Diagnosed

               I'd had stomach problems as long as I can remember, however the catalyst for my diagnosis had nothing to do with my stomach or intestinal fortitude.  It began with pain in my chest.  I was still in high school at the time.  The pain started during the fall and continued for several months.  I thought it was just heartburn, but it turned out to be esophageal ulcers.  Next, I started to drop weight.  A lot of weight.  I was never fat, but I was thick and bordering the realm of chunky.  I went from around 140 lbs down to 120 lbs in the span of a few months.  That is where the stomach issues came in.  My appetite had always been extremely good:  I could polish off frozen pizzas without batting an eye.  My desire to eat had now dwindled to around 1000 calories a day, and I was in the bathroom every twenty minutes.  I was only seeing my primary physician up to this point with only sporadic visits to several local specialists.  One specialist decided to do a full scope: upper GI and a colonoscopy.   They found severe inflammation around the terminal ileum, which is where the small intestine and large intestine come together.  This is also where they discovered the esophageal ulcers which had now spread to my mouth and gums, making it even more difficult to eat. 

               So there I was, two weeks away from graduating high school, three weeks away from my 18th birthday, and I was told I had an incurable disease that was going to affect every aspect of my entire life.  Kind of put a pall on things.  I can't even remember the name of the pills they put me on to start with, all I can remember is that I had to take 20 or so of them every day, along with several doses of Prednisone, a medicine I have done battle with many times since.  Appointments were made with more specialists and a trip up to Mayo Clinic in Rochester, MN was the next step.  I don't remember much of that trip, except being wheeled around through various tunnels and corridors.  A few weeks before I went up there giant red spots began to develop on my legs.  They were hard, warm, and the pressure in them made them feel like they would burst if I stood up.  Walking became extremely difficult, and the reliance on my parents became almost complete dependence.  That is the biggest thing I have to stress about this disease.  No one can go through it alone.  Talk to people, answer their questions.  Even if it's the same bullshit you've heard 20 million times, answer it.  Hell, start a blog!  Trust me, it helps.  Much more to come, I promise.  There is Remicaid, infusions, port-a-caths, and embarrassments galore.  Keep on fighting my rangers.  I know I am.