Sunday Six (why not?)

Six Things That Disney Channel Did That Were Stupid

1. In 'High School Musical', Gabriella and Troy bond over the theatre... when Troy's a basketball star and Gabriella's a math genius.

2. Cast Jesse McCartney as Hannah Montana's boyfriend in an episode. I mean, ew!

3. Leak, like, 5 songs from High School Musical 2 before the movie aired.

4. How characters are never allowed to kiss anyone, and if they do, it's weird and forced looking.

5. How RELATIONSHIPS DON'T REALLY GO WRONG ON THE SECOND DAY, JAKE RYAN. YOU WERE SO CUTE TOGETHER!!!

6. That's So Raven is retarded. They should tell Raven, "Lose 10 pounds and maybe we'll think about giving you your show back when you're healthy and not obese-looking."

The end!

Thursday Thirteen, Vol. 1

I know, it's Friday...

Thirteen Things I DESPISE.

1. The way my brother just TOTALLY played the 'poor, unloved, innocent little angel of a brother' card when I said I didn't like him. But I have a right to say that. (Jake, back me up here.)

2. The way Zack goes, "They're waaaatchiiing..." every 5 seconds.

3. When Zack plays his MLB games in his mind, but says them out loud. Like, he'll be swinging his mini wooden bat around the living room, going, "And now, Zachary Mintz gets a home run! And Derek Jeter slides on to home! Wooo-hooo!"

4. The way my mom just went, "You know what, Casey... -sigh-" when she saw that the first three were about Zachary.

5. How retarded pinkeye is. Er, was.

6. How annoyingly addicting this is: http://bored.com/boomshine/index.htm

7. How Boosts are so difficult to get down when they sink a half a degree in temperature.

8. The birds that live in our chimney for a few weeks every year.

9. The fact that everyone in the universe seems to get this except me:



10. That the Gay Barbie Song is stuck in my head!!!!!!!

11. WARNING: RANT COMING. You know what, people? I was the first person to discover 'Hey There Delilah', ok? The song is THREE YEARS OLD. THREE! And everyone's saying, "Like, oh em gee, the song is sooooo new!" It's not, ok? And they have, like, 2 or 3 cd's. And other amazing songs. So don't tell me it's new, or you had it on your myspace first, or it's their first single, or only song, or whatever. I've heard it all. RANT DONE.

12. How badly I want to see 'I Know Who Killed Me', that new Lindsay Lohan movie, and that I know that no one will take me.

13. How my surgery date went from Friday, to Monday, to God-freaking-knows-when-day. And how it could be a couple weeks, or a couple months. I don't WANT an ostomy bag anymore! The only thing that works to keep the bag on is making weird ooze come out of the wafer part. I just want it to be over already.

For boomshine games and no ostomy bags,
Casey

A Song

So itchy, so crusty
My eye is swollen
I look like a retard
Cause my right eye won't open (well, my right, your left)
The weather is crappy
Every single day
And to go outside
You need a lightning pole-ay (you know what, it had to rhyme with day)
I like how Kelly Ripa
After having two kids
Says she lost the weight
Just from breast-feeding... uhh, her kids...
But not that it matters
Oh, and, by the way
Screw Fridays, they're stupid
Cause...
I'M GETTING MY SURGERY ON MONDAYYYYY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!


I am gonna be FIERCE.
Like, so fierce, Tyra Banks is gonna hunt me down and be like, "Giiirl, your pictures are FIERCE."
Like this one.

I'm gonna be even CUTER without my ostomy bag.

No one is gonna be able to resist me.

YESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!,
Casey (yesss!!)

Just to Add to My Torture...

WARNING: THIS BLOG IS A COMPLETE RANT. IF YOU CANNOT HANDLE THE RAGE OF AN OSTOMATE WHOSE LIFE HAS BEEN TURNED COMPLETELY UPSIDE-DOWN BY MORE TORTURE, DO NOT READ ON.

So, my blog readers of America, what did YOU do today? PLEASE, do tell.

Guess what I did today? Just so you know, my I was capitalized. And BOLDED. And UNDER-FREAKIN-LINED.

I woke up with a swollen EYE. AGAIN. And today, it was CRUSTY AND WET AND GROSS. So my mommy told me to look up, and she said, "Yup, you have pinkeye." So we called the doctor, and it turns out that, YES, I HAVE pinkeye.

So, my blog readers of America, does YOUR LIFE suck as much as MINE???

I DON'T THINK SOOOOO.

Ok, my complete rant is over. That was a bad one, too.

NOW, thoughts of the moment.

1. My eye freaking burns.
2. Heidi Klum is gorgeous.
3. Nicolas Cage is NOT HOT. He's GROSS AND OLD AND LOOKS LIKE THAT MAN IN KENDALL WHO WALKED IN TO THE PORN SHOP.
4. Every morning
Every evening
We got fun
So inviting, so exciting
And we got fun
Do as you like, dear
There's so much to choose
We've got it all
On our funship cruise
Great weather
Together
Carnival's got more fun
5. THAT, my friends, was the NEW Carnival Funship song, which I have ALREADY memorized!!
6. Supersize Me is awesomely disgusting, but today I had McDonald's fries, and they're goooood.

Cause Carnival's got more fun,
Casey

I'm Too Sexy For This Blog

Today, as I was watching VH1's 50 Most Awesomely Bad Songs... Ever (go here: http://www.vh1.com/shows/dyn/50_most_awesomely_bad_songs/series_countdown.jhtml if you have strong ears) I came across THIS little beauty:




You know you love it. You know you do.

So comedians and actors and staffers at 'Blender' magazine make these little hilarious comments on the song. Like, for 'Cotton-Eyed Joe', one comedian said, "If you lock a redneck and a Swedish girl in a closet with crystal meth and a drum machine, this is what you'd get." Funny, right?

Side note: Goddammit, my 'T' button isn't working! I have to press extra hard. And lucky me, 'T' is in, like, every single word in the English language!

OK, back to my story. So thennnnnnn they were talking about how 'I'm too sexy for ______ (fill in the blank)' became the biggest catch phrase ever. So this one guy was like, "Soon enough, I was too sexy for my refridgerator, I was too sexy for my neighbor's dog, and I think even my grandma got in to it. She went around saying, 'I'm too sexy for my ostomy bag.'"

KIND OF LIKE ME! I'M TOO SEXY FOR MY OSTOMY BAG, TOO!!!!!!!!!

Oh, and, I found an eharmony for ostomates. Check this out:




Till I'm jus too sexy for my ostomy bag that Dr. Thompson just HAS TO REMOVE IT (new comes tomorrow!!),
Casey

I Love Everyone or, I'm Torturing my Best Friend

If you're reading this, I probably love you.

I love the way you read my blog. I love the way you comment (and if you don't, you probably should). I love the way you laugh when you read the adventures of my torture and tumultuous midnight bag-changes. But mostly, I love the way my best friend, Alexa, is being tortured by THIS conversation:

Alexa: omgg wait what/
Alexa: what did they do 2 you
Me: omgggg alexa
Me: it was the most uncomfortable experience of my LIFE.
Me: they stuck a rubber thing up my butt and like inserted this nasty red stuff into my j-pouch (which is where my poop will go) and then told me to hold it in and then i couldn't anymore and it all came out... and they kept the rubber thing in my butt
Alexa: ewwwww dude ur grossing me out!
Me: and then they took it out, and i'm leaking so much red stuff you would swear i got my period, but it's out of my butt.
Alexa: lol well i can tell u it comes out of the front u idiot!
Me: soooo thennn i went to my most FAVORITE doctor/surgeon in the UNIVERSE, and he STUCK HIS LATEX GLOVED FINGER UP MY FREAKING BUTT. TWO THINGS UP MY BUTT TODAY!!!
Me: but THEN, he felt my pouch and said the most WONDERFULLY AMAZING THING EVER.
Alexa: omgg r u ok!
Alexa: wait r tey reversing it early/
Me: IF THE POUCH STUDY WITH THE RED CRAP GOES OK, I COULD HAVE MY SURGERY EITHER THIS FRIDAY OR A WEEK FROM FRIDAY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Me: I'M SOOOOO EXCITEDDDDDD!!!!
Alexa: yayyyy
Casey: no more LEAKS! no more waking up at four to change bags! no more stinking up bathrooms!

There's more, but I think I've embarassed myself enough.

Me and Lexa have tons of fun together

but, strangely, had more fun without my ostomy bag.

WHICH DOESN'T LEAK ANYMORE (YET)!!!

And MORE good news. I know what you're thinking: "Oh my goodness, Casey, MORE good news? What could POSSIBLY be better than your bag not leaking?"

Well, friends, family, and everyone else: Soon enough, I MAY NOT EVEN HAVE A BAG TO LEAK IN TO!!!!!

That's RIGHT, people, if all goes well on the test I did today (which I explained up there, in my conversation with Lexa), I MIGHT JUST have my surgery THIS FRIDAY!!! Or the Friday after that Friday. But whatever.

And now, because I've been so good this whole blog, for my rant.
My eye is swollen, and it has been all day. And it's so STUPID, because my eye, like, itches and it's all swollen and stuff. It's ANNOYING.

Done.

The world loves me and not my ostomy bag,
Casey

Yes, I Am in the Freaking Danger Zone, OK?!

On Wednesday, my mommy and I went to the pool with Laura and Jake, two of my most favorite people. On the car ride back, we were talking about the movie Top Gun (http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0092099/) which I had never seen. My mom was explaining what it was about, and I was still confused. Laura and Jake had just seen it, Jake for the first time, and ALL THE WAY HOME, THE ENTIRE TIME, he was singing, "Hiiiighwaaay tooo theeee DANGER ZONE..." over and over. And at first, I was like, "STOP SINGING." To myself of course. But then, I thought, if he's singing this over and over, it's gotta be a catchy song. So last night, my whole family minus my sister went over to their house for pizza, and this amazing heavenly dark chocolate cake that Laura made, and Top Gun. We were late, of course, because my wafer leaked, of course, and we had to change it, of course. After my daddy told his story about the plane backup in New York, we started the movie. Sure enough, opening credits, guitar kicks in and suddenly, the room is filled with "Hiiiiighwaaay toooo theee DANGER ZONE" from whatever 80's singer it might have been.




So then, we're watching the movie. About half an hour, maybe less, into the movie, I hear guitars. Then, I hear, once again, "Hiiiiighwaaaay toooo theee DANGER ZONE".

The movie is really great, except they keep playing the five opening bars of 'Take My Breath Away', like, 25 billion times and never actually play the full song. Then suddenly, the sex scene comes, and they play the song. Thanks, Top Gun. Thanks a lot.




Soo thenn, we watch the rest of the movie (and we also simultaneously watch Olivia, Jake's adorable and hilarious little 2-year-old sister).

End credits start rolling. I hear guitar. I hear drums. I hear... "Hiiiiighwaaaaay tooo theee DANGER ZONE..."

www.blogthings.com

So I found this website where you take quizzes and they have the most hilarious quizzes ever. I took a couple of my favorites for you...

What Your Bathroom Habits Say About You

You are very independent and self-centered. You don't solve other people's problems - and you don't expect them to solve yours. Your idea of fashion is jeans and a t-shirt. You're always cute and comfortable. You have the perfect blend of confidence and class. You're proud of who you are - but you don't broadcast it. In relationships, you tend to take care of your needs first. You can only be with someone who's as independent as you are.

What Do Your Bathroom Habits Say About You?

You Are 7 Years Old

Under 12: You are a kid at heart. You still have an optimistic life view - and you look at the world with awe. 13-19: You are a teenager at heart. You question authority and are still trying to find your place in this world. 20-29: You are a twentysomething at heart. You feel excited about what's to come... love, work, and new experiences. 30-39: You are a thirtysomething at heart. You've had a taste of success and true love, but you want more! 40+: You are a mature adult. You've been through most of the ups and downs of life already. Now you get to sit back and relax.

What Age Do You Act?

You Are 7 Up

Understated and subtle, people warm up to you slowly. But once they're hooked, they can't imagine going back to anyone else! Your best soda match: Diet Coke Stay away from: Mountain Dew

What Kind of Soda Are You?

You Are 12% Abnormal

You are at low risk for being a psychopath. It is unlikely that you have no soul. You are at low risk for having a borderline personality. It is unlikely that you are a chaotic mess. You are at low risk for having a narcissistic personality. It is unlikely that you are in love with your own reflection. You are at medium risk for having a social phobia. It is somewhat likely that you feel most comfortable in your mom's basement. You are at low risk for obsessive compulsive disorder. It is unlikely that you are addicted to hand sanitizer.

How Abnormal Are You?

I like the fact that I live in my mom's basement.

Scar Problems and Yawns

Picture for the day:


As you can see, I'm tiiiiireeeed. I'm yawning a lot today, and it's really uncomfortable because I have a sore throat, so it hurts really bad when I yawn.

So, from my surgery, there's a scar next to the stoma that's SUPPOSED to be stitched up. But one day when my mommy and I were ever-so-gently ripping off the wafer, the top layer of stitches came out and revealed a nasty, pussy, oozy scar. But YESTERDAY, in our quest to take the sticker off in the shower, all the pus came out, revealing a scar that's like, half an inch deep. You can actually see the second layer of stitches. Like, inside of me. It's disgustinggggg. And so, whenever my bag leaks, it leaks into the scar because it's right next to the stoma, it's like a hole, and we can't put anything by it in fear of infecting it, and that would suck. And hurt. So now, I'm so afraid of crap leaking in to my scar, that all day I either sit up a little bit with my right knee up, or lean to my left. And I sleep on my left side all night, which can get uncomfortable, but it's worth it.

I always think something's leaking. This morning, I woke up and emptied my best friend that I really don't like that much, and there was YELLOWISH STUFF BY THE SCAR AREA. So, angrily I called my mommy in to the bathroom where I was sitting on the toile with my poop under me in the water, and I said, "LOOK! I was on my left side ALL NIGHT and it STILL LEAKS!" To which my mommy leaned down to look at it a little and was like, "Um, Casey? Could it be just stuff from the inside of the scar?" Which made more sense. A lot more sense. So I didn't go insane, but it's SO UNCOMFORTABLE when I poop because it always feels like it's going everywhere, like splattering, and I always think it's leaking in to the scar. And it might be and it might not be, but you know, I'm leaving this sticker on till I know for sure because it freaking HURTS when we have to pull it off.

Till scars are stitched and nothing leaks,
Casey

It's Come to This.

I have decided that every time I blog or check my blog, I'm going to take a picture of me and show you my progress from tired, skinny Casey (today) to- hopefully- healthy and ready-for-school Casey.

So, today.



Oh, and

.

That's what my pants looked like at 8:00 this evening.
Ahh, what leaky liquid crap does to abercrombie sweatpants. And, basically, any other pants.

I'm gonna go change my bag now, because it's gotten so wet that even I'm beginning to think I might have peed in my pants.


Till the velcro bottom stop leaking,
Osto-Casey

Commercials

Every morning
Every evening
Ain't we got fun?
Not much money
Oh but honey
Ain't we got fun?
Do as you like, dear
There's so much to choose
We've got it all here
On our fun ship cruise!


And in the IHOP Strawberry Serenade commercials, the girl he's 'serenading' is Julie from Friday Night Lights.


The commercial where the man is singing in a city and is holding his throat and sings, "My singing took me far, but I used to smoke cigars, and you can't sing worth a heck, with a big hole in your neck, all cause I smoked cigarettes." has stopped more people from doing drugs than any other anti-smoking commercial.


NAUSEA, HEARTBURN, INDIGESTION, UPSET STOMACH, DIHARREA! Yay, Pepto-Bismol!


There are 70,000 different types of rice. There are 71,000 different types of mosquitoes.
Fun Fact from your ostomy friend who has a bad case of the hiccups,
Casey

Leaky Situation

Hi, my name is Casey, and I haven't peed in my pants for 10 years.
Hi, my name is Casey, and it hasn't looked like I wet my pants since I last looked at my sweats.

What I mean is...
THE BOTTOM OF MY OSTOMY BAG LEAKS. AND I PUIT LISTERINE IN IT, SO IT'S YELLOW AND IT FREAKING LOOKS LIKE PEE.

I haven't wet my pants since I was, like, 2. But today, in my white VS sweatpants, it looks like I wet my pants because the velcro on the bottom of my bag doesn't always hold my liquid shit so well.

OSTOMY FUN!



Pretty hilarious stand-up about a man with an ostomy.

What Casey Has Learned, Part 1

Here are a couple things I learned from having my ostomy bag.

1. Peach tea, Berry tea, and Orange tea are yuck. Mint, Lemon, Pomegranate, or Chamomile please.

2. I leak only from the right side. Which, fortunately, is not the comfortable sleeping side. But if, accidentally, in the middle of the night, I land on the right side for more than a couple hours, hold your nose. Also, the bottom of the bag leaks yellow liquid that looks like pee, and of course the ostomy bag ends right where I would be PEEING from, so people are asking me what the yellow stuff by my "pee-pee area" is. I'm like "Oh, it's my poop. Better go empty my bag now!"

3. Nobody wants to see your ostomy bag. Nobody will ask to see your ostomy bag. Nobody has plans to see your ostomy bag. To sum it up, make sure your shirt covers your ostomy bag.

4. When you have an ostomy bag, you are no longer cute like this.


People are stopping the 'Oh, she's so cute!' thing and starting with some new, more fitting words for someone who, a. is not cute anymore, and stopped being cute around age 9, when she started wearing abercrombie, b. craps in a bag that you can sometimes see sticking out from the bottom of her shirt, and c. has yellow spots on her shorts that make people suspect that a girl who is going to be 12 in October had an accident in her big-kid underwear. People have resorted to the following, and I list telling you that people have ACTUALLY said these things to me.
"You look so good!"
"You've grown up to be so beautiful!" (Uhh, I'm 11. I don't think I've exactly grown up yet. I mean, I could be butt-ugly when I'm older for all I know.)
"You look just like you mother/nana!"
"You look just like your Aunt Wendy!" (To which I said, "Um, she's my aunt.")
"You are such a pretty girl!"
"Your face looks much better!" (Referring to the Prednisone days, where people looked at me and asked my mom what happened to me.)
"You're looking a little on the skinny side."
"Oh, my skinny girl, you look so good." (Ok, world's biggest complisult?)
"You look so different from when I last saw you!" (Ok, no, THAT is the world's biggest complisult.)
"Your face cleared up so well!"
"Oy, you're so skinny, my baby." (Obviously, you see I am eating, grandma.)

5. I recieve a lot of complisults. The best was from my crazy, obsessed-with-me, amazingly annoying Aunt Marilyn, who said these words to my face.
"Why don't you go out and see some people?"
To which I said, "Ok."
To which SHE said, "We'll put on some mascara and blush and lip gloss and you'll be all ready."
Why, thank you, Aunt Marilyn. I now know that I am so horrendously ugly that I need makeup to see people who are related to me and love me regardless.
Because I do not wear make-up, and I think they love me just fine.

6. I hate large crowds. Hate them, hate them, hate them. There are, like, 3 bazillon people here right now. And all of them, every single one, has asked me how I'm feeling, oh, let's say, 20 times per person? Yes, I'd say that's about right. I'd like to spray them with the poop inside my bag. Ok, something a little less stinky. Like, spilling Listerine on them or something.

Till the old people leave me effing alone,
Casey

A View From the Lounge Chair on 777

Today is July 7th, 2007. The 7th day of the 7th month in the 7th year of the 21st century. I guess it's supposed to be lucky.

Today, Eva Longoria is getting married... again. She had a civil ceremony last night, and today's the celeration, I think.
Today, thousands of other people are getting married.
Today, 31 people are going to be at the House in the Hamptons, all asking me over and over again if I'm ok, how I'm feeling, if I need help getting up, if I need a drink, etc.
Today, I will be forced to stay outside all day, mingling with people who are 20-60 years older than me.
Today, Aunt Marilyn is coming to the house, and will annoy me more than any other human being or bug here.
Today, my nana and poppy will blast bad Rod Stewart songs in my ear, forcing me to move to anoher lounge chair.
Today, people I barely know/remember will kiss me on the cheek and ask me how I'm doing and tell me they've been thinking of me.

To which, I say, "Yes, I do remember you, fine, and thank you."

So here I sit, on a lounge chair not by a speaker, looking at the people here and trying to remember who the heck they are. Half the people here are most likely not even related to me, which makes it so much easier, because I feel really comfortable with a creepy old man kissing my cheek and telling me I look good. Well, thank you, 65 year old creepyman, thank you very much.

My little sister Lindsay and her friend Amanda are playing Toothpaste in the pool in front of me. The catergory is favorite type of ice cream. How much you wanna bet my sister says "all"? I was right! I was I really was!!! Oh, I'm good.

Lindsay is reciting her president thing, where she lists all the presidents really fast. I can do the first couple and the last three and some in the middle. Washington, Adams, Jefferson, Madison... and some other guys, and then George Bush, Bill Clinton and George W. Bush, the monkey.




So, all of these people are leaving tomorrow, thankfully, and maybe I can go swimming with some closed-end pouches. Or at least wear a bathing suit top or something. Maybe after lunch I can convince my mom to go inside and rest in one of the, what, 3000 bedrooms in this house? All of our rooms have names. We have my nana and poppy's room, which is upstairs. We have freaking CHEETAH CARPETING on the stairs. That's CHEETAH CARPETING. Downstairs there's the Bamboo Room, the Green Room (which is where I sleep), the Ivy Room, and the Blue Room, which has 3 beds and a crib. Then there's the Down Under, which is like the basement, only they turned it into a huge playroom with a fold-out couch bed thing, a princess bedroom, a beach room, and an airplane room. All with beds. Don't say I'm spoiled, because it's really not as big as it sounds.

I'm losing connection, so I have to go and publish this before I completely lose it.

Till next time,
Casey

Happy Fourth of July!

Happy Fourth of July everyone!

Today's the day when I SHOULD be in my nana's house in the Hamptons, eating corn and grilled zucchini. But corn is on the list of NO CASEY, DON'T EAT THAT foods and zucchini is on the list of STOP EATING IT, CASEY, IT HAS SEEDS foods. But I have no colon and an ostomy bag, and I am here in boring Boca Raton, with no Haley and no Rory and no Alexa, but at least I have my Leanna.

These people are the best of the best, my closest friends.

This is Haley. I've only known her since I went into the hospital, through Rory, but it feels like I've known her forever... in a good way, of course. We joke around with each other all the time and always have fun, even when we're doing absolutely nothing. I think it's safe to say that if I had to choose, I'd give her my firstborn child... or my sister and brother, if she wanted.

I guess that opposites do attract, because me and Leanna couldn't be more different and we've been best friends even through our one big blowout, which was over nothing. All through the fight, we still called each other 'best friend' and I think it's only made us stronger to realize how unbelievably different we are.

This is Alexa. The longest I've ever been friends with anyone, and every second of it is awesome. I love her so much, and she's always been there for me. We have the same birthday and she's 20 minutes older than me, but it doesn't make much of a difference ;). We're twins for life and we're both awesome, and awesome people like awesome people, so I guess that's why we're bestest buddies.

Rory. What can I say about Rory? He's a homewrecker? Well, sort of. He has a sick and twisted sense of humor? Yeah, that too. But is he awesome? Yes. New Year's Eve? Not the best night of my life (two's his lucky number), but whatever. Then, after March, he got obnoxious. And rude. And he was acting like a four-year-old boy who's mom won't take him to see 'Transformers'. But then, it got better. Slowly, a friendship, like there was before December 31st, grew again, and he became a good friend again. People always seem to have problems with our friendship, always asking if we're "back together" (not.) or reminding me what a jerk he was (forgive and forget, people!) but we both think they shouldn't be so freakin' judgemental.

Gotta run! Me and my mom are going to Party City to get some stuff for the barbeque tonight.

Lots of Love,
Casey

The End of the Beginning

I'm back! Ready to hear the end of my story of medical basketcase-ness and on to the good, funny stuff? Well, I've gotta finish this one first. Here it goes.

After staying in West Boca Medical Center for so long that I'd made friends with the nurses and they were showing me their vacation pictures (no, I really do mean that, I seemed to be doing better so they let me out after a week and a half. I had missed the Safety Patrol trip that my school took, so all my friends were coming to my house and giving me stuffed animals that said 'Washington, D.C.' and 'The White House', and liscense plates for bikes that said 'Casey Visited the Capitol' even though I didn't. I heard stories and recieved emails that made me laugh and feel bad that I missed the trip. I felt so good that everyone was still here for me, even with a face and body full of Prednisone side effects. (learn about them here):


So after a day or two of feeling great, I started feeling a sharp, intense pain in my side. My best friend, Haley, and her mom Diane, were both over, and I kept telling my mom to put her hand in a specific place. My mom called the doctor and it was into the ER we went. I had a kidney stone. Well, I had 2 kidney stones. Big ones. I'm not gonna get in to all the details of that, but it was another 3+ weeks stay at WBMC. I got a lithotripsy, which is basically where they put you under anesthesia, blast your kidney stones with sonic power or something, and you wake up with a bruise on your side. It was painless, and since I was thin it barely left a bruise. After the lithotripsy bruise healed, I still wasn't getting much better, so Dr. H decided I should take this medicine by IV called Remicade. He said it was slightly experimental, and not many people took it. It was only for extreme measures. It was the last thing we could do before surgery, so we agreed to try it.

That night I was taken into the PICU (for those of you without an advanced medical degree, that's Pediatric Intensive Care Unit) because I would need to be closely monitored to make sure my blood pressure didn't go up, my heart rate didn't quicken, and my breath didn't get shallow. After 8 hours in the PICU with the Remicade going into my viens, I was free to go back to the Peds floor. I fell asleep, and the next morning I felt better than I had in years. I was up and walking again, laughing again, being myself again, and I was ready to go home. The Remicade was given to me in 2-week intervals. It was given 2 weeks later, then 4, then 6, and it was going to be 8, but I couldn't go further than 6 without having a flare, so we kept it at 4. We couldn't do this forever, my doctor said, because my body would grow immune to it over time.

After a couple months of feeling amazing off the Remicade, Dr. H ordered another colonoscopy to see how far we'd gotten. I thought I'd be in and out, no problem. I fell asleep from the anesthesia without any worries, and woke up to see my mom talking to Dr. H, a worried look on her face. I began to cry, as I always do on anesthesia, and after I was done kicking and screaming my mom walked over. "Ok..." She started. "Not what I expected. He said you don't look so good, and you're gonna need surgery."

Gulp.

So here I am now, with my ostomy bag and all, an ostomate, as we like to call them. I won't have to live with this forever, just for the next 7 weeks. Follow me as I tell you what it's like to have to crap in a bag, wear maxi pads that feel like penises, and walk like the Hunchback of Notre Dame.

I am... and proud to be... an ostomate.

I'll just keep telling myself that and maybe someday I'll believe it.

Till next time,
Casey

Here Goes Nothing.

Well, here I am. In the world of blogging. I told myself I wouldn't do it...

but here I am.

To start off, my name is Casey. I have a story, and here's where I'm gonna tell it to you. (haha, stalkers, no age here)

The last 10 years of my life went pretty well, I'd say, even though I'm waaay to young to be judging that. I was born in the 90's, a time of bad music and *NSYNC, the band that saved me from complete and total musical boredom. I remember I owned all 3... or maybe it was 4... of their CD's (refraining from using the word 'albums' because I know that Di, when she reads this, will laugh and show all her friends that an almost-12-year-old girl from Boca Raton used the word 'album'). I was cute, blonde, blue-eyed (still blue-eyed, not so blonde. more like a reddish-brownish-blonde), and everyone loved me. Or so I like to think. I give you... me.


That's my personal favorite picture.

So, back to my life, because it's really all about me.

Around 7 or 8, I started getting stomachaches. They weren't so terrible, but they were frequent with a capital 'F'. Sometimes all day, usually every day, I'd get stomachaches. It was torture. I couldn't do anything anymore. My neighbor, who came over every day and asked me to go outside- usually I'd say yes- wasn't even bothering to come after I'd turned her down dozens of times. There were rare days when I felt myself. My nana (my mom's mom) who lived in New York told my mom there was a doctor who was highly respected in New York City who she said I just HAD to see (you have to know my nana for this) and to come up right away. When the stomachaches were getting more severe by the week, we took a chance and went. The appointment was a ton of money. A ton of money for him to tell me, "Eat more fiber, and stop worrying so much. The stomachaches will go away in no time."

Well, guess where I am NOW, Mr. Highly-respected-GI-in-NYC?

After eating fiber and not stressing so much didn't help, we decided to contact a REAL GI doctor. His name was Dr. Hernandez, and he was my hero. On the first visit, he knew there was something wrong. He ordered a colonoscopy (a test where they put you under anesthesia and put some camera up your butt and into the digestive system, to see if there's a problem). The results showed I had a larger-than-normal amount of acid in my stomach that was causing ulcers. So, I had ulcers... and acid reflux. He then ordered a gastric emptying. Turned out I had a severe case of gastritis, and a digestive system that did just not want to cooperate. The test took a whopping 6 hours, and I had a 90% SLOWER, that's 90% SLOWER, system than the normal human being. Which is about as slooooooooow as you can posssssssssibly geeeeeeeeeet. So, we'd found out the problem: ulcers on the stomach, 7 to be exact, uber-slow digestive system, and acid reflux. Take some Prevacid, Carafate, Prilosec, and Pepto-Bismol before every meal. I was cured!...

...Not. I was cured for about 1 year. After it was safe to go off all the meds, we went on winter vacation to Vermont for skiing. I began to love the sport, doing it all day without stopping. One day, my throat started to hurt so bad, I went into the ski lodge and sat and drank hot chocolate. But I couldn't swallow it. My throat was really bugging me. My mom took me to a walk-in clinic in a little town outside of Stowe, and I had strep throat. Let's just say I didn't enjoy the rest of my vacation. Then, disaster struck (ok...not really DISASTER, but with my condition, this was pretty bad). I got mononucleosis, an immune system disease that suppresses your appetite and makes you fatigued to the highest level. My mom noticed a behavior change. Her once active and full of life kid was always tired and barely eating. She took me to the doctor. I got a quick mono test, and it was positive. So, we knew the problem. But when the "mono" lasted longer than it was supposed to, and I still wasn't eating, the doctors thought there was something else wrong. Thus starts: The Downward Spiral.

Girl gets mono, loses 10 pounds. Girl gets addicted to losing weight, girl loses another 10 pounds. Girl develops eating disorder. Girl feels crappy, which makes her not want to eat. Because she doesn't eat anything, she feels crappy. Girl goes into a world of guilt, quickly comes out of hole of guilt, eating disorder goes away before girl starts school next year.

The next couple months were good. My eating problem was gone, and I was happy and active again. Then, the new year comes in (and Casey gets her first kiss) and for my great-grandpa's birthday, we went to Disney. Bad idea. I had to be in a wheelchair the whole time. Usually, I was the one leading the group. When we got back from Disney World, my mom took me to Dr. H's office, and he wrote me a ticket to the hospital.

That's all for now, since my fingers are kinda tired and I have to eat dinner now. My story, though, is not finished, and it only gets better, and more colon-less, from here. Stay tuned!