Technologically and linguistically adventurous EFL teacher, trainer, writer and manager

Posts tagged ‘colitis’

The costs of ongoing health problems

A few weeks ago, a friend who was staying with me saw me after I’d come back from the pharmacy with a stock of tablets for my colitis. I pulled around 15 boxes and packets out of my bag, and she asked me how much I’d spent on them. Looking at the receipt, I realised that Polish pharmacies helpfully tell me not just how much I spent, but the full price of the tablets. For 75 Polish zloty, I got around 1200 PLN worth of medicine – full price would be about 1/2 of a first year teacher’s monthly salary at our school.The year after I was diagnosed with the colitis, I made the mistake of working out how much money I’d spent on my health that year, and realised it was upwards of £1000. Is it any wonder I don’t have any long-term savings?! Right now, I’m on steroids for a recent flare-up, but I shouldn’t really be – I’ve had too many courses in too short a time, but being away this summer means I can’t start the alternative treatment yet. That alternative is a one-year course of medicine that would cost around $5400 in total if I had to pay for it in full (at least, that’s the figure I found) and there’s no guarantee I’ll be able to take it, or that it’ll work. I’m incredibly lucky to live in a country with a good national health service which subsidises my medicine, and to be able to afford all of these drugs. I’ll be on them for life, unless somebody magically comes up with a cure for ulcerative colitis at some point.

I’ve also written previously about the problems I have with my leg following an accident in 2006. Since September last year, I’ve been seeing a private physio pretty much every week. Over the course of a year, that works out at around a full month’s salary for me. Again, I’m lucky to be able to factor in a cost like that into my life. It’s a cost that won’t be going away any time soon, but slowly, very slowly, I’m seeing the benefits.

A third long-term health problem I have is connected to my sinuses. For as long as I can remember I’ve had problems breathing through my nose, especially the right side. I’ve been variously diagnosed with cough asthma and nasal sinusitis, had tablets, nasal sprays, inhalers…I’ve lost track! And all of them cost me at least a little money. Now that I’m more settled in Poland, I’ve been following up on this over the last academic year, and have now had allergy tests (dust, grass and wheat – nothing that would explain it), an X-ray, a CAT scan, and an endoscopy. The upshot is that one of my sinuses on the left is very small, and the right is overworked and inflamed (I think!). I can have a simple operation called ‘FESS’ which should hopefully sort it out. That’ll have to be completely private though. As the doctor said: ‘If anyone asked if you’re sick, I’d say no. But it’s clearly causing you discomfort and we can try to treat it.’ So that’s 6000PLN (around £1200) I need to save to get that sorted…theoretically. Maybe this problem will go away one day.

It’s not just the money though. None of these low-level health problems stop me from being able to get on with my life, but they do eat into my time. Here are some examples:

  • 30-45 minutes every morning doing physio for my leg and hand (too much computer use!), plus 2 hours every Wednesday when I’m in Bydgoszcz to get to and from the physio and have my appointment
  • Working out food so that I can eat 6 times a day – thankfully not as carefully as when I was on my strictest diet, but it still takes time and mental effort, especially if I want to not be lazy and just buy stuff, but actually eat some form of balanced diet.
  • An average of one visit to a medical professional every couple of weeks, dealing with one or another of these problems (not counting physio). That’s up to an hour for the visit plus the waiting, plus an hour or so to get there and back.
  • Time to get to the pharmacy, pick up the tablets, and (often!) go back a second time when they haven’t got what I need in stock. That’s a good 30 minutes per trip, sometimes more if there’s a queue.
  • Planning time to organise said visits to the doctors/pharmacy and/or to work out what I’m supposed to do next in my quest to improve my health at least a bit. Thankfully I have some amazing colleagues and friends who help me out with those bits.
  • I don’t know how much time each day being frustrated because I can’t breathe properly…

So I reckon that comes to about 12-15 hours a week on average, or at least one day a week! That’s 52 days in a year, or about 1.5 months, give or take.

Mostly I don’t think about all of this too much, because if I obsessed about it, it’d just be depressing. But sometimes it does get me down, especially when I’m already tired, or ill, or stressed, or all three. It’s not the end of the world at all though: I’m organised, I have coping strategies, and I’ve learnt more and more about what I need to do to keep going. They are all a normal part of my life. I distract myself by filling my time with other things. And I focus on the positives as much as possible: these are all investments of my money and time, fending off to some extent what could be much worse if I didn’t make these investments. At least I can afford the money and the time to deal with these problems, and live in a place where it is possible, and have the good fortune that these are low-level health problems. Those things aren’t true for so many people.

If you have your health, enjoy it to the full. Appreciate it. You may not realise just how free you really are until it starts failing you.

Further reading

Kirsty D Major’s fabulous post, ‘I’m tired – the disability reality that people don’t talk about‘ prompted me to finally write this today, a few weeks after the initial conversation with my friend. There are whole paragraphs in there I wish I’d written, but she did it first and better. Here’s one:

On some days, all this extra work builds up. If I’m tired anyway – because life happened that way, it can make me feel exhausted. Most of the time I just take it in my stride, but each of these things saps a little bit of energy, and when you add them all together, it accumulates.

I don’t want to whine about it. I don’t want others to feel sorry for me. I don’t necessarily need people to come up with solutions because chances are I already have one.

And another:

It doesn’t last long. A good night’s sleep, a good distraction – and the next day I’m ready to face the world again with new energy. But on a particularly tough day a couple of weeks ago, I did ask the question as to why we never talk about this.

‘Why do we never talk about this?’ is the reason I keep sharing things like this post on my blog. So many of us think that what’s happening to us is our problem, but if we hear other people’s stories, it starts to normalise experiences, and people can talk about them more freely if they want to.

Please read the whole post, and others on her blog. Kirsty has done more than any other person I know to show me the everyday realities and normalities of being blind. She has shown me what is and isn’t possible for her, and made me try to make sure that my blog is as accessible as I can make it, to try and remove those little stumbling blocks where I can. One example is providing text alternatives for non-text content (those alt-text things in images). I don’t always manage it, but I try!

Another person who has written about the problems with her vision is Joanna Malefaki. I’ve learnt a lot from her about colour blindness, how it affects her life, and what other people can do to help. Her recent post on achromatopsia was particularly important.

Three teaspoons lying side by side, each with a raspberry hat, a face painted on, and a little silver bow

Finally, for those of you who have never heard of spoons and how they relate to energy, please read this article by Christine Miserandino. I’m lucky to have a lot of spoons, but sometimes they start to disappear faster than they might for other people.

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Staying healthy

I’ve written at length (when don’t I?!) about the fact that I have ulcerative colitis, and how it affects my life.

Having a stress-induced illness means that it’s particularly important that I find ways to manage how stressed I feel to avoid a flare-up of my colitis. September and the beginning of October are by far the busiest times of our school year, and can be very stressful for me at times. For the last two years, I was quite bad for most of this six-week period. Since Christmas last year, I’ve been on immuno-suppresants, which have stopped me from having any flare-ups (yay!) and seem to be keeping me mostly healthy right now (double yay!) I can still feel some of the symptoms though, and I need to look after myself to avoid the other pitfalls of a weak immune system, like catching every cold that passes through the school (!)

Here are some of the things I’ve been trying to do:

  • Making sure I stick to my morning routine as much as possible, doing physio exercises and spending 20 minutes or so doing cross stitch, both relaxing activities in and of themselves. I listen to podcasts at the same time to give me something to think about other than work.
  • Keeping active by aiming for 10,000 steps a day, which equates to about 100 minutes of exercise a day. When you’re sitting a desk doing timetables and setting up electronic registers all day, that’s not always easy!
  • Eating healthy food. I bought a slow cooker a couple of weeks ago, which has helped me to cook in bulk and not have to worry about exactly when the food will be ready. So far I’ve made soup and lasagne, and am happy to get any other suggestions (though I can’t eat anything spicy because of the colitis, so no curries!)
Soup in my new slow cooker

It might not look very appealing, but it tasted delicious!

  • Switching off the computer and blue screens by 9:30, before going to bed at 11pm. Having always been lucky to sleep fairly well, I didn’t think this would make much difference, but I feel much more refreshed by my sleep if I haven’t been using screens late at night.
  • Noticing when I’m stressed, particularly if I’m moving faster than I need to be, taking a deep breath, and consciously slowing down. For example, I realised I was rushing when I was washing my hands this afternoon because my brain was very active and I felt like I needed to get things done. I realised that taking an extra 30 seconds would calm me down a bit and make my work more effective in the end.
  • Blogging 🙂

I’m also really looking forward to my first flamenco class of this year – our lessons restart tomorrow night.

What do you do to stay healthy and to de-stress?

Living with an invisible illness

[Warning: don’t read while you’re eating, or if you’re squeamish. Some of it is too much information.]

Start

Back in September 2013, I was diagnosed with ulcerative colitis, an auto-immune disease I’ll have for the rest of my life.

The Russian gastroenterologist who diagnosed me put me on mesalazine tablets, which I have to take two of every morning and every evening. If I’m lucky and the symptoms die down I may be able to reduce this at some point in the future. I tried last year over a period of three months or so, but had to up the dose again in December.

When I’m in the UK, I can get them on the NHS, although the first doctor I saw only gave them to me under protest, telling me I’d have to be diagnosed in the UK to be able to get them, since a Russian diagnosis wouldn’t be accepted there. Luckily, the doctor I’m now registered with is considerably more reasonable, much more helpful, and didn’t question my diagnosis at all. He just asked if it might be possible to get my Russian medical notes translated into English to add to my records.

When I’m not in the UK, I have to pay for them. I get through a box of 100 tablets in 25 days, and they’re expensive. In Sevastopol, they cost £43 for a box, which then went up to about £65 in March last year. When I bought a box in Canada, along with a box of another tablet I need, they cost £90. I’m very lucky that I can afford to pay for them, as many wouldn’t be able to.

In addition to these tablets, and various others that I was on and off like a yo-yo in 2013-2014, I was also told I needed to manage my diet. These were the original conditions:

  • 300g of food every 3 hours, to keep my body working regularly without big peaks and troughs;
  • no raw fruit or vegetables – they all have to be cooked, giving my body less work to do;
  • no milk;
  • no added fat of any kind (oil, butter, margarine etc.) – it can line your intestine, making it harder to absorb food properly;
  • no fried food (following on from the previous point).

This was OK, because as long as I had small portions, I pretty much eat what I wanted. My health improved considerably, and I lost a stone (7kg). When I went back home at Christmas, everyone commented on how healthy I looked, and how ill I’d been before I went away in September.

Escalation

In March 2014, lots of things went wrong, and I got ill again. I had blood in my stool and bad diarrhoea, so I went to the gastroenterologist on Monday. I was given IV injections of hormones for 15 minutes a day for three days, which meant it went away. By the following Monday it was back again. This process repeated itself for three weeks, until the doctor told me she couldn’t do this any more, and prescribed prednisalone tablets for me, and an even stricter diet. That weekend I was very depressed, as my friend and I had real trouble working out what I would actually be able to eat from the list I was given. In the end we settled on:

  • non-fatty meat/fish
  • potatoes
  • rice
  • cooked apples
  • honey
  • red jelly (no citrus)
  • cooked carrots
  • …and not much else.

A week after I started this diet, I went to the UK for a week to see my grandad, go to IATEFL and celebrate my birthday. I was pretty depressed because one of the things I’d been most looking forward to about going to the UK was the food, particularly being able to have cheddar. If it hadn’t been for being with friends at IATEFL, I probably wouldn’t have been brave enough to go to restaurants with my dietary requirements, but I know some very supportive people, and it wasn’t as bad as I’d expected. I was also lucky enough to have arranged to stay in a flat anyway, so was able to cook for myself.

Because of having to plan around when conference talks were, I managed to get into a routine of eating at 7am, 10am, 1pm, 4pm, 7pm and 10pm, something I hadn’t really worked out on the first incarnation of the diet. I didn’t always have the 10pm meal, but I’ve now realised that if I don’t, I wake up starving in the morning, and I’m really tired the next day if I have any less than six 300g meals in a day. 15-20 minutes before I’m due to eat I start to get tired, and by the time it’s 30 minutes past when I’m due to eat, I can’t string a sentence together, I find it difficult to concentrate, and my legs get really heavy if I’m walking. I also tend to yawn a lot because my blood sugar has dropped.

Addition

Looking things up on the net wasn’t much help, as any two diet pages would contradict each other in some way, especially since nobody really knows what causes ulcerative colitis, and everybody has different triggers for flare-ups. Some of these are food-related, but for me, the most common seems to be stress.

A friend is training to be a nutritionist in the UK, and has been very helpful giving me advice. We eventually decided that I was actually on an elimination diet (although I’ve been mistakenly calling it an ‘exclusion diet’ until I just looked it up – no wonder people didn’t understand!), and could gradually add food back in to my diet. Strangely, the Russian doctor said I could still eat bread/wheat, but on my friend’s advice, I decided to cut out gluten too, especially since my mum is a coeliac.

Her advice was to try a very small quantity of something to see if it had any effect, then a larger quantity a little later, then add it in properly. I edited this to a little bit one day, a normal-sized portion two or three days later, then normal-sized portions on a few consecutive days. I wasn’t really sure what effect I was looking for, but everything seemed to be OK.

Nearly a year down the line, this is what I can eat (remember: all fruit and veg has to be cooked, not raw):

  • oats and any form thereof, e.g. oat flour
  • honey
  • coconut
  • rice and any form thereof, e.g. rice flour, rice flakes, rice noodles
  • potato
  • polenta
  • oregano
  • dill
  • parsley
  • pineapple juice (very watered down)
  • non-fatty meat/fish (nothing smoked or salted)
  • red jelly (no citrus)
  • eggs
  • apple
  • apricot
  • spinach
  • carrot
  • pears
  • beetroot
  • peach
  • banana
  • leek
  • squash
  • sweet potato
  • cinnamon
  • ground almond
  • feta
  • plain yoghurt
  • cheddar (I think – still in the process of trying this)
  • some very specific gluten-free products, like Mrs Crimble’s apple rice cakes

If I cook for myself, this makes for a fairly varied diet, and considerably wider than what I started off with in March last year. I cook meals in bulk almost every day, and eat most of them cold, because I don’t particularly enjoy reheated food.

When I go to a restaurants, I always ask for un-marinated meat or fish, with rice or potatoes. I’ve only ever been told that there’s nothing I can eat at all twice, and a few times I’ve been told I can only have one half of that meal – normally just the meat with no rice/potatoes because they’re pre-prepared.

Motivation

Here are some of the reactions I’ve received to my food/diet:

  • “How can you eat that?” [Necessity, and I actually quite like it.]
  • “Why are you eating now?” [I normally tell people about colitis and what it means to me at this point.]
  • “That looks horrible.” [Thanks.]
  • “That’s really boring!” [It’s a good job you don’t have to eat it.]
  • “I could never do that!” [You could, you just haven’t needed to yet.]
  • “I hate eating cold food/dry rice/carrots…” [You don’t have to.]
  • “If you told me I couldn’t eat ______, I wouldn’t survive.” [I’m pretty sure you would.]
  • “Is that all you can eat?” [Yes.]
  • “What about ____? Can you eat that?” [No. That’s why I didn’t mention it.]
  • “What can’t you eat? We can make something without that.” [I’ll tell you what I can eat. If you can’t cook that for me, I can’t eat here.]
  • Adding garnishes to my meals in restaurants because the plate looks really empty. [I either send it back or pick it off if that’s easy to do.]

These are all singularly unhelpful reactions, and it would have been very easy to give up, especially considering the amount of organisation it takes to cook all the time. However, there are some real motivations to stick to the diet:

  • I’m not quite 30, and I’m planning to use my body for a good few years yet.
  • I like the bits of my body where they are: it could lead to me having my colon/large intestine removed or edited.
  • Eating food which doesn’t agree with me has very serious effects, which I’ve only discovered this week.

The last of these is currently the most powerful. On Saturday I went to a café here in Thailand. I don’t speak Thai, and I couldn’t communicate with the waiting staff at all. I should have gone somewhere else, or eaten the food I’d got with me, but I really felt like eating something somebody else had cooked. In the end, I just ordered rice and roast chicken from the menu, knowing it would probably come with other things, but hoping it wouldn’t. When it arrived, it was in a tomato, onion and slightly spicy sauce which I decided to eat anyway. After all, I’d been a good girl for nearly a year. I knew it would probably make me ill, but I thought it would be OK. I decided to follow it up with some coconut ice cream, since if I was going to be ill anyway, I might as well eat all of my potentially ‘dangerous’ things together.
Rice and roast chicken

Two days later it hit me. For the last 36 hours I’ve had very bad diarrhoea and a lot of blood. I’ve started taking the prednisalone tablets I only use during a flare-up. Going to the doctor is pointless, because there is nothing they can do unless it gets worse, in which case I should be heading back to England anyway. I have all of the tablets I need for now, and as the doctor in Canada said (for £110), all they can do is tell me not to get stressed, and to eat as carefully as I already am. I’m now back on a very bland diet until I’m through this flare-up. Needless to say, I won’t be naughty again.

On the plus side, at least I now know what effect I’m looking for when I try new things, although I have no idea which of the things in the sauce caused it.

Travel

The hardest thing to deal with while on this diet is long journeys, as I have to take all of my food with me. I can’t guarantee I’ll be able to buy food I can eat on the way and/or that I’ll be able to eat on the plane. This means a lot of calculations. How long is the journey, including transit time and sitting around at airports/stations? How many meals does that mean? What about crossing time zones? Are there any restrictions on taking food into a country? How much space is it going to take up in my hand luggage? What if the journey is delayed in any way?

On the way to/from the States, this meant 7 meals, and I cried on the plane when I couldn’t eat the meals which everyone else was being served. On my return journey, they hadn’t even got the bland meal I’d ordered, so it was lucky I had my own food.

Travelling to Thailand, I needed 8 meals. I’d ordered gluten-free meals on the plane, and although I couldn’t eat everything, I managed to have a couple of hot things from the meal, something which made me inordinately happy. Annoyingly, I have to throw lots of things away, since I can’t eat any of the bread, fruit or salad which comes with these meals as I can’t see the ingredients/they’re not cooked. I’ve discovered gluten-free is normally the best starting point, since I can at least eat some of it. Frustratingly, you can’t order meals for multiple dietary requirements, like gluten-free and dairy-free – you have to choose one or the other. I’m not really sure what gluten-free vegetarians do.

Food plan for journey to Thailand

Food plan for journey to Thailand

Going to the Grand Canyon for a weekend, with train journeys at either end and no stops in places with kitchens, involved 16 meals, although I was lucky to have had a diner recommended to me for breakfast, and also managed to eat in the restaurant in Grand Canyon village. I had three bags with me, most of which were just for food. The trip was worth every second of planning and every gram of weight I carried with me.

The first thing most people mention when I say I’m going to a particular place is the food and the restaurants. Since I went onto this diet, the only local speciality I’ve managed to have was Dungeness crab in San Francisco – it was gorgeous! I have no idea what real Ukrainian/Russian/American/Canadian/Thai food tastes like, since I eat the same kind of food in all of their restaurants.

When I choose accommodation, I have to make sure I have access to a kitchen. Youth hostels are particularly good for this, and I also experimented with airbnb for the first time last month, staying with a lovely family in Greenwich.

One of the most depressing things I do is walk all the way around a shop, sometimes even a medium-sized supermarket, and if I’m lucky, find one thing I can eat. Shopping in a new place takes me at least a couple of hours as I have to read all of the ingredients on things.

The only periods of illness I’ve had since March were 24 hours on arrival in the States, which I think was from the stress of the journey, 3 weeks in December when I was stressed on the very intensive course in Vancouver and didn’t know what was happening with Sevastopol, and now.

But it’s not all bad. Moving around has given me the chance to try lots of different types of food, like rice flakes in Sevastopol, lots of gluten-free things in North America, rice tortillas in Canada (which I became pretty addicted to and now can’t find anywhere else!) and rice flour in Thailand.

The benefits

Living with such a strict diet has actually had a lot of benefits.

I’ve lost 3 stone (21kg) and am the right weight for my height for the first time in my adult life.

I feel much healthier, and my bad knee doesn’t protest as much.

I’m much more aware of what I’m eating, and know the ingredients of pretty much everything I put into my body.

I’ve become a much more creative cook, and experiment a lot more to try to make my diet interesting: it’s amazing how cooking the same combination of ingredients in a different way can make it taste completely different.

I’ve learnt the difference between the taste of herbs – before I just used mixed herbs, or none at all.

I’ve tried things which I didn’t like or had never had before, like beetroot and polenta.

I’ve learnt how to cook some things I’d only ever had in meals made by others before, like squash and sweet potato.

I can now make pancakes, meatballs (though some say they’re not really meatballs because they’re not friend), and different versions of cake (one of which I was told has a similar texture to cookies) without recipes.

I almost always have food with me, so never get hangry.

I know that a large pan of rice and meat is enough for at least two days worth of meals.

I’ve realised how organised I am 😉

I’ve discovered that my friends are a fount of recipes and ideas to make my diet more interesting.

My friends and family have been very supportive and understanding.

I’ve become very quick (I hope!) at explaining colitis and my diet, and people seem to be genuinely interested in trying to understand it. Once they realise I’m not just being awkward, they’re normally very accommodating.

The future

So far, I haven’t needed to be admitted to hospital. I’m hoping that by managing my diet, I’ll be able to avoid that.

People with ulcerative colitis are at increased risk of bowel cancer, so in a few years I’ll have to start having regular colonoscopies to check I’m OK. That means I want to be based in one place by then.

I know somebody else who had to go through an elimination diet as a teenager. It took him about 3 years to get back to eating ‘normally’ with a couple of exceptions. He’s now in his 30s, and is almost always fine. It was great to know there’s a possible end point to the diet, although I know there will probably be some things I’ll never be able to have again.

I’m really looking forward to having my own kitchen again when I arrive in Poland in August, so that I can start experimenting properly again. I miss having an oven here in Thailand!

In my immediate future, it’s midnight here and before I go to bed I have to pack up the food I’ve been cooking while writing this post, so that I can eat tomorrow. I’ve been meaning to write this for a very long time and it’s good to get it out of my system!

The end

I’m very happy to talk about what’s happening to me, because I think it’s important that people know about illnesses like colitis and the related illness of Crohn’s disease, which my uncle has. They are normally invisible, and they can be difficult to talk about because of the embarrassing effects they have on your life. I also think it’s important people know that life doesn’t have to stop if you’re diagnosed with something like this. We’re all very good at getting on with life when it gets difficult.

Ultimately, I know that I am very lucky to know what is wrong with me, to be in a position to get treatment for it, and to be able to continue living my currently pretty amazing life. Long may it continue 😉

Making (unplanned) major life changes

This post is going to pretty personal, won’t mince words, and doesn’t really have anything to do with teaching, but I wanted to share it to get it out of my system. Feel free to skip it, or to scroll down to ‘The moral of the story’.

(Bear with me – there is a point to this, and a reason I’m telling you in such detail…)

What happened?

In December 2012 I was off work for a month with diarrhoea, which I believed was brought on by exhaustion (a lack of holidays during the year – my own fault because I filled it with London 2012 and Delta) and stress (Delta again). I went to the doctor a few times and they gave me various tests, including a blood test for coeliac, which my mum has, and another for iron – low iron is also a family problem. The coeliac one came back clear, and my iron was low, but not low enough to treat me for it. After 6 weeks of feeling tired and drained, it eventually cleared itself up.

In April 2013, it came back for a couple of days, but I started taking iron tablets and that seemed to sort it.

In mid-August 2013, it came back with a vengeance. I assumed it was stress-related, connected to my move to Sevastopol, and not knowing what was happening with my visa/date of arrival and more, although I didn’t feel particularly stressed. Again I went to the doctor in the UK and they did a stool test, then told me there was nothing wrong. I went back again when I had blood too, they suggested that perhaps it was a urine infection, and contracted the advice of the previous doctor. This was two days before I was to leave the country, and I didn’t have any confidence in the doctor, so I decided not to pursue this theory.

In mid-September I finally arrived in Sevastopol, after three months of paperwork going backwards and forwards to get my visa. Three days later, my first Saturday in the city, I was worse than I’d been at any point so far. I phoned Olga, my new manager, and asked her if we could see a doctor. A couple of hours later I had an appointment for Wednesday and some medication to tide me over.

It has now been 12 days since that appointment, and those days have changed my life forever.

Wednesday: see the gastroenterologist, get more medicine
Saturday: no food or drink for three hours, have blood tests (testing about 20 different things – not an exaggeration), then have an ultrasound – my spleen was a little enlarged. No food for the rest of the day.
Sunday: no food all day, colonoscopy – I have colitis, but they’re not sure what kind
Monday: see the gastroenterologist again, with all of the results. The colitis I have is called ‘ulcerative colitis‘, and the blood I have now had for over a week is a sign that it’s pretty bad right now. It was almost certainly the same thing in December, but went undiagnosed. I have two choices: go back to the UK or stay in Ukraine for treatment. I choose to stay, as I think returning to the UK will be a waste of effort and money, as well as causing Olga more problems, and the treatment I’ve had in Ukraine is faster and more efficient than that in the UK.
Tuesday: appointment with the ‘chief gastroenterologist’ at the state hospital, conveniently located practically next door to school. She keeps reminding me that it is a very serious condition because she hears me laughing and doesn’t think I understand. This is one of those, if you don’t laugh situations though… She writes a detailed explanation of the whole situation to help us try and claim all of this back on my medical insurance. More pills and a prescription for a series of injections.
Thursday: two injections, which I will need to have for ten days, in an attempt to sort everything out.
Friday: repeat
Saturday: repeat

The last ‘meal’ (very small) I had was on Tuesday night, and since then I’ve been on chicken broth to try and give my body a chance to recover. On Friday I had a little mashed potato, and again on Saturday. On Saturday I added a little fruit juice for variety, but it will probably be a while before I can eat normally again. I am finally starting to feel a little better though, which is a huge relief after about 7 weeks of gradually feeling worse and worse.

The moral(s) of the story

I have described this in depth to tell you (if you’ve made it this far), that if you have ANYTHING wrong with you, and are too scared to go to the doctor, stop being scared, get a grip, and go. Your health problems will not go away by magic. If I had avoided going to the doctor, I wouldn’t know about this condition, and I wouldn’t know how to treat it. It is an auto-immune condition, so I will have it for the rest of my life. No-one really knows what triggers it, although genes probably have something to do with it, and there is no known cure. However, because I know about it, I can do my best to avoid flare-ups in the future by looking after myself, controlling my diet, and trying to minimize my stress levels. It is not life-threatening, but has some potential complications which could be, and now I know what to look for, I can make sure I’m treated quickly if I notice any of them.

At the same time, when a doctor tells you there’s nothing wrong, listen to your body. I think that if you know something is wrong, and your body is telling you there is, especially over a long period of time, then you should keep pursuing the doctor until you’ve ruled everything out. I had a six-year process of visiting doctors in two countries before they finally told me that a problem I had with my knee was not just being overweight, but was actually a problem. (Of course, moving cities/countries doesn’t help you to keep a complete medical record…)

The less health-related stuff…

I can honestly say that all of the doctors and nurses I have seen in Ukraine have been quick, efficient, and very understanding of the fact that Olga has had to translate everything for me. The tests they gave me were thorough and got to a diagnosis incredibly quickly – six days from initial consultation to diagnosis.

Olga has been AMAZING – there is no way I could have got through this without her help. She has taken time out from her very busy life to come to every appointment with me, to translate everything I needed, and to make repeated trips to the pharmacy. She spent a day with me at home to keep me busy when I couldn’t eat anything and needed to be near a loo. And this is on top of all the other help she has had to give me to sort out my legal status in Ukraine, including visits to uncountable government offices. She is the kind of person I hope everyone meets when they go abroad – unquestioning help and support, and just being there. I feel guilty that I arrived and dumped all of these problems on her, but she has been so understanding, and I really owe her. I owe her family too, especially her husband, who has helped by driving me to various appointments, and home when I was too exhausted to face getting the bus one evening.

So, my first three weeks in Sevastopol haven’t been quite the ones I was planning, but I have seen aspects of Ukrainian life that your average tourist would never experience (not necessarily ones I would have wanted to!). I have discovered that state hospitals have virtually no resources, so you should take your own sheets and towel to a state hospital. We had to buy everything for the injections too: the medicine, the needles, the bandage to wrap my arm afterwards. And I’ve discovered that even when they’re saying caring things, Russian sounds pretty aggressive!

But in the end, the whole experience has not been anywhere near as traumatic as it could have been, largely thanks to the help and support of Olga. I’m not as tired as I thought I might have been after a week of almost no food, and I feel like I’m finally starting to recover. And I’m still living in Crimea, with a year, and probably more to explore it and make up for lost time.

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