Prior to my diagnosis, of Rectal Proctitis in 2006, I feared that the blood in the toilet bowl was something sinister. Afterwards, however, I went years without experiencing too many problems. My symptoms consisted of: blood in my stools, frequent and unproductive trips to the washroom and a sense of urgency when needing to 'go.' On my 25th birthday in 2012, however, I went to the hospital for an appendectomy, and for a long while afterwards, for whatever reason, I found that my symptoms had all but disappeared. Even when I had a bit of a flare, my issues were easily kept in control with a few rounds of Salofalk (an anti-inflammatory suppository in the Mesalamine family, used to treat mild-moderate cases of Crohns and Ulcerative Colitis). Proctitis was a bit of an annoyance, but largely forgettable.
I would say that in general, I am a high-stress, neurotic sort of person (it gets better with time). But when I think about where things really got nasty, I can't help but reflect back on one of the most stressful times of my life: my house burning down.
On August 9th, 2013, my then-boyfriend and I had spent the evening celebrating his birthday. We were just sitting down to watch Hannibal on Netflix around 1:00am when we heard one of those late-night, ominous knocks on the door.
"Kara, the cops are here. There was a housefire." My house, which was at the time housing four tenants since Dan and I had moved in together not too far away, had gone up in flames. The neighbours had been trying to contact me, but my phone had died. When the cops were certain that we were on our way, they left, with us close on their heels.
The scene was chaos: firetrucks, police cars, ambulance, and apparently the whole neighbourhood milling about. Fortunately no one was hurt in the fire. Hours later, when we were finally allowed on the premises, I saw the devastation inside my beautiful first home.
The following months dealing with tenants, contractors, electricians, insurance were absolute madness. There were a lot of decisions to be made, phone calls and paperwork. On December 1st, I started feeling unwell. It wasn't long before I had figured out that this was no ordinary cold or flu. I was experiencing extreme exhaustion, loss of appetite, swollen and painful glands... I was diagnosed with mono. I had to take some time off of work, and after about a month, I started feeling better in some respects, but my joints and muscles had begun aching almost unbearably. With time though, I started to feel better.
In the fall, my relationship ended and I began a nomadic life, couch-surfing and filling my spare time with my new-found passion: swing dancing. I started doing the Lindy Hop in September, and by the end of the month, I was rolling into Jive and Charleston classes as well. I was a woman possessed - I loved dancing and couldn't get enough, sometimes for over 15 hours a week. So I didn't think much of it when my right knee started to hurt. Probably just from not being used to so much exercise, or maybe it's just remnants from mono, I thought to myself. I kept going.
By the beginning of December, I had to stop dancing. I had a hot and painful lump forming on my right knee, and my whole body seemed to be in pain as a result. At the end of December, I went on a very painful trip to Cuba, where I hobbled until I could hobble no more, and then wound up needing to rent crutches from a local doctor's office (which were too small for me). By the time we went home, I had all but given up and was being pushed through the airport on a wheelchair.
My knee was angry, swollen and painful. I spent the next month and a half on crutches, not learning anything conclusive from my doctor, XRAY or my MRI.
Things started to improve though, and I gradually moved through the pain with low-impact exercise, such as walking in the pool and rowing. By July, I was feeling well enough to take a break from the gym for the summer and enjoy. I still had the lump, and it still hurt if I walked too much... but I kept going, thinking that progress surely meant that it was just a weird thing that happened and would go away (incorrect).
Things had been set in motion, and were about to get a whole lot worse (and then worse again, and then again a couple more times). Our lives are bound to change in unimaginable ways, and a stressful event is often a catalyst. We are not always in control of what happens around us, or inside of us. The only thing that we can control is how we react to it all. For me, my life burned down and as I have sifted through the rubble, I've realized that most of what I lost didn't matter as much as I had previously thought. A lot of what was keeping me stressed, miserable and angry went up and smoke. So burn it all down, or keep it the same. You may be healthy of unhealthy. The point is, find happiness, peace and love wherever you are. At the end of the day, that's all that really matters, and your body will thank you for it.
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