments. Only this time I find out that Mr. Kinky is the size of a cantaloupe (9.8 cm) and the two embedded tumors are now baseballs and have brought few other rookies to play along.
Then with another “wham, bam thank you ma’am” I found myself in a baby blue hospital gown being rolled down a hallway by unicorns into the dark caves of Candy Mountain where I would have a hysterectomy. That was Tuesday.
And today, I remember it exactly as it happened. Aren’t drugs wonderful?
I know exactly what you are thinking? RS, you did take a camera into surgery didn’t you? Well, duh! Doesn’t everyone. And the surgeon was kind enough to oblige my need to see the multiple ginormous hunks-o-tumor I was growing.
So let’s get down to business and shun those non-believers.
Are.
You.
Ready?
They say everything is bigger in Texas. I reckon that makes everything in Gasland mega-make-believe-sized. I’d show you my stitches, but then you might tag me as porn. During the gutting process they discovered that Mr. Kinky Cantaloupe was more like Siamese grapefruit twins, the baseballs were more like racquetballs (inside the red thing know known as RS’s Former Uterus) and they discovered a surprise litter of pedunulated gerbils. What is life without surprises?
So now it’s Friday and I’m sitting here in Gasland doped up on Vicodin wondering if anything I’m typing is spelled correctly or coherent. I honestly doubt it because the meds give me double-vision. I have a real excuse this time so be nice.
For the next six weeks my running shoes will be on the shelf. Waiting. I hope when I recover fully, I start to feel better. Because right now I feel like poop. Feeling like poop doesn’t make good for anything except more poop. It seems only fair that if I can grow giant tumors, I should be able to grow some super-hero running legs. I’ll let you know how that is going in six weeks.
Alrighty then, I’m going to drift back to sleep with the soothing white noise sounds of compressors and fracking.
Oh, and in case you are wondering – having your gut ripped open and your innards pulled out – is a lot easier than fighting gas bastards.
*I reckon there needs some clarification – It’s not really a kidney. Just ask Charlie.
An Incoherent Short Post About Nothing
I have to admit, swimming and cycling in 106 degree temperatures is more enjoyable than running in 106 degree temperatures. Currently, I’m running 3 times a week, cycling 3-4 times a week and swimming 3 times a week. On most days I’m getting in 2-3 hours a day of cardio. My days are sucked up into a variety of things from school to work to all the work outs, but I feel stronger. Finally.
I feel strong even when I’m tired and while I’d like to give full credit to the cardio activity, I think a lot of it has to do with the new medicine I’m taking called Armour, for hypothyroidism. And wouldn’t you know it, just when I’m starting to see the benefits I go to get a refill of my prescription and the pharmacy is out. Why? Because the manufacturer has gone out of business and no other pharmacy makes Armour. I spent about 2-3 hours one day last week driving around town until I finally found a pharmacy that had enough in stock to get me through the next month. Joy. Joy.
Also, I haven’t forgotten that I owe a post about that 8-hour preventive medical physical examination. I got the results back on Tuesday and have been fascinated with the analysis. I have so much to share with all of you, Internet People. I’m hoping I’ll have that together for you by then end of the weekend. I also hope to be reporting on that new Garmin. I haven’t had a chance to take her out of the box – I hope she hasn’t suffocated.
Short Medical Update
Yesterday I received part of my results from my physical. And I have so much to report it is going to involve an entire pot of coffee to write and will probably put you to sleep after the first paragraph. But to give you a heads up, I started taking medication for Hypothyroidism today.
There are other things the doctor is still reviewing – other things that are really not freaking me out, really not – especially since it involves that little unimportant things called my spine and my aorta. Sister Runner Amy’s advice is that they should just cut my aorta out because aortas are superfluous just like appendixes.
Much, much more about the gory side of Runner Susan soon. I want the medication to be magic, but the doctor says it will be about three months before I see a noticeable difference – but let’s hope, for the Chef’s sake, we see it sooner. He doesn’t do psychormonal very well.
Eight hours later and it’s official, Runner Susan is a fruitloop
Internet People, do you all remember when half of America stopped reading my blog because I was voicing my opinion so much about politics and health care? Well very soon the other rest of America will stop reading my blog – just as soon as I figure out a way to put “damn, stupid, idiotic, messed up health care system” a little more eloquently. Or maybe that just sums it up right there? I’m so filled with excitement, anticipation and anger that I’m not sure how to say what’s what right now. Odd I know, since I rarely keep my mouth shut, and considering I need to liven things up around here I figure I’ll just let it all blow over the next few days and weeks.
Why? Because today I had a health care physical that lasted eight full hours. Not just any physical, but a complete preventive medical physical that SHOULD be standard practice for everyone, but is not. This was a complete mind, body and spirit physical – hush, I know what your thinking, so let me move on. Anyone who has read my blog for any length of time knows I’m a certified fruit loop and a borderline hypochondriac (okay, full-blown on some days), and the whole spirit was unique, especially since I’m the world’s biggest heathen – vibrantly and proudly heathen – I seriously have issues with organized religion. Seriously, serious folks. But this was more yogic, so we’ll call the spirit part stretching since those are basically the same thing anyhow. Shut. up.
Anyhow, the experience has left me temporarily speechless. It’s going to take a week or so for my complete assessment and results, but this is gonna be fun! Runner Susan is ready to get lusty, busty and wildly controversial again – and it’s about time, because I’ve missed me. I’ve missed me so much.
