Ticking time bomb…

Dating is difficult.

I understand that this is a topic that I write about frequently. However, each time, I bring it up for a different reason.

I’ve talked about dating and seeing how a guy may take my condition in the beginning. If they know from the getgo, I won’t be too attached only to later find out that he’s a shallow asshole.

I’ve talked about being in a relationship and how it’s trying for my boyfriend more than it is for me.

What I haven’t encountered yet is what I feel like I am going through right now. But first, let me give you a little background…

My last boyfriend was a doozy. We all know that. I am 100% over him and I hope I never see his smug face again. I can say I don’t give a damn about him anymore but I cannot say that what happened hasn’t had an effect on me. I didn’t realize any of this until I really started to get to know my current boyfriend and he started to get to know me.

We have had a few small conversations concerning my medical history and he actually did research on his own to “have a better understanding of what I was going through.” We had been texting and were friends on Facebook before we had physically met and after looking at my photos, he saw one with an ostomy. He met up with me thinking that I still had one. I know this is how it should be, but this meant so much to me as an ostomy has potential to be off-putting at first.

My health (or lack thereof) is a large part of my life, but I don’t want it to define me. I also don’t want other people to see that as my defining characteristic. I’d much rather be remembered for my personality or my smile and not so much as “the sick girl.”

Rewind to April 18th: I had a scope scheduled to check out bleeding I was still having from my surgery over a month ago. Fortunately, my surgeon was able to find a problem – meaning I’m not crazy and there is most likely a way to fix it. A few of my stitches had busted and there was an ulcer. Along with that, there were a few veins that were exposed and when irritated, they bled. I got those veins cauterized and a few more stitches put in and was sent home later that afternoon.

My boyfriend came over that night and watched a movie with me. He’s very sweet and consequently very cautious. He was afraid to lay with me on the couch and I had to tell him that it was okay to give me a real hug where your arms actually squeeze the person a little instead of just floating around their torso.

He seemed to do just fine with seeing me after my surgery and this made me happy. I hadn’t scared him away!

Fast-forward to the 21st: While he was at work, I decided to take a hot bath. The surgeons recommended I take a bath in water as hot as I could stand to help with the spasms in my J-pouch. I brought a glass of iced water to stay hydrated and watched an episode of Breaking Bad on my iPad.

When I finally got out of the tub, I felt a little off. A little dizzy. A little nauseated.

I took a breather and sat in front of the fan in my boyfriend’s room. This seemed to help quite a bit but not too long after I stood up, I got that feeling that I was going to be sick. Sure enough, I spent the next few minutes with my head in the toilet.

Luckily, my mom was getting off work and was going to come over to pick me up and take me home anyway. After about 15 minutes of talking with her, I got up and hurried to the bathroom – vomiting again.

By this point, it was about 1pm and she was going to go out and grab some food. I decided to try eating too. (Looking back, getting a cheddar burger from Culver’s probably wasn’t my best idea ever…) When she got back with lunch, I tried to eat. I had one bite of applesauce, a bite of my burger, and a few sips of water before I couldn’t eat anymore. Hardly a few minutes later, I was sick again.

After the fourth time I vomited, I willingly let my mother take me to the hospital. Luckily, I came prepared with a bag as I threw up in the car on the way.

I had let my boyfriend know that I was headed to the hospital and that if he wanted to come over after he got off work, he was more than welcome.

When he got to the emergency department, I was still in the waiting room. Sitting in my wheelchair covered in blankets and shivering, I smiled at him and I could tell by the look on his face that he was concerned. For me, this type of thing is normal. It often slips my mind that being in the emergency room isn’t something that happens to everyone else on a regular basis.

Another twenty minutes went by and I started to get extremely nauseated again. I had one of those green bags they give you if you get sick but I didn’t want to do that in front of him. Fortunately, I was close to the bathroom so I could spare him the scene of me violently throwing up.

This happened one more time before they took me back to a room. I got situated and laid down on the bed while I waited for the nurse to come in. Having my boyfriend with me helped tremendously. I haven’t had the best of luck with IV’s and the last two times I’ve had them, I’ve gotten closer to passing out. I can’t really control it but I didn’t want to do that with him here. I already look like death and I don’t want him to worry more about me. I stayed as calm as I could and it was the easiest IV stick that I’ve had in a long time. Just having him next to me calms me down.

Soon, I had Zofran going into my IV and the nausea started to subside – at least to where I could keep the stomach acid from coming up. They ordered an X-Ray to see if I had any obstructions; in the meantime, I continued to receive IV fluids to get me hydrated again.

Surprisingly, they actually saw something with the X-Ray. Partial ileus. The way they are able to tell is by how the folds in the intestine look; flat lines indicate ileus. This was peculiar though. How could it just now happen? I was fine on Easter and I ate a ton of food. For whatever reason, I guess my body finally reacted to the surgery. They started me on ice chips and gave me saltine crackers to see if I could keep them down.

While the three of us sat in my room, my boyfriend started to ask my mom and I different questions. We answered them as best as we could and my mom and I tried to joke and lighten the mood. “We aren’t scaring you off are we?” With his eyebrows raised and a perplexed look on his face, he always replied that he was just taking it all in.

When I was finally released, I decided to stay the night with him again. I know my body very well and I could tell that I was alright. He was a bit apprehensive and kept asking if I was okay, but after a while, he relaxed and trusted my judgement.

But something seemed different. I had leaned over to give him a kiss on the way back from the hospital and he subtly (but noticeably) turned away so that my lips just grazed his cheek. This was understandable as he had spent the last several hours watching me get violently ill. Yet, even after brushing my teeth, eating, and brushing my teeth again, he seemed to avoid any kiss that came his direction.

Everything is fine. I’m just worrying about nothing. He said he’s okay.

….Did it seem like he didn’t hug me quite as tightly? That was the third kiss he’s dodged. He asked if I wanted to sleep by myself. Is he asking that because he wants to be alone? Shit. I have to relax or I am only going to make it worse…

The last thing I want to do is push him away. One of my really good girlfriends actually warned me about that early on. She had told me to relax and if he was as good of a guy as I thought, he won’t hurt me. She also said to try not to push him away.

I don’t want to be a cliché: i.e. “I end up pushing men away because I’ve been hurt before.” However, I now have a tendency to do just that. Fortunately, my boyfriend and I know each other pretty well and he could tell that something was wrong.

“I don’t know how I expected you to react to everything at the hospital,” I started, “but I’m sorry. It’s a lot to take in and I forget that it isn’t something you are used to.”

He looked a bit confused, so I continued.

“I don’t want you to look at me as a ticking time bomb and I feel like since we left the emergency room, that is how you see me. You won’t kiss me or really hug me and I feel like you don’t really want to be around me at the moment. I understand if you need some time to process or to be alone but please tell me so I know what’s going on.”

Of course, tears are streaming down my face and his confused look turns into concern. He tells me that his main concern is hurting me so he is giving me space. He reassures me that everything is alright and that nothing like this is going to scare him off or make him care about me any less. I know that he is being sincere and I believe him. But this is a familiar conversation.

“It means a lot to me that you say that, but it’s easier to say when things are going well.”

He waits a minute before saying, “I take it this has happened to you before.”

And it has. Eventually it gets to be a bit much to handle. It always has. My ex didn’t do that – he lived 900 miles away so it’s not like he had to deal with much. The part that keeps me guarded is that no matter how many times that asshole reassured me that everything was okay, it was all bullshit. I was strung along – and for no reason.

I am a little guarded but also nervous. Things are going so well with my boyfriend right now. He seems to be just as into me as I am into him. So I don’t know why I am so nervous. He’s been “taking it all in” and so far, it seems like it has only made him care more. Actually, he’s “babysitting” me at the moment. I was released from the hospital yesterday and my parents are both at work so my mom asked him to stay with me today just in case.

Well, I think I am going to go watch a movie with my man and since I am on house arrest (under my parents’ authority), I will be posting another update tonight. The last few days have been a rollercoaster.

– Liesl