I think my IBS came on me slowly. First it was pork that started disagreeing with me (1967), so I cut it out of my diet. Then it was red meat (circa 1977). I developed what I thought was a mental problem around 1980 when I freaked out every day after work before getting on the commuter bus, knowing I was stuck and couldn't get off the bus until the first stop, 2 hours away! Actually, it was that experience that I have since blamed for my IBS -- that and the added stress of the high-power job. At the time, though, I did not realize I had IBS; I thought I had a mental problem.
Whenever I ate large meals, I got sick. I blamed the food. Whenever I had fatty foods, I got sick. Again, I blamed the potato chips. It never registered with me that I might have to blame my colon.
I knew nothing about IBS. It was just 4 years ago that a fellow employee said to me, "I think you have IBS." I looked it up in the medical dictionary because I'd never heard of it except for brief notations in medical summaries that I used to transcribe and wondered about. I saw the doctor and asked for a referral to a GI. The GI was a jerk, very condescending, stuck on himself -- I hated him and refused to return. I decided I wasn't going to have IBS -- whatever it was -- and ignored it. When we sold our home in California and moved up here 3 years ago, I could no longer ignore it. I found a new doctor up here who said he thought I did indeed have IBS. His question to me was: "You're a perfectionist, aren't you?" Interesting -- because that's what my doctor in California asked me before he too told me he thought I had IBS. The answer to both was an undeniable YES. He sent me to a GI who finally gave me a colonoscopy and confirmed his diagnosis. He too was a jerk because he discovered divertuculum -- only a few -- and suggested surgery, which I refused. I did not need it; my divertulosis wasn't serious enough -- so he told me to get my meds from my primary doctor and showed me the door.
While I've had two surgeries in my life, I can't attribute the IBS to either, although the first one (in 1982) is suspect. Neither can I attribute my IBS to family stressors (although one particular serious incident in 1997 is suspect).
When finally accepted my diagnosis, I blamed my IBS on stress -- after all, I was eating healthy foods, what else could have caused it? -- so I figured the answer was to get rid of all the stress in my life. I went from a high-powered job in San Francisco to a far less-paying position in my home town, 30 miles north of SF, assuming the stress of the job and the commute were to blame. It didn't work; the IBS got worse. I quit that job and took an even less stressful job (and a less meaningful, less paying job) -- but still the IBS continued. So I cut my hours down, went from full-time to part-time. It didn't work either. Finally, I quit working all together, sold my beautiful home in California and moved up here on the Canadian border to "chill out." No stress anymore, right? WRONG!
What I didn't realize was that I was in a "catch-22." The stress I was experiencing was because of the IBS! I worried about the inevitable attack, and the worry actually brought ON the attack! THAT's the stress I'm still trying to get rid of -- and I'm doing a good job of it, thanks to Michael and this incredible Board.
Okay, I think I'm rambling now. Don't you hate it when that happens?
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<img src="http://home.comcast.net/~letsrow/smily3481.gif">Bevvy
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