My little dog is nestled between my legs. He’s stolen my afghan and wrapped himself in a warm, tight burrito. He’s snoring and I don’t want to move him even though his weight is pressing on two light green Humira bruises–one on each thigh.
It’s two in the morning and I can’t sleep. There’s a symphony of sensation in my gut–tightening, cramping, and burning–my entire abdomen from chest to thighs feels bruised and sore. I’ve taken pain medication but it isn’t working, and enough time has passed to know that it won’t. Not tonight.
I wish I could clear my mind and relax but I can’t stop myself from over-thinking my pain. I’m compelled to dissect it–to find the cause and blame myself.
Was it the Humira shot I gave myself this morning? Did the side effects change?
Did I eat too much? I should have fasted knowing we were going out to dinner. My system can only take so much fat.
Is it the abdominal adhesions my surgeon diagnosed a month ago? She said she tried to reach my liver but couldn’t get through the mass that’s now my small intestine. She said she’s never seen anything like it–that my insides looked like a bowl of spaghetti left on the counter to slowly dry out.
Is it the Crohn’s flare that’s been sneaking it’s way into me these last few days, building a fortress in my stomach and shaking knees? I remember brushing my hand against my computer and flinching in surprise two days ago. The joint at the bottom of my thumb had throbbed like an open cut, swollen and cherry red.
My dog suddenly snorts, waking himself up. I scratch his hard little head between his ears until he falls back into a deep sleep. The pain in my stomach echoes and throbs, and I change the channel, away from a tragic movie to something that will make me laugh.