Chronic
Crohn's and all that
March 2026
It seems to me that in some way my whole life has been in preparation for sickness.
Sickness is when shit hits the fan. It’s when we pull together and get to work. It’s when I close my eyes.
There it is, finally, confirmation that, like my mind, my body is not young and spry, but diseased.
Secretly, I’ve been thinking that it’s been rotting. Sanding itself down. That some strange animal is eating its way through it.
I am a miserable martyr. I cannot suffer irreligiously. I can’t abstain from casting blame and meaning. I can’t joke about not wanting a hot dog.
May 2026
I feel much less drastic about it all now1. True, my life includes more needles and info-pamphlets and bureaucracy than it used to. But also for the first time in almost two years, I am not in constant physical pain. It’s like someone shot the strange animal with a gun. Shame on me, I was very invested in the pain, but haven’t put all that much thought into its absence. I’m very irreligious about being fine. (Do I write worse about not hurting than I did about hurting?)
I guess it’s true that I have framed sickness as some kind of prophecy or constant in my head for a long time. That’s probably quite strange. Or maybe sickness is just not as unusual as I make it out to be and I’m still looking for ways to be special.
My body is a body. And I’m lucky they made it so well again that I can often feel like I’m not ill at all, so long as I’m not holding one of those pamphlets.
This, I realise, is neither intellectual nor spiritual but simply the result of being better physically
As someone who is chronically ill and in constant pain, I am happy and yet sad for you at the same time as you go through this journey. I understand the idea of sickness being a prophecy or constant to consume one’s thoughts and life patterns. Blessed be.