Batman Isn't the Only One Who Has His Alfred—I've Got One Too!

It's been 46 days since I've had Alfred put in—such an important anniversary—and life had been interesting, better, the same, and different, all wrapped up into one. I never went into the gastric neurostimulator surgery thinking that my life would be back to normal. I never went into it thinking that I would get better—there is no such thing with Gastroparesis. I went into it hoping for relief and you know what? I've gotten some. By no stretch of the imagination is it perfect. There have been a couple of days within those 46 where I just wanted to curl up and die...but did you notice that I only said “a couple”? It used to be pretty much every day.

I still find myself not all that interested in food—which I knew Alfred wouldn't help—and struggling to eat the food in front of me. The game of eenie meenie miney mo between water and food is fought every day because, if I drink too much, then I won't eat. If I eat, then I won't drink...so I have to try and find that balance. Here's a hint:: I haven't found it quite yet. I have mastered the art of the hip-hitch when I sit—no, I'm not tooting—otherwise, Alfred pokes me in the hip or the ribs. My surgeon said that there's only a small space between my ribs and hip so they found the best place possible and that's where they put the “pocket” that Alfred sits in. I know that it's just going to take time to get used to, so pardon the way I'm sitting.

Slowly I've made connections to when I've had my bad days, like after playing tennis—yes, tennis—at work with my student, playing football with him—yes, football—and holding little babies and passing them back and forth and to and fro. I'm discovering that I haven't quite recovered enough to do that...just yet. I'm wanting Alfred to launch me into the Olympics or something when I need to stop and wait for him to just get me through lunch! Small steps.

Maybe that should be my motto: Small steps...but I think I'll go with.................... ba na na na na BATMAN!

Gastroparesis Waits For No Man.

You know that saying "time waits for no man"?--I'm sure that it was someone old that came up with it. Well, Gastroparesis waits for no woman, job, plan, friend...nothing. Gastroparesis is on its own timeline, it's own schedule. It does not care if you just brushed your teeth or just put your make-up on. It does not care if you were only able to "eat" a couple of ounces of your breakfast. It does not care if you are on your way to work or at work. Like I said, Gastroparesis waits for no woman. 

So, what do you do?

Panic?

Cry?

Throw a tantrum?

All of those are viable, plausible options. But let's be adults about this. 

We can't give up.

We can't give in.

So what do we do?!?

I try my best to march on with my routine--with a little case of bloodshot eyes. On the way to work, I treat myself to a nice high calorie Starbucks drink--nice ruse huh?--and try to march on through my day. What happens if the flare continues at work? Inform those I work with what's going on. It's good for people to be informed--slightly awkward for some, but they'll get over it--and good in case an emergency occurs, which hasn't happened yet. 

I also sip on water as much as possible to stay hydrated. Sometimes it helps, sometimes it hinders, but working on the theory that I'm hoping SOMETHING is staying in and helping me, I sip on water....S-L-O-W-L-Y. If I find that it's only making it worse, then I stop. 

If all else fails...Zofran. I always carry Zofran with me so that I can toss one back if need be. Personally, I hold off taking medicines until I just can't take it anymore, but everyone's different. Zofran usually does the trick, but not always. I've noticed since getting Alfred, it seems to work better. Prior to that, I preferred Phenergan; however, that stuff makes me sleepy. 

As always I use humor. 

Laughter. 

Smiles.

Busy myself. 

I'm sure you're thinking "Christine, I feel like roadkill, run over by a Mack truck, stamped on by a horse!" I know! I can relate! 

Here's another saying for you, "kill them with kindness", it applies, no? If I can smile or laugh my way through whatever I'm experiencing at the time--and I realize that staring down the barrel of the toilet bowl is no laughing matter, but I'm a firm believer in finding humor in everything--then I am not allowing my situation, my circumstance to win. If I cry, panic, or throw a tantrum I won't gain anything...except an ulcer and my poor tummy can't handle that!