Let the fine times roll: Nine years with a j-pouch
You know when someone asks, “how are you doing?” and you respond with “fine”, even when you’re not fine?
That’s not me right now.
Sure, I’ve done it plenty of times in the past, even when ulcerative colitis was forcing me to the bathroom 30 times a day to let out bloody diarrhea, or when I was overloaded with angst and regret after my complication-filled first surgery. Saying I was fine in those times was either a lengthy stretch of the imagination, a downright delusion, or a pure lie made for the sake of not sounding like a complainer.
But as I mark nine years since my second, much more successful surgery, I feel fine, and I mean that.
The word fine can be associated with different levels of good-ness. There’s fine dining and fine art and fine automobiles; terms indicative of living a wealthy, high-class kind of life. I’m not that kind of fine. I’m more of the things are cool, sure they could be better but they could be and have been much much worse, and I generally feel like I’m in a decent spot in my life kind of fine. That’s pretty good, innit?
A few weeks ago, Michigan football head coach, Jim Harbaugh, announced that he would continue in his role amid NFL interest for his services. In the statement confirming his stay, he said, “I once heard a wise man say, ‘Don’t try to out-happy happy.’” What a seamlessly succinct set of instructions on how to live a good life. There have been times when I tried to find higher levels of happiness, only to fail at reaching the higher levels and losing the baseline levels in process.
That’s not to say I don’t dream of better or different things, but I try not to let the fact that my dreams aren’t my reality lead me down a hole of anger and regret and dissatisfaction.
My j-pouch really helps in that regard. Because when I do start to feel as though maybe I’m not as successful or fulfilled or happy as I could be, I try to refocus my attention on the things I’m grateful for right now. My j-pouch is usually one of the first things that comes to mind. I reflect on the fact that I have this little marvel of science and medicine and trial and error and human ingenuity inside me right now, and it’s letting me do so many valuable things – walking, running, cycling, hiking, spending time with my girlfriend, petting our cat, eating out at restaurants, helping older family members, going on road trips, going to work, seeing my friends – and all without the impediments of inflammatory bowel disease. And then I feel grateful for all the valuable things I just listed, and so begins a cycle of feelin’ fine.
Something else I feel pretty darn fine about is a part-time return to my old job of traffic reporting. A good friend of mine gave me the opportunity to get back into radio in a way that still let me keep my primary day job going. As someone who strives to do as little work as possible, taking on a second job defied all my natural instincts, but I figured being back on-air would be, dare I say, uplifting work? A few weeks into the job, that has indeed been the case. I missed being an announcer, and perhaps even more, I missed being able to tell people I’m an announcer.
Apart from the new radio gig which I’m sure impressed you, not a lot has happened or changed from my last pouchiversary to this one, and that’s a good thing. Living with a j-pouch means there’s always this tiny, and sometimes not so tiny, wonder about if or when the pouch will malfunction or get inflamed or stop working altogether. It’s a worrying notion, especially when you’ve racked up more than a few consecutive years of decent health, as I have. That worry never really goes away, but my good fortune and gratitude-filled life have kept it at bay so I can bask in all fine-ness around me.
