Dammit

I've got Poop In My Pants.

Not to be confused with Poop In My Pocket.

Seriously.

I just pooped my pants.

First time in a long time.

Then again, I didn't eat anything all day today.

And I had a dinner consisting of rabbit food and some raw fish.

Oh, and a little bit of wine.

And a day filled with crying and grieving.

Good grief.

I guess there's really no reason I should be surprised I pooped my pants.

After all, shit happens.

Literally.

To me.

A lot.

And of course,

I have a treatment tomorrow.

My body knows.

When it's time.

Even before I do.

But it doesn't have to always come back to poop, does it?

I guess it does.

Dammit.

178

I saw 178.

Oh my God.

And then I ran out of medicine while we were away, snowbound in a blizzard for days and days and days.

And my doctor couldn't refill my script in West Virginia.

So it ran out.

And the weight started to drop.

Now I am 'back' to 164.

And the sores in my mouth are gone.

AND....

The diarrhea has returned with a vengeance.

And my abdominal pain is returning, slowly, steadily....I fear a return of the intractable pain from April.

At what price, victory?

WTF?

What do I do now?

I guess that's what doctors are for.

Cripes.

And Remicade awaits on Tuesday.

Woohoo!