Roger's Story

Until I was 26 I had not more than a day of illness, other than the usual colds and childhood diseases. I can't remember being off school for more than a day or two. Although never extremely sporty (I played in our school's 7th field hockey team), or ultra-fit, I was healthy. Made Pilot selection for the South African Air Force in '85, although was later removed for an unconfirmed idiosyncrasy, and in '92, after 2 years of diving became a scuba instructor. I spent close to 18 months in the Caribbean, diving, sailing, and generally bumming around, when I had my first (what I call) serious brush with illness. I passed a kidney stone, without analgesia, 2 hours before delivering a yacht to another island.

It wasn't until a year later, I'd crossed the Atlantic, met and married Lucy, my wife, when I started noticing blood in my stool. No pain, no incontinence, just a few spots of blood. A short while later, Lucy suggested I go to the doctor. I hedged. After all there was no pain, chances were this was just piles, and besides having to clean the toilet a little more diligently, no one need know. To my shame, and this is stupid, I was embarrassed. If you're reading this, there is no shame in a bowel disease. Get over the stigma, neglect will worsen the situation. More on that later. Things got progressively worse. Poor Lucy at one time (and probably still now at low times) blamed herself for my illness, after all it only started after we got married. But she's wrong, she is the best thing to ever have happened to me, and without her strength and fortitude, I would not have got through this disease. So, although still no real pain (remember I'm comparing to 8 kidney stones), I kept feeling constipated, going to the loo, forcing, but nothing would pass, except some blood. After more urging, I went to our GP and said something like "It feels like constipation, I pass blood, no real pain, more than likely piles!" Our GP popped the gloved finger in, and responded, "Yep, I can feel the haemorrhoids." He mentioned that if there was itchiness, I could get a cream, but to cure really, the best would be a diet of bran for a couple of weeks. Unfortunately, what he felt were not haemorrhoids, but ulcers, and can you imagine the effect of fibre on ulcerated colon? If you have UC, you know where this is going . . .

Like an idiot (I like and trust my doctor) I stuck to the bran for the full two weeks, by which stage I was in a bad way. The UC flared big time, from painless blood in my stool, I was on the loo 6 and many more times a day, nearing incontinence. The ulcers were out on my anus, where there are nerve endings, and the acidic blood-fluid that was coming out burned, oh did it burn. I went back to my GP, who immediately realised the mistake (made mainly because of my macho stupidity) in diagnosis, and got me to a Gastro-enterologist that afternoon. He was brusque, off-handed, and rough. Although he explained the sigmoidoscopy ("I'm just going to insert this metal tube in your anus and pump in some air, please try to relax") he was coming from a position of knowing what I had, I wasn't! I was embarrassed, very uncomfortable, and humiliated. Finally it started dawning on me that there was something particularly wrong. That was March 97, by that time I had been living with the disease since Jan 95.

The consultant put me on Mesalazine, a 5-ASA, which puts many people into remission. Not me, I just kept getting worse and worse. At the time I was implementing an email system across 11 cities in the UK for our company, which meant long hours, away from home for days, and driving, a lot of driving. Now, take rectal pain, from a disease exacerbated by stress, coupled with incontinence, and sit said rectum on a drivers seat for 4 hours and more. Add 3 children, new house, tight work deadlines, and loneliness to the mix - mmmmmmm!! I couldn't wait the initial 6 weeks (the consultant was on holiday) before another visit. The pain was excruciating. I went for a GP visit, but he too was on leave and I saw a locum (who seemed to be 12 years old). He was very friendly, but useless. ("I suggest you put nappy cream on those fistula") - right!! Finally a week later my GP came back, in desperation I saw him again, and that afternoon I was at another specialist at a private hospital.

Up went the Mesalazine, and I started on Prednisolone (a variant of Prednisone). By this time I had done some research of my own, knew what the colon did, knew what UC is, and knew the general treatment process (5-ASA's, followed by steroids, followed by immuno-suppressants, finally in some cases, surgery). So I knew that I was entering stage 2 of the medical treatment. I also knew by this time that you cannot cure UC (whilst keeping the colon) but go into remission. Also, UC & Crohn's patients have a higher risk of Colo-rectal cancer - great! My biological dad died of cancer, initially Colo-rectal! This period went on for months. I would visit the consultant weekly, he would alter the dosage of the drugs, and I would live with pain, bleeding (at one stage losing up to quarter a pint a day), incontinence. By this stage the email system was implemented, so I could come home from work at just after lunch, and sleep for the afternoon. It didn't take a rocket scientist to tell me I was anaemic from blood loss. Interestingly, my consultant didn't take much notice of all of this, just gaily changing the medication dosage weekly, and also prescribed Colo-foam.

I can remember the first time I encountered Colo-foam. Apart from the (increasingly regular) sigmoidoscopies, I had never had to insert anything up me bum, certainly not me painful bum. And initially I couldn't bring myself to it, it was sore, and I was embarrassed. As the foam explodes into your colon, it hurts, you squeeze, that hurts more, but you daren't unsqueeze. But as it turns out, this was one of the easiest treatments in store . . .

The disease waxed and waned. I was keeping tabs of my eating habits, not to mention going habits! We tried taking lactose out of my diet (from the anecdotal evidence that 10% or so of patients have a lactose intolerance) which had zero effect, apart from me craving pizza :o) By now, Lucy was pregnant with (then termed) "Gromit", and fortunately we worked out that conception had occurred before starting with the steroids. This was a terrible period, I was constantly hungry, put on stacks of weight with the steroids. As much as I didn't want to eat because of the effect, I couldn't stop eating because of the drugs. We couldn't go out, I was damn nigh incontinent, generally I had a 30 second warning. It got so we knew the public toilets in all of the shopping precincts & restaurants we visited. I could plan a route for a Saturday morning, and make the loo just about every time. The one place I blew it was Ikea (in Croydon, England), and anyone who's been there will know why. I actually remember all of our friends houses by their loo's! I can describe in detail, all of our friends toilets & bathrooms - that's sad!

Then there was the pain. The thing with Renal Colic (Kidney Stones) is, unless you're extremely unlucky, it's excruciating, but all over in a couple of hours to a day. With UC, you know you're going to be praying because of the pain the next time you go, and you know that you don't know when you're next going to go, and you know that if you're lucky, you'll get away with only 6 times today! The pain is chronic with cramps, acute with the ulcers, and always there. It is so sore you can't wipe, but you can't not wipe, because it is the acidic blood that is causing the pain. I used to carry lanolin treated extra-thick baby wipes with me!!

The beginning of the worst was Xmas 97. Lucy was 6 months pregnant, she had bronchitis, and had torn all her intercostal (rib) muscles from coughing. So she was in agony, never mind the incontinent husband. We still had 19 people over for Xmas dinner, and I somehow managed to cook for them! 2 days before New Year, I went into hospital for Steroid Enema treatment - 200mls of prednisolone twice a day!! Self administered, like I said, Colo-foam was now a breeze! I was in hospital for a fortnight, warming up the steroid bags, then lying on the bathroom floor, putting it in, and then clenching!!! I was told that I had to keep it in for 2 hours - more on that too . . . While in hospital I had my first Barium - that was fun (not), swallow a beaker full of chalk, and clench, clench, clench whilst they x-ray you. "Ah, Mr.. Lawrence, can you just draw your knees up and turn to the right, no, the right . . ." Do you want me to be polite or honest??

The fortnight, over New Year, did nothing! It was one of the saddest moments in our family's life! I knew that the steroid treatment was doing not much other than costing the NHS a whole deal of money, and making me fat. I was no better!! As the steroid enemas had done nothing, finally my consultant said there was nothing more he could do, and referred me to St. Marks - the specialist bowel disease hospital in the UK (and one of the best in the world). Our church and friends were praying that 98 would be a better year, as 97 had been pretty ordinary! Well, it was better, but no more pleasant. It turns out my consultant resigned a couple of months after referring me, and he was actually a cardiologist, not a Gastro-enterologist at all - talk about blinded by relationship!

My new consultant (2 hours drive from home on Europe's busiest highway) saw me once. To the point, but comprehensively, he went over everything the disease entailed. He didn't patronise, but he didn't miss anything, he ensured my self-gleaned knowledge didn't translate to arrogance which would make me miss anything. He was a physician, not a surgeon, and said "I've treated over 1000 people, and not had to send someone to a surgeon in 12 years! We will win!!" Just what I wanted to hear. Like all others in my position, I was ill, I was incapacitated, but I was whole, and if I found it difficult to face putting (and others putting) things up my bottom, I certainly could not face the thought of a bag!! How very short sighted. One of the other changes was the frequency of consultations. My Dr.. said, "Right, nice meeting you, see you in 6 weeks!" At my incredulous, "Not next week." His response was, "Not unless you're very sick!! Why?" I explained the weekly visits to the previous consultant, and he just shook his head. It seems the worse thing you can do is constantly change the dosage of 5-ASA's and steroids. Steroids you have to taper off, but all other drugs keep that poison flowing! I had also mentioned the enema treatment at new year, and he laughed. His words: "Unless you can keep it in all night, you may as well put it in your ear . . . ." Of course a new consultant meant another sigmoid, more biopsies, by now I have no shame whatsoever.

So, we start a 6 weekly cycle. By now, I'm used to the pain, and my family are used to the sounds of their dad's muffled crying and pleas from the toilet he's just dashed to! The tablets never seemed to decrease, Balsalazide was added to the regime (another 5-ASA) but I was not going into remission, if anything, quite the opposite. I can remember taking 19 tablets a day. We were convinced that the Balsalazide were actually a veterinary mistake, they were horse sized tablets. Lucy was getting over the Bronchitis, her ribs were healing, but it was a full time job looking after 3 girls (1 under 2) and a very sick husband, and coming to full-term in her 4th pregnancy.

By February 98 nothing was happening, so my Dr.. mentioned it was time for stage 3, the immuno-suppressants. He could prescribe Azathioprine orally (whew at least this wasn't up the bum) - a small percentage of people (<10%) are allergic to Azathioprine, one of the super-poisons! Guess what - yeah, yeah I know, I'm special - damn!! I have never been so ill in my life! I was nauseous, all my joints hurt, my scalp hurt, everything felt black, and that was besides the now raging UC. Back to the consultant - "Sorry mate, bad call, well I can do Cyclosporine, but it's going to be a hospital stay!" Sure, anything, let's do this! So into hospital for 10 days! What more could a guy want: Cable telly, view overlooking Wembley Stadium, electric gadget bed that did anything, restaurant calibre food, private bathroom, and a company which called my computer back, so I could stay online (yes, I was still working)!! Well, closer to home would be good for one thing!

Cyclosporine, fun stuff. First it put my BP up to 190/120, yes that's a little on the high side. Then it breaks the veins down, so you need a new cannula every 2 days or so. After a week you start running out of veins. Actually it's great for a uni hospital, cos all those doctors need the practice, just call me pin cushion! If you thought running to the loo was tough with UC, try while hooked up to a drip! At least the bathroom was local! And guess what effect two weeks of Cyclosporine had on my UC? Right!

So back home, for a couple of weeks. Well, Charis was due on 13 March, but Lucy was late. I was due back in hospital on 23 March, which was Lucy's induction date. As young lady hadn't been born, we phoned the hospital and requested an early induction. "Only if your community midwife deliver"s." Absolutely! So into Hayward's Heath for an induction, I have to dash to the loo literally in the 2nd stage of labour, 5 minutes to go, and manage to dash back in in time for the midwife to brusquely say (she's German) "Puts your handsss zere!!" I couldn't believe it, I was delivering my own baby daughter! Wow!! Very emotional, and to think I almost missed it! That was the Friday, the Monday I was back in Harrow at St. Marks! More of this Cyclosporine stuff!

A further 10 days, then home for a couple of weeks, then another 10 days extended to 14 for good luck. Through in a week of Heparin as well, as there is anecdotal evidence in the US of people being cured of UC by Heparin. By now, I'm pretty ill, and thoroughly fed up, stages 1, 2, & 3 (plus the odd experimental 4) had not worked. So my choices are limited. Eventually the day came, my Dr.'s residents were keeping out of his path, his face was like thunder, you guessed it, I was the 1st patient in 12 years he was going to have to send to the surgeons. Admittedly the very best surgeons, but surgeons none the less! So I have a (limited) choice - after all this was debilitating, but not (currently) life threatening, so I could walk out and go home, living on drugs and with constant painful, messy UC - or - I could have my colon removed. If the latter, there were further choices, pouch, or ileostomy. What about homeopathy? "Well," said the Dr.., "in my experience (over 1000 patients), no matter the success, they always come back to me, and you're too acute!" Right, just delaying the inevitable then - great, no choice! After all, I'm not exactly living now am I. I mean, this is far removed from diving and sailing around the Caribbean!! Enter my Gastro-enteric Surgeon!

We tentatively booked my op for the Tuesday (I'd been in hospital for 2 weeks at this stage) I met the Dr.. on Monday night, and unbeknownst to me, our church arranged a prayer meeting for that night, just to pray for me. More than 50 people attended. The surgeon did the usual "Please could you lie on your left side, and draw your knees up." Isn't that the way dogs greet each other? Well, it certainly means they get to know you pretty well I can tell you! "Well, I don't think you have ulcerative-colitis." Pardon!!!??!? Excuse me?!?!? This is my 3rd year with the disease, and you're the 4th consultant I've seen. I have psyched myself up for the op, over the last 48 hours, and you're telling me I may have a different op???!? "Well, to me it looks like Crohn's!" he said!" I couldn't believe it! There I was one the eve of the biggest op, my wife and 4 children (1 of them a 3 wk old) 2 hours drive away, and I may have a different disease!!!

So another 5 days of tests, yet another colonoscopy (this time I was put under thankfully) and another barium, all to conclude, well, we think it's UC, so we're going to whip your colon out to be on the safe side! Cool! First time in my life I've prayed, please Lord let this be colitis! Mainly because I was up for an op, and getting on with my life. There were Crohn's patients in there, for their 8th op!!!! Added to the whole scene, my rectum was "too messed up" to be salvaged, so the pouch decision didn't enter into it!

The stoma nurse was worse than useless! She was used to dealing with senior citizens and I found her very patronising. I had done all the research and reading (including war stories from this website, thanks Shaz) and she treated me like an idiot! For goodness sake, I'd been responsible for 20 million pound boats across the Atlantic, and designing multi-million pound email systems. I think I knew where I wanted the stoma to go, and could understand the differences in appliances! Still, she won out, and to this day, my stoma is in the most uncomfortable place it can be. It either means I have to wear my trousers around my neck, or have my belt directly on the stoma! I did, however, have another very good Stoma nurse, actually a Pouch Nurse, who was younger, but more importantly, took time to listen to and understand me! She was great and a source of encouragement.

I went in for the op, after 2 months on immuno-suppressants, how I wasn't infected with another illness I don't know. The surgeon was keen on delaying another week to build up my strength, but I (and my newborn) managed to convince him that no, we should go ahead!! My favourite joke with the fantastic nurses in hospital was "Will I be able to surf once I've had the operation?" The poor unsuspecting nurse would usually go an consult a Dr., and come back with, "Yes, you there should be no problem with surfing." at which I'd respond, "That's great!! Cos I don't know how to surf now!!"

I woke up from the operation a new man! I felt GREAT!!! There was no disease, and I felt healthy, and full of energy, happy, raring to go . . . I phoned Lucy, and told her the good news. She couldn't believe how well I sounded! That was 20:00 on 19 May 98. Then by 04:30 the next morning the epidural wore off! Before the op, when you experience pain, you're afraid you might die! After the op, when you experience pain, you're afraid you might live!! My entire being was in agony. I didn't feel the minor pain of the stoma, or the 9 tubes that were stuck in my body, or even the rectal wound. I had a PCA - useless!! Only one shot every 5 minutes. I asked for a sub-cut (sub-cutaneous analgesia)! Because of the pain relief before the op, I had a high tolerance to pain relief. So they started me on 4mg diamorphine an hour, upped it to 5 then eventually at 6, coupled with Diclofenac (Voltarol) and Pethadine, after 24 hours, they got the pain under control(ish) At least, it was bearable.

The average ostomate they reckon is fully self-caring at an average of 6 weeks, I was self-caring (in terms of the ileostomy) at 6 hours! Basically, I said to myself, whether I like it or not, I'm gonna be living with this thing for the rest of my life, and this was my choice! To be fair, I've dealt with poo and blood before, so I figured technically this can't be that complex, and I will cope! Needless to say the nursing staff thought it odd, but great. The stoma nurse struggled as I wanted to get on with things, and she was generally getting in the way. The pouch nurse was wonderful, and waited for me to ask for help, before volunteering! She too understood my personal stance, that at some stage I'm going to be getting on with a sick kid, and work deadlines, and not have a stoma nurse around - if I couldn't do this now, I'm just holding up my life! Also, by that stage I'd been in hospital some 24 days, and all I wanted to do was go home, see my new born and family, and be away from medicine! The sooner I got on with things, and learned my way (the hard way??) the better!!

I remember a day after the op asking to have a bath! The staff, wouldn't let me, they wanted to hand bath me! No chance! Thanks very much, but I would like to wash myself! "Well, we're not strong enough to help you in and out the bath, so we'll get a lift! So my first bath was with the aid of a chair lift, which was nigh on useless, as I was sitting effectively on top of the water! Tomorrow, I'm having a bath without that thing! So I did! 9 tubes, two incisions, zillions of stitches, one see through bag, and me, the beached whale in the bath! Getting out was fun! Still, easier than a shower with the two IV stands.

Then there was the time when they took the catheter out, and I asked my surgeon if he'd "hit the nerve" (about 10% of men are irreversibly impotent after the op, because of the nerve accidentally being snipped) as I'd never had so long since puberty without an erection! He smiled and asked if I'd managed to wee? Yep, absolutely, like a fire hose! "Well Mr. Lawrence, it's the same nerve!" Result!!

After 5 days they started reducing the morphine, and over a 48 hour period went from 6mg/hr to zero!! I had to deal with pain, depression, pain, agony, cold turkey, and I was sick because of the drug the gave instead, and then there was the pain! For the first, and thus far only, time in my life, I wanted to die! I really wanted to commit suicide! I can remember crying, and crying, and crying, and mentioned to the surgeon that I just wanted to go home! He asked if I was joking?! I was never more serious in my life! I'd been self-caring since initial consciousness, I could wee, and any analgesia could now be administered orally - hence, at home! All I wanted to do was leave! The planet!! Fortunately, he is a good Dr., and kept me in one more day! The following day I had gotten over the addiction, and besides pain, was fine!

Because I hated those hospital tights, I used to walk (from my second day after the op) up and down the passageway, so I didn't have to wear them! That was a good ploy! The first couple of times I almost passed out from exhaustion, shuffling once up the passageway, but by day 8 I was doing laps, going outside with visitors, and proved to all the staff that I was safe to let loose (they probably thought good riddance) So they let me out just 8 days after the op, rather than 10! Hotdogs!! It is truly amazing the difference that 24 hours after coming off the morphine makes!

I had a minor infection with the stomach wound (I do have digital pictures should anyone want to see :o) An interesting time with my GP trying to remove the stitch, involving a pair of pliers, feet on the bed, and a lot of lignocaine! And I had to have a re-fashion, as the stoma formed a fistula at the base, which would leak under the appliance seal, and burn the skin! But the re-fashion op (in that October) was in on the Friday, out on the Sunday! I have to say that it could've been worse. If the fistula could not be repaired, they would've had to open me up again and make a new one (another 10 days in hospital). God was looking after me!!

Home was wonderful! Difficult, after all my children had gotten used to life without a dad, let alone a sick dad who needed a lot of attention! But wonderful!! My 2 year old wanted so much, which I found exhausting, and my 1 month old didn't know me! The 8 & 9 year olds found me at home all the time a difficult adjustment! How we got through as a family is all down to real, practical love, and some amazing friends! Right from when I went into hospital our church was there, they made meals on a regular basis for the family. They would baby-sit so Lucy could visit me without the kids, they would do vacuum the house, they would visit me! We have a friend, 14 at the time, and suffering with Epilepsy (a weekly seizure), and she used to collect and do our ironing!

Lucy, was absolutely fantastic! When I was embarrassed by the PVC, and worse, the poo which went everywhere on the (very) odd occasion a clip broke. She just accepted it, chucked the sheets in the washing machine and helped me clean up. Often she'd clean up! She just accepted my level of coping. E.g. For the first 2 years I couldn't cope with emptying a bag into the loo, I would gag! Changing a closed bag I found easier. (One of the reasons because of the position of the stoma, I can't sit and empty). Lucy, just accepted that and came up with solutions on how to disperse the full bags, we got a nappy bin, which would seal off everything. Once, while on holiday, I scratched in my sleep and ripped the appliance off! We didn't have the template to cut another one, and there in the dark, poo everywhere, in a caravan in France, I fashioned a new flange with a penknife. As my wife, and lover, she just loved me, in the times when I didn't particularly love myself, and was less attractive than a cross between the Hunchback of Notre Dame and Frankenstein's monster! I can remember just coming back from hospital, pain, stitches . . . . . . well, we won't go there, let's just say there was a lot of laughter! :o)

So life A.P. (After Proctocolectomy)? By the end of June, I was playing guitar in worship again. I struggled with the guitar and my stoma, it was still swollen and sore, and I fashioned a protector out of a Cricket box and elastic. Then we found a smaller and lighter protector, developed for safety belts, which did the job wonderfully. By the end of July (2 months after the op) we went as a family to the South of France for 2 weeks on holiday! 16 hours driving both ways - I drove! That holiday was great, I did water aerobics with the mums every morning, and managed to be able to sit up without needing to hold something by the end of two weeks! I also went scuba diving again, and introduced Leah, then 9, to the sport! What a blast! What a wonder for the self-esteem! Could you imagine ever planning 16 hours of driving, water aerobics, scuba diving, and a foreign holiday with Colitis? Nope, neither can I! Still it gets better!

In '99 the opportunity to move to Australia with work came up! We took it! Could you imagine flying for 33 hours, with 4 kids, and UC? How about moving across the world? How about being allowed to migrate to a foreign country? With UC, you have no chance, no real life! With 'the bag' these things are mere logistics (like "where can I get appliances?") Since being in Australia I haven't looked back (I grew up in SA remember)! As a family we have started camping again, although more off the beaten track than in the UK. We go once a month! Since Sep last year, we've owned a little boat, and have taken to water-skiing (first time for the family - again for me)! There is absolutely no way I could have migrated, gone camping, or water-skiing, with UC. Soon I intend to get back into diving more regularly.

We recently went back to the UK on holiday to see the family, and they've all commented on how healthy I look! While there, I went sailing, with my GP! That was really good!! And you know something? We noted I haven't taken medication since 2 months after the op in 98! I haven't had a Dr.. visit since my last post-op consultation over a year ago. The only issue I have is a hairy tummy, which requires shaving every appliance change, but when I win the lottery, I'll have the hair removed :o)

It's been long, thanks for your time. If you have a decision to make, just think, what would you rather: Go travelling and water-skiing with your family and a bit of PVC? or remain 'whole', on drugs, and watching for those little signs with pictures of men and women on them wherever you go?? I know from the stories and questions here, that a lot of people have a lot of hassle which I thankfully haven't had! But I don't think there is one person I've spoken to who would go back to UC or Crohn's

Let me conclude by saying, that Shaz's page was part of the encouragement I needed to go for the op. When I have had questions or problems, this support group has always been very quick to come to the fore and help! Thanks Shaz, and everyone for helping us regain citizen status, and strengthening each other! If I was a doctor, I would prescribe this site to anyone with IBD.

PS. It has to be said that one doesn't get through a saga like this without the support and help of friends and family. My story would remain largely untold if there was no appreciation for the people who put themselves out for us. I have already mentioned some of the things that people from our church did for us, but rather than mention these sacrifices in passing, I would like to specifically thank people. For those emails and phone calls (often well into the night), the advice when needed, and understanding. For those people who didn't make me feel this was somehow to do with sin in my or my family, and those who didn't pass this off with a trite Christian platitude, who understand there is no reason for this, and appreciate the futility of rationalising it. Thank you to those who drove me to appointments and hospitals, who drove my family, looked after my girls. Thank you for the visits, for the Dorito's and Peppermint Aero's, for lending me your only Playstation and games, for the many books and videos, for the (often lame) jokes you told. Thank you for visiting me even when it made you question
your own faith, when I looked like the elephant man, was grumpy and didn't appreciate your visit. Thanks for the discretion before the op when I didn't make the loo (especially Spectrum, the Youth Group I used to lead) and laughing with me when my luggage broke and appliances went everywhere. Thanks for listening and listening and listening, and when you'd heard enough about me and my problems, still listening. In no particular order, Lucy's folks, my folks, Oma, Tom, Andy, Ian King and Wilkins, the Harvey's, the Burdett's, the Clay's, the Crossmen, the Lea-Wilson's, the Wills', Charlie and Marion, all of the young people, those overseas including Gordon & Karen, Heinrich & Sue, Jenny & Ruben, the Vandermeydens. Of course those at work, Stevie, Ian, Joanna, Paul, Barry, Mike, Mark and many others. Shaz and those who sent help from messages to the website. After all this time I'm bound to have left some people out, if so, email me at Rog42@Rog42.com and I'll ensure your name is added to the list.

For those with IBD, friends are there willing to help, sometimes it's difficult to let them because we're embarrassed, or too damn proud. Believe me there were times I was sick of Chicken Casserole (again) and felt ashamed that others were fixing my house, but I am really thankful for my friends and their practical Love (or charity). We, as a family, have been greatly blessed, so find your friends and lean on them, one day they may not be so strong, that's when you'll be there for them with true empathy. Thanks guys.

God Bless

Roger

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