There occurs a point of dissatisfaction, when those not meant to be in our lives for long exhaust their purpose for us. GI#6 reached this point with me in 2017; the infamous tan and weathered straw was severed soon after my colonoscopy. As mentioned, I was the lucky bearer of 6 fistulae, each with Seton placements, the last two presenting them glorious selves last year.

GI#6 had completed the latest, joyful quest into my rectum; in recovery, she tried to offer encouragement regarding my fistulae assemblage, with a passing phrase akin to, “you’re seton’s are fine, people live with seton’s for years and do well.” In other words, I was just sentenced to having these hindrances for the rest of my life; apparently that’s the norm when one is disinterested in exploring options with their patients.

In my anesthetized state I managed to think, “you’ve no idea”. You’ve no idea what it takes to manage these things, and you expect me to just be okay with having them? Come on! I can’t swim in pools, oceans or otherwise be in any public water source. I can’t ride a bike or sit for long periods of time due to pain (in the buttocks), plus a few unsavory characteristics of fisulae, not to mention round the clock maintenance. When they are aggravated, there I am popping pain pills, lying on cold packs, feeling like I’m sideways on top of two camel humps.

I can only explain so much to my nieces and nephews of why I can’t do certain things. When invited to go out, my usual response was “no thanks.” No way will I accept this sentence; however, I did accept a similar sentence six years ago, when told I would have Crohn’s Disease and Colitis the rest of my life. I could insert a spoiler alert here, but you will need to stay tuned for that!

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