I was rummaging through some old writings. Came across these short diary-like entries from stints in/out of hospital 6 or 7 years back.
These began at a time when I was pretty vulnerable, with no proper diagnosis of the developing illness I had. Gradually, over the weeks, I became more and more aware of this “CROHN’S DISEASE” and started writing about its day-to-day struggles/speculating a lot about its causes.
To this day, Crohn’s has no known cure, but it is more common than people think.
Just no one ever talks about it.
[Each entry is how it was when I wrote it, except maybe for a few spelling/grammar edits. Don’t use them as a guide; they are merely the experiences of a patient coming to terms with an illness (written mostly on a variety of different meds.)]
> Part 11: Just Another Day
(Part 10 HERE)
I’ll always remember 2Pac saying in some interview in prison that being stuck inside kills your inspiration. This isn’t the same, but it’s not far off.
Hospital is a morgue. Getting out of bed is challenging enough (the Physician helps); everyone’s miserable/screaming or shouting about something; and no one really wants to be here (but it’s either this or die).
The TV in my room (one of the few luxuries you might think) doesn’t help anything. Nothing but cooking programmes/re-runs of TOP GEAR (on DAVE).
I could use the time productively, maybe write a few poems. But I crave something easy; something basic…
… like Hulk Hogan’s autobiography (by my bedside).
Coming up to tea time and I’m nil by mouth (again). The smell of microwaved curry coming from the corridors is a blessing and a craving.
Can’t remember the last time I ate proper food/anything remotely edible.
and it’s looking unlikely that I’ll be getting out of here before Christmas.