Now What? Waiting, That's What!

Greetings, intrepid readers.  I am back in town, having had an uneventful whirlwind trip across the pond to meet my helminthic destiny.  Everything went smoothly: No travel snafus, not a single emergency sprint to the toilet, and yes, I ingested 1,250 whipworm ova.

It was fairly anti-climatic, really.  The little fellas come in a vial of maybe 2 tsp. of liquid, and it's as clear as clear can be.  No sign of the eggs.  No smell, nothin'.  I gulped them down so fast I actually found myself sucking on the vial, feeling like surely there must have been more to it.  But no, the whole thing was over in a few seconds. 

So how do I feel now?  Well, not great, truthfully.  I've spent more time in the bathroom the last few days.  Today already it's been about 8 times, and it's only mid-afternoon.  A few more trips than usual, passing some darn near totally liquid diarrhea.  A little bit of gas.  Mild cramping.  Could this be a sign of the whipworms getting settled?  I don't know.  I don't think about that so much as I wonder how many of those 1,250 ova I am losing every time I poop!  Truth is, I don't feel any worse than I did before I took the worms, just a little bit different.

Now that I've got these little gems in my system, the hardest part begins: waiting.  Some people have expected that I would come home from this trip and know right away whether this is working or not.  Truth is, helminthic therapy is not so much a destination as a journey.  I expect that as the worms reach maturity, I will start to feel a little bit stronger.  It probably won't be any kind of earth-shattering experience, just a general upward slope until one day, maybe this summer, I'll realize that HEY!  It's been a while since I've had to jump out of bed first thing in the morning and sprint to the bathroom.  Or, WAIT A MINUTE...did you notice that I ate Mexican food two days in a row?  HOLD ON...when was the last time I had a fever?  Or spent a day in bed?  Or had that barbed wire feeling in my gut?

Of course, waiting is not my specialty.  I was not present the day they handed out patience.  I took one look at the line and decided I couldn't wait that long.  So it's not like I'm just going to forget I have this going on and will blithely go about my business.  Instead, I have to harness that expectation, that impatience, which I plan to do by, well, by planning (which is, incidentally, one of my specialties.)  I will start by making a plan for stepping down on my meds, starting with the extra prednisone I started taking before my trip, then getting rid of my regular dose of prednisone, then the Remicade infusions, the azathioprine, and finally the Asacol.  And then I will establish a set of milestones for checking in with myself at various intervals to see how I'm doing.  At one month, how many b.m.'s am I having?  What are they like?  How urgent, how much gas, etc.?  At two months, how long since I've had any aches and pains, fevers, etc.?  At three months, how is my UC affecting my quality of life, my ability to exercise, eat, etc.?  When's the last time I had to make use of my emergency undies kit I always carry in my purse?  Have I had to cancel any social invites lately?

In six months, if all these things are going well, I will be able to say, YAY!  Looks like I've achieved remission!  And if not, I hope that at least a few of these things are looking better than they are today. Say, for example, the idea of going to the dentist doesn't strike fear in my heart because what if I have to stop in the middle of a teeth-cleaning to leap up and run to the restroom? 

A note to all my well-wishers.....I am so pleased by each and every note of support, and even more by the amazing outpouring of HUMOR you all have brought to the proceedings.  Thanks for making me giggle with images of you eating a hearty breakfast of gummy worms in solidarity on the day of my ingestion, thanks for musing aloud about what I might say to the customs agents, thanks for all the Devo "whip it...whip it good!" jokes,  the insistence that we have a welcome home party for my new friends, and on and on.  The most enduring joke has been John's insistence that I now refer to myself in some sort of menacing third person plural, such as "The Army," or possibly, "The Union."  For example, "The Army would like another cup of coffee."  Or "The Union is going to read for a while before bed."  If I didn't have any power complexes before, I surely will develop one now.

But back to the point at hand, I do honestly feel that everyone's health is affected by positive relationships and "vibes" (for lack of a better term), and so I'm really grateful for all the good energy that comes from knowing people care about me and are not afraid to show it!  So thanks, one and all!