The picture is quite good: the fog is slowly closing in and robbing me of the view. The pain is limited, but I am weak. Very weak. I still think I'll get away with it. As so often in the last two decades. Two months later, I collapse in the stairwell and have myself referred to the hospital.
For weeks, maybe even months, I already notice how the Crohn is stirring. I ignore it. Too many things to do, so many ideas to be implemented. At the beginning of October, on my birthday, I cook for my friends - and I can not eat anything myself.
A few days later, my former partner invites me to a wellness weekend. Everything is packed like cotton, I do not really get anything with me. I'm looking forward to the mountains, to wellness. Think, that will do me good. I push myself up the mountains by the meter. It is beautiful here, in Austria. So I already get something, but only briefly, fragmentarily. My heart beats like crazy, I get sweats. Then it works again. Worry me if I've packed enough toilet paper. There are hardly any bushes up here, what if ... The few days pass quickly, and I feel pressured: enjoy, damn it! I do my best, I also manage to enjoy, at least partially, and not just crumple and moaning.
From next month, November, I hardly know anything, I spend a lot of time in bed and on the toilet. Daily errands are getting harder, I have no strength left. I can not get up the four floors with the heavy backpack. The neighbors, both doctors, are terribly frightened when they see me covered with sweat and dazed on the landing. My friends are starting to be very serious. My condition is already too far advanced, I'm not worried anymore, I just long for rest and hope with every step, not just to faint again. No more strength. No more hungry. Nothing works anymore.
I am sitting with the doctor. Sweating. Short discussions, whether treatment at home or in the hospital. I do not care, I'm feeling bad. But do not let me say that, of course. Try to laugh and joke, I'm so strong. Clearly the wrong time for such games, I do not notice. My partner saves the situation and insists on instruction.
December. Hospital. My life, as I knew it before, is completely changed. Rooms instead of mountains. My personal protection zone, a radius of about 40 centimeters around me, keeps me alive. The relationship comes to an end, right here and now, in the hospital. I can not blame her, I repress, because I need protection and strength now, just to survive. If she can not or does not want to do that, I have to do it myself. Under the influence of medication, everything blurs, life and feelings, even more, I am more broken shell and heartily little human. It must have been a cruel picture. Thoughts of the future I shift to the future, thoughts of the past have no place. Only here, now, today. No plans.
Sister, can I get a rollator? I've got to get out of here! The drip against the ever-threatening Deydrierung clamped under the arm, supported on the rollator, I am in the smoking area. More cases than humans, everyone has their story, their suffering. I cant. Stupid idea to leave the bed in this state. Even more stupid, with this cycle, which barely comes with me to the elevator to smoke a cigarette.
In the hospital they feed me halfway again, after ten days I'm back in my own bed. A fortnight to go to rehab. In between: Christmas, New Year's Eve, mother quarters and supplies me. Pain, cortisone, azathioprine and opiates.