F.O.S.

Sorry that I've been inconsistent with posting the last few days. Things have not been the best on the homefront. I sadly have been suffering from F.O.S. (full of shit)

Thanks to the wonderful* care I received at Johns Hopkins, I'm now backed up to my eyeballs. It's gotten to the point that the shear volume is putting pressure on my lower back and my side. This not only screws with my normal workings, but makes it difficult to move.

While I was at John's Hopkins they didn't do anything with my bowels for over a week. That, on top of the fact that I was flat on my back for all that time, has made everything go haywire. I have done everything in my power to get my body back onto it's normal rhythm again but to no avail. Every time it seems like I'm in the clear and I've regained that part of my dignity back, they x-ray my abdomen, say that I'm F.O.S. and tell me to flush the system again. Throwing off everything. Again.

It's not that I really mind what has to be done; hell, my pride and dignity were left my the wayside long ago. It's the madness of it all. This injury has gone in cycles, alternating between treatment, recovery, and feeling like everything is doable again. Then it starts all over.

The name F.O.S. was given my my roommate, who at the time was dealing with his own issues with F.O.S. He even brought out the film of his x-ray, showing everyone that walked in the room. At the time I wondered, "why he would show off the most intimate details of his insides?" It took me a long time to realize that these details are not private, no matter how hard you try to keep them so. Everyone who looks at you on a day where something is off sees that you are struggling with something. Most people are tactful enough to not say anything but they can see how you're faring, whether you tell them or not.

Best not to let them worry. Issues of these kinds unfortunately come with the territory of a spinal chord injury, so they are not unexpected (one reason i'm putting this on my blog). If people wonder why you are suddenly wondering why you're cranky and a little off, you can tell them, "no, I'm fine. I'm just full of shit."


*this is the only thing I can complain about the care at John's Hopkins; otherwise they were actually wonderful