I Hate NY #7: What the Heck Happened to me later?

This is the second part in a multi part story. In case you haven't read the first part or are too lazy or uninterested to do so. I shall summarize the events thus far. But is that really fair to the readers that are eagerly awaiting this new chapter and don't have time or patience to muck around and find out that I had chrohns disease for 10 years and it caught up to me recently and my stomach exploded and I went to the hospital? Is it? After all, Peter Jackson didn't bother with any of that catching up crap with "The Two Towers" he just went right into it. You know that whole "Frodo can I look at the ring?" "No Pippen it's mine! My precious" that sort of thing.

Okay so I had just been dumped off by the emergency crew of CSI: New York at Roosevelt Hospital and after briefly seeing a doctor and signing my life away resolving them of any blame in case I died I was unceremoniously dumped onto a bed in a small waiting room with with 3 walls, a curtain, another bed, and a black man on top of it.

He was shaking his head all over the place and spitting into a bucket and occasionally throwing up, while I was merely sitting there spazzing and unable to breathe without pain.

The hours drifted by while I waited for the hospital to do its worst. The worst was definitely yet to come, although I didn't think so at the time when a cute nurse came by and forcibly jammed a breathing tube down my nose. Before doing this, she explained that it was really really going to hurt and that I might not think she was so nice after what she was about to do to me. She told me to concentrate on taking it in and breathing. I was only able to take it in and breathe for about 5 seconds before screaming in pain. It felt like a combination of being raped and assaulted at the same time "That's it just take it, hold it in. Just take it. Try to breathe. Take it." You get the picture.

**Note for those with weak stomachs, you may want to skip these next 4 sentences**

She took the tube out and it was covered in blood which dripped all over the cloth that she had placed on my lap. With a lot of pity in her voice she asked if we could try again. I reasoned that it couldn't possibly go any worse the second time, so why not, and this time it just sort of popped right in. I told her that the blood really helped it to slide down quicker.

**Okay you can come back now**

As I am writing this, I am overwhelmed with the desire to lay my head down on the keyboard and go to sleep. It is only 10 o clock, but this thing has just drained me of a lot of energy and I find myself getting tired as early as 6:30 pm. It doesn't help that I usually wake up like 2 or 3 times a night.

However, I don't want to disappoint everyone too badly so I'm going to skim quickly over the events that followed.

I was in the hospital for 2 miserable weeks. The days seemed to drag on forever and all I could think of was getting to the next day without feeling worse.

I was discharged January 6, and allowed to move back home with my parents provided I get hospital and doctor care in place before I got there.

It has been a long and painful struggle since then and I have experienced many ups and downs. My gigantic incision in my stomach is healing quickly and all the doctors are amazed by the progress which cannot come quickly enough for me.

My ostomy bag is a source of major annoyance and self consciousness as my mother and sister talk about the uncleanliness of it constantly around anyone who will listen, usually my dad.

My mom pours out health food to me after she finishes taking care of the needs of my sisters 3 year old niece.

Often I really feel like I am second or sometimes third in line.

My parents think I can do so much by myself and clearly I can or else I wouldnt be writing this, but I dont have a lot of energy and my back is very sore because additionally I have scoliosis and I probably didn't spell it right.

Sometimes at dinner my mom will point to broccoli or another vegetable and tell me to serve myself, so I'll take 3 pieces and then she'll say

"Don't you want more?"

to which I respond

"If I wanted more then I would certainly take more."

Or sometimes I'll give up and say

"However many you think I should have."

And then my dad will yell at me and say

"We're all very sorry you're suffering, but quit acting like a martyr"

All this in about 2 minutes at the dinner table.

And several times a day will my dad will talk to me or pray out loud about me entering into the family construction business. I used to tell him I don't know whats going to happen to me in the future and I'm just trying to focus on getting well right now but he persists in thinking of me as a way to assuage his guilt over his perceived failures as a parent.

In a way I would like to help him out and get a regular job and a regular life and get married and have 2.5 children and i want to fall in love and watching 500 Days of Summer today was just a soul crushing reminder of that, but every day just sort of drifts into the next and I can't do that things that I want to do and little things still hurt as my stomach pulls on me and I have to worry about changing things on my stomach and nurses coming over and it's all a little too much for me and I was almost about to cry at the dinner table.

I don't know what stopped me.