Another Round

Time for another round of complaints. About this stupid IBS. I try very hard to so the things the doctor recommended. And I'd say I do a pretty good job of following those instructions. I watch what I eat. I take the recommended over-the-counter tricks of the trade. I try to get enough sleep. I do my best to manage my stress and anxiety. But I still have flair ups. Episodes. Bad days. And it's frustrating. I remind myself it could be worse. I could have something life threatening. Someone I care about could have something life threatening. But in the midst of a rough morning (which I someone KNEW was going to happen), when I have lunches to pack and laundry to do and home visits to conduct, it doesn't work. I feel angry that I have to deal with this. I feel disappointed that my body is rebelling and out of my control. I feel worried that I've passed this along to my child. I wonder how awful a second pregnancy will be should I be fortunate enough to have one. With each episode I mourn all over again. I mourn the loss of my old body. The trusty body that could eat whatever whenever. The old body that I was (mostly) pleased with when I looked in the mirror. The old body that obeyed me. And it's not the food I miss, not really. I haven't had chocolate in over a year and I really don't even want it anymore. I'd be happy never eating it again if it meant no more IBS troubles. And I'll get used to the new physical body some day. But I'm not sure I'll ever be okay with always having to know where the nearest bathroom is. Or checking to make sure I have my Imodium with me, just in case, at all times. What say the doctor? Nothing. I'm following the recommendations. My level of issues is not concerning. Yes, I could get a second opinion. Perhaps I should. But talking to others with similar issues has been incredibly valuable. What I'm experiencing is following a similar path to their experiences. So second opinion? I'll get to it. But until I do, I'll do my best to take comfort in knowing I'm not the only one.