My life is crap. From the minute I wake up until I lay down at night, my mind is distracted by the most annoying bodily function – pooping. My world centers around the fear of the NG tube. Adhesions affect nearly every part of my world. Work, family, travel, and more are all tied to my gut. 

Adhesions form in 90% of surgeries. In spite of the staggering statistics on adhesions, there are few resources to help those who suffer. My goal is to help those who are new to knowing they have these or for family members who need a glimpse into the issues surrounding adhesions. I’m not a doctor, but I have a master’s degree in mental health counseling, a love for research, and a heart that wants to help others. 

Adhesions are bands of sticky fibrous material. Do you remember the Spider-Man movie where the Venom character’s sticky residue slowly envelopes Peter Parker? That is my mental image of what is going on inside my body. Tendrils of evil wrap around my intestines . . . or is it my back? It is hard to tell, but it hurts. From time to time, they release, only to grasp again another day. I constantly try new ways to help – diets, chiropractic care, physical therapy, acupuncture, and a plethora of gadgets and supplements that might help. Efforts work for a short time, then Venom attacks again and I’m back to suffering.

June 2017

My issues with adhesions started slowly one summer. I started having a lot of indigestion and belching. My stomach was bloated. I went to my doctor.

“You probably have some form of GERD,” she said, “let’s put you on Nexium for a few months.”

This did nothing to help. My stomach continued to grow and started to hurt a little. Output from my body didn’t equal input. I hid under sundresses – thankful I live in Florida where these and flip-flops are practically a year-round staple.

I returned to my doctor. “Nexium isn’t working and my stomach is growing,” I complained.

“OK,” she replied, “let me schedule you some imaging testing so we can get to the bottom of this.”

Upon having the Upper GI, I became convinced something was really wrong. I chugged the barium and watched in fascination as my insides glowed. The liquid snaked its way down and then squeezed by a big lump. “Did you eat something this morning?” the radiologist asked.

 “No, I was told to fast. I haven’t had anything since dinner last night,” I quietly replied. 

I was suddenly transported back to the worst time in most people’s lives – middle school. I sat in the front side of the room in my science class. My permed hair was lightened to a lovely orange shade via Sun-In. My bangs were suspended in air via many coats of Aqua Net. I hated science. While the teacher droned on, I would stare at the poster on the wall next to me that covered the signs of colon cancer. I still had these memorized, thanks to that poster from my youth. Indigestion? Yes. Changes in bowel or bladder habits? Yes. Narrow or pencil-like stools? Yes.

I became convinced my lump was cancer. I was too afraid, though, to ask anything. I left in fear. I started to have nightmares about my family and what they would suffer through as I withered away.  

My “tumor” started to grow to the point that it created a bulge on my stomach. Before my doctor could get the results from radiology, I wound up in her office. Something growing this quickly needed attention fast and couldn’t wait for radiology to send the report. It had been a week. I braced for the worst.
She looked at my bulge and her eyes widened. “You have an obstruction,” she announced, “are you having bowel movements?”

“Kind of, but not really,” I said, slightly confused. Did this mean it wasn’t a tumor? Again, I chose not to ask questions. I was afraid of looking stupid and trusting my internet research and runaway mind more than I should. For some reason, Arnold Schwarzenegger popped into my head with his famous, “It’s not a tumor” quote. I was elated that I didn’t have cancer, or did I? Was the obstruction due to a cancerous tumor? Was it just poop that got stuck somehow? Would I die soon?

“Are you passing gas?” she inquired with a worried look in her eyes.

“Some,” I replied.

She ran her hand lightly across my bulge. “I should admit you to the hospital.” Yup, looks like I was dying.

“It is a partial obstruction, though, if you are at least passing gas,” she though, more to herself as she pondered what to do with me.

“What is a partial obstruction?” I finally asked.

“For some reason, your bowel is partly blocked and fecal matter can’t pass through like it should,” she explained.

“Oh,” was my reply. After my first c-section years before, I had been completely impacted. I still looked pregnant after I gave birth. The doctor allowed me to go home and self-treat with a bottle of magnesium citrate. It worked and I was squeaky clean inside within a day. I figured this time would be similar. I breathed a sigh of relief and felt much better about my future.

“I’ll let you go home and drink Miralax and lots of water. You need to go to the ER, though, if the lump isn’t gone by this evening,” she told me.

“Yes, maa’m,” I excitedly responded. I wasn’t dying! I figured I would be back to normal within a few hours.

I chugged Miralax when I got home and waited . . . and waited . . . and waited. Nothing. The lump just sat there. By 10 PM, I knew I had to hold up my end of the bargain. I am a rule follower, but it seemed a tad extreme to go to the ER.

I let my husband know and we made arrangements for my parents to come watch our two boys.

I felt like an imposter going to the ER. Sure, I had this lump and poop-related thing going on, but it didn’t seem like an emergency. I wasn’t in severe pain. ER visits, in my mind, were really only appropriate if you arrived in an ambulance. People who walked in were probably just junkies and the poor souls who didn’t have insurance and knew that the ER had to take them. I’ll admit, though, that I knew very little of medical stuff.

As soon as I met with the intake nurse, she asked, “Do you want some morphine?”

“No thank you,” I politely said. “I’m not in that much pain”. 

“Okay”, she said, “If you are sure”.

I wanted to make sure she knew I wasn’t a junkie here for a fix, so I went on. “Morphine causes constipation and I don’t need that.” It seemed a stupid offer to me. She gave me a strange look and moved on. Perhaps my constipation comment was too much information . . .

We sat in the waiting room, surrounded by all kinds of droopy-eyed sufferers of various afflictions. After what seemed like an eternity, another nurse finally called my name. 

“Do you want morphine?” she asked as she started an IV on me.  

“No,” I replied, “I’m better off without it.”

For a second time, I got a strange look.

“OK,” she said, “if you are sure.”

Another long wait. It seems nothing goes quickly in the ER, which is the opposite of what it looks like on TV.

Finally, a male nurse came in. “OK,” he said, “we are going to diagnostic imaging for a CT-scan and see what is going on.”

“Sounds good to me,” I replied. 

He handed me the hospital gown, which was way too big on my 4’9” body.

“One size fits all, my ass,” I mumbled.
The nurse brought in the wheelchair, which seemed unnecessary, but I know they have protocols they have to follow.

He wheeled me into the room with the huge, white machine. He helped me climb on the table, which I appreciated as I was still wrestling with the huge gown.

“This stuff I’m putting in your IV is going to make you feel a little warm”, he said. 

I felt the warmth, which was nice at first as the room was pretty chilly. Then warmth made its way down my body. He neglected to warn me about the rest. Oh God, I thought, I just wet myself! I kept still on the table while enveloped in embarrassment. I was slightly comforted knowing that ER nurses deal with far worse than adults peeing their pants. My husband was there, too, but he was an EMT/firefighter, and promised to love me for better or worse.

When the imaging was done, I knew it was time to fess up. As I moved off the table, I felt my backside and realized it was dry. I was so confused. 

“Does this stuff also make you feel like you just peed your pants?” I asked. 

“Yes,” said the nurse, his face void of emotion.

“You could have mentioned that part”, I suggested, “unless it was just comic relief to watch me think I ruined this lovely evening gown by peeing on it.” I smiled at my joke. Humor is often my defense mechanism. I was pretty terrified. What in the world was going on in my body?

The nurse then turned to me with a long tube. 

“This part will be a little uncomfortable.  I’m going to have to put this tube up through your nose and down your throat into your stomach so we can help empty your stomach contents.”

I laughed. “That’s a good one. Are you getting back at me for my comment about peeing?”

His kind eyes conveyed that this wasn’t a joke. Fear quickly set in and I began to bargain.

“Oh no. That thing is huge. Don’t I get a pediatric version? You see how big this gown is on me!”

“No,” he said, “this is the right one.”

Two nurses knew what was coming for me. No wonder they kept offering me morphine. Why, oh why, did I turn it down?

“Tilt your head back a little for me,” he said.

I tilted my head back and braced for it. 

“Breathe easy,” he said calmly, “I’ve done a lot of these.”

Nothing in life quite compares to the torture of an NG tube.  As the tube made its way down my throat, an intermittent urge to vomit and gag brought tears to my eyes. The feeling wouldn’t leave. It stayed. I was in a constant state of gagging. I wasn’t sure if I could handle it, but was powerless to do anything. 

 My husband looked at me with such pity. I’ve dealt with a lot of medical procedures and surgeries, but the NG tube was a whole different level.

They moved me to a regular room. I was wheeled along, gagging and probably crying.

“We will give you some morphine to help with the discomfort”, a new nurse said. 

“Yes, please,” I squeaked out meekly. 

“This should help you get some rest,” she said. 

My world suddenly become tolerable as I drifted into a morphine haze. I drifted in and out of a state of agitated slumber, waking several times in a gagging nightmare. Over the next 14 hours, they slowly emptied my stomach acid through a tube. I fought gagging on a constant basis and begged God to make it stop. 

The next day, my stomach was emptied enough to be out of danger. The doctor on call looked at me with kindness and said, “I think we can go ahead and take out the tube and start you back on a liquid diet for now.” Surprisingly, he took the tube out himself, gagging a little at the end when the stench of stomach contents temporarily permeated the room. 

They did more imaging to get to the root of my issue. I happily drank the concoction to help my insides glow. It was way better than the dreaded tube. They took pictures from all sides several times.

The doctor came in quicker than I expected. “You have a loop or stricture in your bowel, which caused the partial obstruction. The drink we gave you will have a laxative effect. It should help move things along,” he explained.

“It sure beats out through the nose,” I said dryly. He smiled at my attempt at bedside (or I guess it would be in-bed humor).

“Each time you have a bowel movement, regardless of size, put a hash mark on the whiteboard,” he instructed, “You need to get up and walk a lot.”

As soon as the doc left, I started getting out of the bed for my first stroll.

My husband gently led me out of the room and down the corridor. Suddenly, my stomach rumbled. Uh-oh! I spun around, butt-cheeks clenched, and shuffled back to my room like an old woman in my “complimentary” slipper socks. The next 12 hours was full of short walks and a ton of hash marks on my whiteboard! 

By the next day, my abdominal lump was gone and I felt human again.

Another doctor came in to talk about a possible discharge. I still didn’t really know what had caused this issue.

“After reviewing your records and tests, you probably had an obstruction caused by abdominal adhesions”, he explained. “You have had several surgeries, right?” Tell me about these.”

“Well,” I started, “In my early twenties, I was in a car accident. I was in the middle of the backseat and these were the olden days when a lap belt was the only restraint in this center of the bench seat. The accident nearly cut me in half and resulted in surgery to resection my bowels and back surgery. A few years later, I had my gall bladder out. My first child was an emergency C-section due to an anesthesia error. When I had my second child, the doctor took time to remove a bunch of scar tissue left from my previous c-section. I had never been bothered with it, so I hadn’t really paid much attention at the time.”

“Adhesions are scar tissue,” he responded, “I believe these are to blame for your obstruction. You will follow up with your regular doctor soon.”

Once I got out of the hospital, my regular doctor referred me to a GI doctor to explore my next steps. I had an endoscopy and colonoscopy to look for anything else that might be an issue. Compared to the glowy-insides incident, the colonoscopy prep was simple. A nurse had given me a hospital parting gift of some butt-saving barrier cream. She is forever an angel in my mind for that gift and piece of wisdom.

The colonoscopy and endoscopy were good. I made an appointment with my GI doctor to solve the annoying adhesions. I was excited that day to find out what I needed to do to fix things. As I explained to him about my partial obstruction and past surgeries, he said, “Yup, you definitely have adhesions. There is nothing we can do. There is no diet to follow, exercises won’t fix it, and surgery to remove them simply causes more.” 

The blood drained from my face and my world slowed as I tried to process this news. Nothing could be done? We put a man on the moon, we can put organs from one person into another, but there is nothing that can be done about some sticky stuff on my insides? It just didn’t make sense.

I have a love for libraries and research. I went home and started researching. There just had to be something out there. Doctors are human, after all, and can’t be expected to know everything. I slowly began to realize why adhesions are a unique beast. 

First of all, adhesions are completely unique to the person who suffers. Where do they come from? According to the National Library of Medicine, adhesions form from any disturbance to our bodies, mainly surgery, infection, trauma, or radiation. This means that they can form anywhere. This also means that they will vary to the extent that our individual lives vary. I think of them like fingerprints. We all have different prints. Some may be similar to others, but they are all unique in some way. Since I have had several surgeries, I have several possibilities of scar tissue from each. The last doctor that saw my insides mentioned how much scar tissue was in that location. I can only imagine that other prior surgery areas that he didn’t see are also plagued with these. His comment relates to the next problem . . . adhesions are invisible from the outside. 

  That’s right, folks. Not only are they probably lurking anywhere you’ve had a surgery, these demons don’t show up on most tests. Many people who suffer battle with doctors who label them as drug seekers wanting a fix. In my case, the effects from the adhesions were visible. The tests showed liquids going around a lump. The lump went away after they pumped my body full of glowy stuff that melted whatever was inside me so it would pass through. Once you add this to the number of surgeries I’ve had, it was easy to diagnose me. The doctors mentioned that abdominal surgeries were more likely to cause adhesions – especially if they were emergency ones. Great. I’d been opened up 4 times, two of which were emergency style. While it was great to have such a clear diagnosis, it did nothing to help the issue. 

So, you can have these invisible beasts anywhere in your body. The worst part . . . there is still no great method to get rid of them. Surgery is the only way right now. Surgery is the reason they spawned in the first place. Surgery, therefore, is not an option for me. There are just too many places they would be in me. I’m on Facebook groups for those who suffer from abdominal adhesions. Many of these online sufferers have had surgery and have said that it worked temporarily, but then returned worse than before. A few continue to seek doctors willing to do surgery. Most will not unless it is a life-threatening case. The bulk of research into adhesions centers around preventing them. I pray that one day, they will come up with a spray, mesh, or some other technique that will work. It doesn’t, though, fix anything for those of us who currently suffer.    

My life is different now. I’m limited in many ways. I get angry, I get scared, I get sad. I’m an eternal optimist, though, and realize that I am still blessed in many ways.  So many people who suffer with these have it so much worse than I do. Most are on pain meds and then battle constipation on top of adhesions. I will fight against pain meds as long as humanly possible. 

Mine are slowly getting worse, but I hope to continue to develop ways to improve. I research constantly for methods that will help. I realize that there is nothing that will help everyone since our bodies are all different and our injuries that caused the scar tissue complicate things as well. It is my hope, though, that I can shed light on all of the many things I have discovered so far. 

Diets

It makes the most sense to adjust the diet to help since it is directly related to poop. The strange thing is that diets are all over the place – and all have parts that make sense. I’m still searching for what is best, if there is one that can help with the pain and keep things moving along.

Low-Residue Diet

The low-residue diet is one often suggested for cancer patients. It is comprised of foods that will pass through the intestines quickly with little stress internally. White bread, regular pasta, and other highly processed foods are the basis of this diet. I found that it didn’t work well for me. I found myself constipated by the lack of whole fruits and vegetables. Then there is the lack of nutritional value inherent in processed foods. Most of all, I felt like I was making horrible food choices every day. This one was not a long-term solution.

High-Fiber Diet

Others feel that a high-fiber diet is the way to go. The goal is to push foods along the bowels. This one, though, can be very uncomfortable. When a partial blockage, high fiber foods can just cause an extremely painful situation. Some even warn of it possible causing a tear in the bowels if it builds too much. Often bulk-forming fiber supplements like Metamucil are not recommended for this very reason. I find that high fiber foods can make things uncomfortable for me, so I try not to eat a ton of them at once.

January 2020

Low FODMAP Diet

Of all the diets, this one was most promising and helped somewhat for a short time. The problem is that it is nearly impossible to follow. It is an elimination diet for IBS sufferers and isn’t meant to be permanent. Basically, you are getting rid of all foods that cause the gut issues. The Monash Instituted ranks foods. There are certain fruits and vegetables you can have and others you can’t. No onion, garlic, gluten, or fake sugars. I’ve tried it twice. Bowel functions improve for a week or so, and then it just stops working for me. Since others have had success on this, here are a few of the recipes that I really needed.

https://www.fodmapeveryday.com/recipes/garlic-infused-oil

INGREDIENTS:

• 2 cups (480 ml) extra virgin olive oil, pure olive oil or vegetable oil such as canola, grapeseed, rice bran, safflower or sunflower
• 6 large cloves of fresh garlic, peeled, whole or halved

PREPARATION:

1. Have ready a glass storage bottle, container or jar with an airtight lid. Rinse with boiling water and dry thoroughly; set aside.
2. Pour oil in a small sized non-reactive pot and heat over low heat just until just warm to the touch, then remove from heat. It is important not to overheat the oil as its flavor and integrity will degrade. No need to use a thermometer, just go by touch and only heat the oil until it is warm, not hot.
3. For a more subtle garlic flavor, leave the cloves whole; for more potent garlic flavor halve the cloves Add garlic to oil, off the heat, and allow to sit for about 2 hours. Strain into the clean jar, making sure to remove all of the garlic pieces; we like to line a fine wire-meshed strainer with cheesecloth to catch any garlic pieces. Seal jars and store in refrigerator, using within 3 days.

Magnesium 

Supplementing with magnesium is another popular option. There are several different types. I took magnesium (calm one)., magnesium citrate, and magnesium oxide. The calm type really didn’t do anything for me. The oxide one works similar to Miralax, and citrate is for desperate days only! I am presently trying a maintenance dose of magnesium oxide along with my toxic beverage of choice . . . Cokes.

Cokes – a cure or a curse?
2017

Yup, the same drink that is the perfect complement to pizza and burgers can actually be helpful for partial blockages. It even has scientific data to back it up. Researchers at Emory ?…. . . 

A phytobezoar is made up of undigested food that gets stuck. While phytobezoars aren’t exactly the same, it still makes sense. My “hose” is closed partly most of the time. If I can use Coke to liquify my insides, it flows better through the hose. 

Another reason I prefer Cokes to Miralax or Magnesium is because it helps my indigestion. Coke was designed by someone trying to make a tonic to help people with stomach issues. They thought it was a failure in this regard, but I think he was on to something. I’ve tried other beverages that I thought would work – coffee, ginger ale, kombucha- but none have worked. Coke seems to be the effect blend of caffeine, carbonation, and other chemicals that work for me.

I’ve become quite the expert on the Cokes. Canned don’t help as much. During my FODMAP trial, I started drinking Mexican Cokes due to the cane sugar. I found that these work better, probably due to the glass bottle rather than the sugar change. Fountain Cokes work great and are cheaper than the Mexican ones, but mean that I’ve got to go to the gas station down the road and stand in line with all the people buying lottery tickets. My routine now is one Mexican Coke in the morning. If I can tell it is a bad day, then I stop by the gas station and go for the extra large. Walking while drinking it helps a lot. My preferred place to walk is at a mall. I can walk fast, slow, shop, and then find the nearest restroom quickly when the Coke works the magic. Once I can go, I’m dedicated to staying within a 2 minute warning zone for an hour or so. I know where all the bathrooms are just about anywhere I go. I’m beyond feeling embarrassed about the gross parts of this issue. The truth is, we all fart. We all poop. We all have diarrhea at times. 

I presently choose to keep my issues on the side of Coke induced diarrhea. If I don’t, I start with indigestion, then get stomach pain, then back pain, then nausea. Once I get to that level, I wind up downing a bottle of magnesium citrate in fear of the NG tube. For me, that means a full day of lava shooting out my butt and then another day or two of liquid poop. I’ll stick with the “Have a Coke and a smile” option.

Evening wine

To make matters worse, I have a glass or two of red wine at night to dull the pain. I know it isn’t ideal, but pain meds constipate and come with other side effects. The red wine also helps my cholesterol, so I’m sticking with it. 

I do realize that my copious amount of Coca-Cola coupled with wine is a horrible path. It is damaging my health in many ways. My doctors are all aware of my strange treatment plan. None of them, though, have given mean alternative that works. In fact, they all pretty much agree with the science behind it and admit it might be my best option at the moment. My method has kept me off pain meds and out of the hospital now for over 5 years. I still constantly search for new options. 

Intermittent Fasting

Intermittent fasting seems to be all the rage right now. In my world, it seems the longer I can go in the day without eating, the better. Luckily, my morning Coke has the caffeine to help with hunger pangs. Some days at lunch, I cave, but I know I’m better if I stick with less solid food and go for soups, smoothies, and maybe a small protein ball. I am a foodie, so limiting food is sad. By dinner, I’m ravenous and then risk overeating, which is bad.

Treatment

Like diets, I’ve tried several therapies to work on these beasts inside me. I nicknamed the spot on my left side that flares up my Gremlin, from the popular 80s flick. Many of these haven’t worked, or work for a short time and then the Gremlin seems to catch on and change attacks. The bright side from each therapy has been learning more about my body and educating others along the way. 

Physical Therapy 

This one seemed like it would help the most, but really didn’t do much for me. They tried acupuncture, tens units, various exercises, pelvic stuff, and even some other therapy that was internal. From all of it, I learned that my Vagal nerve was really tight. She suggested I try colonics and gave me a contact to a woman over two hours away who was certified in it. Hmmm. Drive over two hours to have someone shove liquid up my ass and clean me out? Nope, I’ll stick with my Coke method from the other end, thank you very much. 

Chiropractic Care

This one is more promising for me. I think it is the jarring nature. I also feel that adhesions from my back surgery are a big factor. I’m not sure about the connection, but when a certain spot in my back hurts and I get adjusted, my bowels are better. The downside is that it only helps for a day and then my Gremlin figures it out.

Massage Therapy

I like this one the best and feel that massage therapists are the most interested in helping and most knowledgeable about the internal components of the body. It also helps relax me. Part of the struggle with adhesions is the anxiety and fear that surrounds it. Anxiety makes breathing become shallow 

Cupping initially was very helpful. I could see the impact of the scar tissue. There is a YouTube video that shows it. When the skin is pulled into the device, it should look like a hamburger bun. If there is a divot, that is an adhesion. I had a therapist work through the surface scars and the divots on these eventually went away. The scars are now much softer. The ones deeper inside me are still my problem. I learned a lot about adhesions from massage therapists. One told me that the ones on my back were actually tighter and might be contributing to my issue more than I realized.

I can’t cover massage therapy and abdominal adhesions without mentioning Clear Passage. If you research it at all on the internet, you will find Clear Passage, the Wurn technique, and Belinda and Larry Wurn mentioned extensively.  Belinda Wurn is a physical therapist who developed adhesions. She and her husband have dedicated their lives to the study of these and the treatment of them. Tons of medical journals list their names at the end. 

Their main location is in Florida, not too far from where I live. The treatment plan, according to many on my adhesions group on Facebook, entails around 20 hours of manual therapy over one week. What was holding me back? The cost. It is over $10,000 and typically isn’t covered by insurance. It has mixed reviews by the people on Facebook. Some say it was the best thing ever . . . some say it didn’t help at all. At this point, I wasn’t willing to dedicate that much money to a maybe.

My present massage therapist, James, does a lot of manual therapy with me. Although he isn’t an expert on abdominal adhesions, we are learning together what works the best. He is very willing to share what he knows. He has taught me several things to try at home and the science behind them. He encouraged me to bring my husband so he could teach him ways to help as well. It is hard to apply enough pressure on my own stomach. 

Psychological Aspects

Abdominal adhesions not only grasp and strangle my intestines, they worm their way into my thoughts as well. Depression and anxiety can prevail. Many suffer from an unsupportive doctor who blows off their symptoms. Since nothing can fix the problem, a hopelessness can set in. I am an optimistic person. At times, though, even my Pollyanna outlook gets shattered by my reality.

My diagnosis alters my ability to work. I was working as a guidance counselor when I started having real problems with blockages. Counseling is a very high stress field, especially for people like me who don’t compartmentalize well. All the problems the kids have would keep me up at night. I asked my doctor if job stress could affect adhesions. I already knew the answer, but it was nice to have confirmation. I quit and tried a few other things. It is a struggle to find work that can flex with my two-minute bathroom warning. I now work at a college and have the ability to slip out as needed. It is still very embarrassing at times when I explain why I can’t do certain tasks.

Travel

I hate the impact on other areas of my life. Traveling is horrible as it compounds the issue. I used to dream of a European vacation. Now, I’m reduced to dreaming of modding out a mini-van so I can do short camping trips with a potty on board.  Luckily, I live in Florida, so there are at least many vacation spots that aren’t too far away.

Travel tips

The car ride is the worst part. I generally let my husband do the driving as, according to him, I drive like a grandma. I’m happy to read a novel instead. We stop several times on the way to walk and I have a six-hour maximum car day. I also choose to do without solid food for the most part. While the others eat lunch, I take a walk. I will stop by for a bite of their burger or a fry or two. I will then get a shake or iced coffee to sip on once they are done. Vacation food still needs to exist in my world! Once we get to our destination, I walk even more. The car ride still turns my insides to glue, but now it is more like Elmer’s school glue instead of superglue.

Vacation Woes

Now for a bit of humor – if I can’t laugh at my circumstances, I fear I will fall into despair. I warn you that this one is graphic. If you live with a digestive disorder, though, I think you develop the ability to see beyond the embarrassment.

Traveling with adhesions is horrible. I’m not sure if it is sitting for prolonged periods, the change in diet, or something else entirely. All I know is I now face vacation with such mixed feelings. The worst was on a return trip. I was desperate. I had struggled for days. My stomach grew with each day. Nothing was helping. I walked. I drank Cokes. I cried. . .

Not wanting to ruin the vacation for the family, I waited until we had finished our days of theme parks before I took action. I considered trying to wait until we got home, but I was really started to get scared of needing to go to the hospital. After a day of driving, we stopped by the drugstore on our way to the hotel. I trudged to the pharmacy and scouted the bottom shelf for the small bottle of magnesium citrate.

My son loves to stay at the Embassy Suites.  One of the highlights for him as a child was riding the clear elevators. He would stare in fascination as the elevator went up and down. Upon entering the lobby of the hotel, I noticed one of the elevators was out of service. We got to our room on the 7^th floor. The boys went downstairs for snacks and drinks. While my hubby drank a beer downstairs, I sat in the room upstairs sipping on my fizzy citrate drink. Funny how such a small drink can have such an impact!

Knowing that the citrate takes some time to set it, I made my way downstairs to at least try to enjoy some conversation. As we sat, I stared at the broken elevator. My thoughts suddenly got silly. What if I got stuck in a clear elevator when the citrate worked its magic? Once it starts, there is simply no stopping it. Would I simply stand in the corner and hope nobody noticed. What would the poor firefighters do when they opened the doors and the stench ensued. What if another patron were in the elevator with me? Oh, the horrors! I suddenly decided that conversation wasn’t as important as avoiding the possibility of my thoughts becoming a reality. I decided to take the stairs – in spite of the several stories. At least if it hit me in the staircase, it would be rare that anyone else would be there.

After my family came upstairs, we watched a movie and the rumble started in my insides. Just one. Then, a few minutes later, another. Still nothing that would need the bathroom, though. Afterwards, the boys fell asleep. I laid there, listening to the symphony of my husband’s snoring and my gurgling belly. Then it hit. You know the moment. I quickly made my way to the bathroom and let go. Oh, the strange mix of relief with getting the demon out of you while feeling the burn upon exit! I stood and flushed. . .

My eyes grew wide in fear as the contents of the toilet slowly rose. No! No! No! I quickly reached down and turned off the water. Now what!?! Before I could think of a plan, a second wave hit me and I sat back down on the toilet for round two. I cried as I tried to think of what to do. It was 2 AM. I called the front desk while still sitting and asked if they had a plunger.

“We’ll send someone right up to fix your toilet,” the attendant said.

“No!”, I said, “Um, everyone is asleep and I don’t want to bother them. If you could just leave a plunger outside the door, that would be fine.” I clenched my butt-cheeks together as round three was near. I ended my thank you and hung up right as yet another wave released.

Please, oh please, let that plunger get here soon and let my family sleep through it all. Nobody should have to wake up to that. Luckily, God was looking out for both the hotel staff and my boys. It took awhile, but I was able to successfully get the commode to drain. I kept the plunger nearby, just in case. My poor butt was raw. I am thankful that, by the next day, the effects of the citrate were controllable. We still had another few hours to go.

November 2023

My symptoms were getting worse. I used to drink the Mexican Cokes after learning about the benefits of sticking with cane sugar over high fructose. Then, they stopped being effective enough. On desperate days, I would go to the gas station for the big, 32-ounce fountain Coke. My fear of getting backed up outweighed my concern over the sugar. Soon, every morning, I would drive to the gas station for my fix. On bad days, I upgraded to the 44-ounce supersized Coke. The Cokes would result in daily diarrhea episodes. I was often in the restroom six or so times before lunch. I stopped eating breakfast and sometimes lunch. By dinner, I often overate, but at least it was semi-healthy foods. Then I followed this with a snack at night with my daily glass or two of wine. I gained weight. Drinking tons of sugar in the morning set my tastebuds up for a craving for more sugar. Sweets and candy became a daily part of my diet. I needed out of this pattern. Each time that I tried, I would start to feel backed up and panic. It was a horrible cycle that was destroying my life. I felt out of control, but couldn’t find answers anywhere.

I revisited the thought of Clear Passage. Although still annoyed at their tight-lipped stance and heavy price tag, I had to admit that Clear Passage was still currently the expert in the treatment of adhesions. Early on in my struggle, I searched for information on adhesions and theirs was one of the only books out there. Their research started out of personal pain as Linda Wurn, one of the founders, struggled with adhesions in the 80s after cancer treatments. I was reminded that their main center is in Gainsville, Florida and that many people travel internationally for their services.

I lived four hours away from the one place that has documented evidence that they can treat adhesions. My symptoms were getting worse. Since treatment isn’t covered by most insurances, though, I pushed the thought to the back of my mind. I am an incredibly cheap person by nature. I don’t buy clothes unless they are on the extra percent off the sale rack. Aldi and I are best friends (don’t judge me for having a grocery store as a bestie).

My husband is retiring in less than a year. As a present to himself, he wants to buy a ’69 Camaro. I am not into cars, but understand that many people find them fascinating. He spent the last six month researching and looking for his dream car. I came home from work one day and he had a sparkle in his eye. “I think I might have found a Camaro that I like” he said.

“That’s great,” I replied.

“The bad part is that it is in California,” he said sheepishly.

“If it is what will make you happy, go for it,” I told him. My husband deserved this car. He had sacrificed throughout his life for others. He put tons into retirement to make sure that we would be OK. With my blessing, he flew out to see if this might be “the one”. I joked about it being his mail order bride. He called one night, excited about the car. I could hear machinery in the background and the banter of men working on cars in the garage. He was certainly in his happy place.

“This is the one!” He exclaimed.

I felt great for him, but I was really hurting that night. He was looking to spend a ton of money on something to get him from point A to point B. I was a little frustrated as our call ended. He was going to spend tons of money on this car, so why was I hesitant to spend money on a treatment that could be life-changing? I pulled up Clear Passage on my computer. I decided to go ahead and fill out the “online assessment” form. It couldn’t hurt. I figured it would take awhile to hear back. If I heard back, it would probably be summer before they could get me in. It was the first week of December and other than the week of the 18^th, I was busy until the end of May.

The next day, I got a call from Clear Passage. They explained the process to set things up and answered several of my questions.

“So, what does the schedule look like?” I inquired.

“We just had a cancellation the week of December 18^th,” she replied, “I know that is less than two weeks away, so I understand if that is too soon for you.”

I prayed that the coincidence was God’s plan and put down the deposit.

I told my husband and parents about it. They are all respectfully supportive, while somewhat skeptical. I get it, though, because I felt the same way. Was I desperately chasing after a sham? I was scared that it wouldn’t work. In addition to my fear that I was stupidly following a folly, I was also secretly annoyed that nobody wanted to go with me. I tried hinting to both my husband and my mom. Neither offered to come. I was too proud to outright ask.

On Wednesday, Clear Passage called me with more directions. They explained that it was a good idea to bring someone with you for one of the days so they could show them home treatments that they could do with you. My annoyance shifted into anger. If my husband could fly out to California to see a car, why would he not offer to come with me? Am I less important than a car? He works 24-hour shifts at the fire station on Wednesdays, so I called him when I got off work.

“Clear Passage said it was a good idea to have someone with you one day,” I explained, hopefully.

“I don’t know if I can get off,” he sighed, “I just got back and we have a fire inspection that Friday on one of the bigger buildings. That would also use a lot of my leave”

“You are needing to burn leave before you retire,” I responded hotly “and you certainly didn’t have a problem taking off to go look at a car.” I knew it wasn’t nice, but I was very hurt.

“I’m sorry, baby,” he apologized, “I didn’t think Clear Passage would let me be there since you’ve mentioned how secretive they are. I also thought you might want some quiet time to yourself.”

“No,” I cried,” I don’t like to be alone and I’m really nervous about this.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” he said.

Luckily, he was able to take the week off. I felt bad that he had to trade it out to work the week after Christmas, but this was important. Again, my husband is an amazing man and I wouldn’t make it through all of this without his support. As we left on Sunday, I was filled with hope.

Clear Passage – Day 1

The office was lovely and filled with staff that quickly put you at ease. I had two different therapists. Yes, you pay out the yin-yang, but it was amazing to have someone who will just let you talk about your struggle with adhesions and work together with you towards a solution that works for you. They carried out a ton of tests the first day. I was impressed by how much knowledge each of the therapists had regarding the human body. It was very light-touch the first day. She mentioned that my Coke-induced diarrhea method wasn’t the best idea. I guess I’m causing several other problems, besides just getting fat.

Day 2

This day was much more intense! They are very good at letting you decide if something is too much for you. I respect that. I had pelvic therapy today, which was totally awkward. Part of the theory of Clear Passage involves putting pressure on parts of the body for several minutes. Having a stranger with a hand in my hoo-ha for that long was uncomfortable and odd. At first, conversation was challenging, but I asked questioned and learned a lot. For some reason, the fact that she had an Australian accent made it better. I don’t know why, but British and Australian accents can make any topic seem perfectly normal for me. I’m trying to think if I had a teacher or something with an accent that makes me go back to a happy place. Maybe it was just watching Mary Poppins. Maybe it is the terms used – sitting on your “bum” has a nice ring to it.

After the pelvic part was done, the rest was much better from a comfort standpoint. More pressing and holding various parts of my stomach. Tomorrow, my husband will come and learn some techniques that he can help me with from home. Hopefully, it doesn’t include the pelvic part. I only have other plans with him for that part of my body. . .

Day 3

Happy birthday to me! Nothing like spending your 50^th getting your stomach smooshed all day. Today I skipped my morning Coke and had a few sips of coffee. I thought that this would be a great time to try out going off the Cokes since they would “fix” me (afterwards, I caved and had a small Coke, though). They worked to show me methods I could use at home. They also showed my husband methods. It was a lot of pressing with the whole hand and keeping there for at least 2 minutes. For the second part of the session, the therapist mainly worked on my back. I have adhesions there as well and the abdominal ones pull through there as well.

That evening, my brother and his wife drove up from Orlando and took me to dinner to celebrate my birthday. I ate a good bit. By the time I got home, my stomach hurt and I was pretty miserable.

Day 4

I drank a Mexican Coke this morning instead of the huge one. My stomach was pretty bloated. I haven’t had a good bowel movement since Monday afternoon. I am now wondering if this was a total waste of a huge amount of money. I feel worse than when I started. I don’t feel it is working. I think they could see the disappointment in my eyes. They reminded me that my body was going through a lot, my diet was off, and I should give it time. I left feeling very frustrated. I’m drinking tons of water. I’m walking. I’m scared that nothing is working.

That night, I was still in pain. I ate half of my dinner. We did go to a cute comedy show that helped take the edge off the pain by getting my mind off my lack of bowel movements. I was starting to get desperate. I kept drinking water. Before bed, I had a glass of wine to dull the pain. It helped minimally. I balled up in the fetal position and felt stupid for what I considered a pricy mistake. My husband reminded me that it might take time. The therapists had mentioned that, but I didn’t want to listen. I had envisioned that the twenty hours of therapy would certainly be enough to fix me.

Day 5

The next morning, I decided to drink two Mexican Cokes. I felt a little guilty for it, but I really was getting fearful of the lack of bowel movements. I went some. Not enough, but some. There was a difference. It wasn’t the flush out experience that results from my huge Coke. A slight glimmer of hope was there. When I arrived at Clear Passage, I was still feeling things weren’t working. While there, though, I went a few more times. They again reminded me that everybody was different and that it might be quite some time before I noticed real change. Both therapists recommended that, in addition to the home follow-up program, I should work on changing my diet.

I left feeling somewhat disappointed that my week didn’t “fix” the issue; however, I feel that I learned so much that it made it worth the high price tag. I realized that I was creating a huge monster drinking copious amounts of high-fructose corn syrup Cokes every day. I’m committing to going back to Mexican Cokes as a start while I looked for other options.

After returning from Clear Passage, I was on a quest to improve my diet in ways that would help my digestive issues. I found that trying to be low gluten was helpful. One of the therapists mentioned that several clients had mentioned that they did better on flours from Europe. I was intrigued. After a few hours of research, I found that European flours are made from a different type of wheat that has less protein. Less protein means less gluten. Add this with the fact that they don’t spray their crops with products like Round-Up, and we have a winner. I searched my local area for places that would sell European flours. I discovered that Whole Foods carried it.

It was two days before Christmas and we still needed to finish some shopping. I had my husband drop me off at the shopping center that conveniently has a Whole Foods while he went to visit his dad. First, I had to buy my son a Donut Media car shirt from Zumiez. I walked in and was glumly greeted by a young girl with multiple piercings. I’d never heard so many F-bombs in songs played in a store – mainly because I only listen to Christian music and 80’s rock. I found my son a shirt and prayed a hedge of protection around anyone under the age of 18 who entered that store. Between the music and heavy drug and sex-related theme of the products, I cringed. I felt like such a grandma going into that store. Then I was remembered trips to the mall in my teens with my friends. We would always head to Spencer’s Gifts to stare in wonder at all the merchandise we were shocked they could have out in the open. We would dare each other to figure out what some things were for. Ah, the youthful fascination with inappropriate items! I loved to go there and giggle with my friends. None of us became druggies or whores. I felt a little better as I left.

After my Zumiez experience, I headed to Whole Foods and bought the tiny bag of Italian flour with the exorbitant tag. Walking around, my stomach started to growl. I looked for a snack for quite some time. Balancing something yummy and nutritious with my cheapness at Whole Foods is a challenge. I found it! They were having a sale on fresh pineapple chunks. I bought them, got a fork on my way out, and then began my walk across the road to Michaels for some unnecessary art products. I ate a little over half of the chunks and got the glorious feeling of needing to go. Even more thrilling was the fact that I had a bowel movement that was more normal than I had experienced in years! Had a found the answer?

I went home and started searching the internet. Part of the reason that I love working for a college is the perk of access to college library databases. I came across a medical article regarding the ability of pineapple to dissolve phytobezoars. Could this be a supplement and possibly future replacement for the Cokes? Dare I dream?

The next day, I had my one Mexican Coke and then ate the rest of the pineapple. An hour later, I was on the toilet with another normal BM. I wasn’t rushing to the toilet with loose stools. I went twice that day – I was so excited! To be fair, I was also walking, hydrating well, and doing the post Clear Passage work, but I really thought I was on to something.

In addition to the pineapple, I also decided to reintroduce homemade kefir. I love the kind at the grocery store, but realize that it isn’t that great for you. The science experiment version at home supposedly has more of the good bacteria. I successfully mastered sourdough starter, so why not kefir? I still haven’t figured out how to get it completely smooth, so I generally add it to a smoothie.

Now, I’m mixing the kefir with my blendered pineapple chunks. I am cautiously hopeful as many attempts have worked for a few weeks before my Gremlin counters and ends their success.

Top 10 Fears

1. Overflowing a toilet in public
2. Closed bathrooms
3. Not realizing the stall is out of toilet paper
4. Long lines to bathrooms
5. Toilet paper shortages (Covid induced fear)

A year after Clear Passage

 I continue to struggle, but feel that I understand the beasts that dwell inside me so much better. My new struggle is weight gain. I have put on 10 pounds this year. Most of this is due to my new job. I now sit at a desk all day. I love sweets and seem to lack the restraint I used to have. I know that the weight is causing more problems with adhesions. I will continue to learn more and share what I find . . .

Beck, David E. “Understanding Abdominal Adhesions.” Ostomy Quarterly, vol. 38, no. 2, winter 2001, p. 50. Gale Academic OneFile Select, link.gale.com/apps/doc/A70925927/EAIM?u=lincclin_owcc&sid=bookmark-EAIM&xid=2d280f9c. Accessed 8 Apr. 2023.

Deng, X., Zheng, C., Wang, S., Yang, R., Liu, Z., & Chen, T. (2020). Treatment with a probiotic combination reduces abdominal adhesion in rats by decreasing intestinal inflammation and restoring microbial composition. Oncology Reports, 43, 986-998. https://doi.org/10.3892/or.2020.7463

Gerner-Rasmussen, J., Donatsky, A. M., & Bjerrum, F. (2019). The role of non-invasive imaging techniques in detecting intra-abdominal adhesions: a systematic review. Langenbeck’s Archives of Surgery, 404(6), 653–661. https://doi.org/10.1007/s00423-018-1732-8

References

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Ladas, S. D., Kamberoglou, D., Karamanolis, G., Vlachogiannakos, J., & Zouboulis-Vafiadis, I. (2013). Systematic review: Coca-Cola can effectively dissolve gastric phytobezoars as a first-line treatment. Alimentary Pharmacology & Therapeutics, 37(2), 169–173. https://doi.org/10.1111/apt.12141

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 “In the study cohort 32.6 percent of patients were readmitted a mean of 2.2 times in the subsequent ten years for a potential adhesion-related problem.”

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