Chronic Illness is a Vicious Monster

Chronic illness is a vicious monster.  Jeff and I knew this all too well.  Jeff is the man I met at Side by Side Assisted Living, (my home since age 24).  As soon as I had laid eyes on him I immediately felt a deep emotional and physical connection with him.  Eventually, with some coaching from my caregiver Melody, I had asked him out.  He was now my life partner. 

While my health was going downhill fast, Jeff’s, at least, was on the upswing.

In his younger days, Jeff used to drink a 12-pack of Molson Ice before lunchtime.  His liver didn’t like this, threw a fit, and then failed on him. His GI doctor sat him down and told him that he had two choices, keep drinking and die, or stop drinking, go on the transplant list and live. 

Jeff finally realized how serious things were and he stopped drinking. That was three years ago.  Unfortunately, the damage he did to his liver is irreversible.  While waiting for his transplant he needed paracentesis treatment to drain fluid collections, called ascites, from his abdomen.  His liver failure is what caused the ascites

Keeping Jeff’s Chronic Illness at Bay

When I first met Jeff he had to go to the hospital multiple times a week for paracentesis and his belly often looked pregnant.  Now Jeff was needing fewer and fewer paracentesis treatments. His belly still looked pregnant occasionally like in the photo below, but for the most part, he usually had a fairly flat belly for a middle-aged man.

I was also always on his case about taking his Lactulose three times a day.  It prevented toxic levels of ammonia from building up in his brain which made him less irritable. It also meant that he had fewer moments of forgetfulness, confusion, or feeling drunk.

It was like pulling teeth trying to get him to take the medicine though. He hated that he had a chronic illness and needed to take meds in the first place.  He did still like to joke around and told people he had a damn good time developing that chronic illness.  I think the jokes and humor were his way of coping with painful emotional situations.  He hated the Lactulose in particular because of how thick, sticky, sickly sweet, and gross tasting it was. He also hated the resulting diarrhea that could occur as a side effect.

I wouldn’t leave him alone until I knew he had taken his 30 ml of Lactulose three times a day and I would bug him by making sure that he was pooping at least three good poops a day.  Only your life partner can bug you about things like that.  He wouldn’t even tell the doctors about his poop.  But sometimes when he used my bathroom he would come running into my room, help transfer me into my wheelchair, and race me into the bathroom to show me a particular poop.

Roger the Poop

“I named this one Roger,” he would tell me, “he looks like a big long coiled-up snake. Look at how he goes around the whole bowl, he’s a big one. I almost don’t want to flush him.

“You’re ridiculous, Jeff,” I told him.  “Who names their poop Roger and then shows him off?” I began laughing.

“Yeah you’re right, maybe he’s more of a Walter.”  Jeff mused.,

“Jeff,” I sighed, Roger or Walter, or whoever he is, stinks, Just give him a good final send-off and flush him down the toilet, he’s excited about going down the waterslide round the U-bend.,

Jeff flushed the toilet.

“You’re such a party pooper,” he told me.

“You’re the one pooping out party friends not me,” I told him

He cheekily grinned.