I make commercials for a local television station in Myrtle Beach, SC. Some days it’s fun and rewarding. Some days I hate my job. After all, it’s a job. I’m 27 years old. I love to golf. I’m not bad- but I’m not great… I can hang. I like to run. Not long. But 2 or 3 miles when the weather is nice- it clears my head and gives me time to catch up on new music. I play tennis. I go to the gym. I’m single. I’ve lived out some crazy stories in the past year. I could try to explain them to you but you probably wouldn’t believe me (I’ve got some saved snap chats to prove them.) I drink, socially. Captain and Coke. That’s it. I love my rum. Five years removed from college I thought for sure my partying days were over but something about the beach life, good friends, and always at least one person down to get a drink, well, it seems I was sadly mistaken… or happily mistaken, depending on which way you look at it. Bottom line is, I have fun. I have a good life. I am surrounded by good people who care about me. In the next few months I have a bachelor party, am in two weddings, and have a family cruise we’ve been planning for what I feel like has been years.

Why am I telling you all of this? Here’s why: I am a normal, 27 year old dude having fun. But I have colitis and I am at the end of a road. There are no other options for me. I always knew surgery would be something I would probably have to consider, but later on in life. When I was married. When my kids were older. Not now. Not in the heart of my single life. I’ve got plans. Of course, no time is a good time but this is seriously an awful time. All these trips. Plus, a nice promotion at work. And now what? I have to be off for 3 weeks minimum to recover. No. I couldn’t have surgery. I had so many questions. Cleaning a bag of poo out 3-4 times a day every day for 3-4 months? What? A piece of my intestine sticking out of my stomach? Gross.  I couldn’t do it. Not now at least. Will I be able to swing a golf club the same afterwards? Could I be active? Could I play touch football with my friends if I wanted? Could I dive into a pool? What about sex? And drinking? Can I eat McDonald’s if I wanted to? So, there’s a pouch in place of my colon now? I’ll have to go to the bathroom at least four times a day? Every day? Forever? It’s so permanent. Sure, so is the disease- but this is surgery. This is it. I do this and there is no going back. What’s done is done. What if I do this and it doesn’t work? Pouchitis? What’s that? Blockages? F*CK. No. Nope. Sorry. Let me just take Prednisone again to get me through until September. I’ll do it then. Just not now.

Those were my thoughts as I sat doubled over on the toilet at 4:46 AM in the morning on a rainy night in March. I remember the time exactly because I was taking a BuzzFeed Quiz on my phone while I was taking care of business. “Who would be my celebrity best friend?” or something stupid like that. I hate social media, but sometimes I get sucked in, we all do. It was also the fourth time I visited the bathroom in 50 minutes. I hadn’t slept a full night in over a month, with no sign of that getting any better. Nights are worse than the day. Not sure why, but I like it better that way. I’m already half awake when my alarm wakes me up. Work is impossible. I’m tired. I’m weak. I make it a few hours and call it a day.

For over a month I was in a bad flare. At this point in time I was getting Entyvio infusions. I had two to date and was holding out for the third in hopes that would make a difference.  It was a Friday afternoon in March and I was on my way to the last shoot of the day- a Dog Grooming business. I had a headache. Right above my left eye. Nothing serious.  My third infusion was Wednesday – I just had to make it until then. Guess what? I never made it to the infusion.

Saturday I woke up and went to the first of four hospital visits. To be honest, it wasn’t even my stomach that was the actual cause of the hospital visit. Well, that’s not entirely true. Of course it was. It always is the factor. But I didn’t finally succumb to the awful symptoms and say “enough was enough it’s time to go.” That little headache that pulsated from my forehead got bad. The worst I’ve ever had. A migraine for sure. I’ve never felt anything like it. I don’t know what it was, dehydration maybe? Anyway, it doesn’t matter. It got me to the hospital. I called my mom who thankfully lives about an hour away from me. My parents retired right above South Carolina, in you guessed it, North Carolina. Little did I know I was about to leave my house for what would be a month long hiatus. Oh, and I’d be coming home without a colon.

This is where the story ends, and the blog begins. Enjoy.