Oh dear - turns out am Proper Poorly!

Gallstones - well, prettier than Gallstones!

Gory Bits

I went for an Ultra-Sound scan yesterday. We were looking for gallstones. And we er found some. Seven to be exact. And BIG ones! And all because of a chance conversation at uni, in which I was wittering on about my costachondritis! Might never have known! Might have found out when my gallbladder burst and I er... died.

Rather more worryingly, we also found some 'bright bits'. Apparently tumours are dark bits, so a sigh of relief there. Nevertheless, there's a big bright bit on the liver, and another on the kidney. I'm saying the liver, instead of my liver in the faint hopes that it has psychological value. But should I be, like, totally freakin' out right now? Would you be?

Perhaps a tad.

So looks like surgery. Ouch. I had my appendix out when I was about 9. I had an attack of cramps that just wouldn't go away and ended up in casualty. The examination, incase you didn't know, is rectal, and if I wasn't impressed with this development, I was even less so when I got rushed to theatre. I think I turned into a small banshee, and took out three nurses before they finally knocked me out. It burst on the table, and I was screwed for days later. Embarrasingly I was the worst child patient ever. I wouldn't keep a drip in (still can't abide them as am needle phobic) and cried the whole time. But - I did get lots of pressies and the pain I'd been in for over a year had finally stopped, which made up for it. I thought I never want to be in hospital again even if they did save my little life.

But then I got attacked by a German Shepherd when I was 12. It got me by the throat before finally arriving at the back of my neck where it got a proper purchase and dragged me 200 yards. It had quite a good chew before someone rescued me, and I remember waiting 4 long hours before someone sewed me back together. All those feelings of being totally out of control came flooding back. And it really, really hurt! I thought, shit - I gotta take better care of myself!

But then nine years ago, after years of pain, I had to have my wisdom teeth surgically removed. Husband'd had his out and reported no problems whatsoever, so I figured I'd be fine. What fun! I came round on a trolley with lots of other be-gowned bodies in various states of consciousness and/or pain, to the sensation of having something being pushed up my backside - it turned out to be a painkiller which I couldn't have downed orally if I'd tried. As soon as I could sit up I tried to leave - worried that someone was going to try to shove something else into an orifice not designed for the purpose - but promptly fell over in a pool of freshly vomited up blood. So I got to stay a few hours longer. One of the nurses enquired, "Fanny or Face?" as it was wisdom teeth one side, and gynae on the other. Then we watched in horror as one of the 'Fannies' reacted badly to the anaesthetic and was wheeled away amidst a circus of medical staff.

It got worse when I got home and er... overdosed on a cocktail of painkillers and started hallucinating. I couldn't understand why my hubby was climbing up a rock face in his underpants when I was on the ground heaving and wretching. Talk about being at your best - stark naked, spewing up fresh blood and screaming as the stitches popped one by one. I can't believe he still married me after that sexy little episode!

I just can't seem to do these things simply. Even when I gave birth to my youngest at home (read no pain relief), I had to get a retained placenta and bleed out all over the living room, with what can only be described as entrails trailing. Super midwives sorted it all out with a catheter (ouch) and a bit of 'in up to elbow' (triple ouch) and I lived to tell the tale. And they didn't have to hospitalise me either. Phew!

So perhaps these things are just sent to try us, and I'm being daft worrying about all the shit that can go wrong. And the pain. Let's not forget that it's gotta hurt having bits cut out. And I'm suuuuuch a wimp!

Writing/PhD update

On the plus side it's made me realise that I better get the bloody book written just in case, although am obviously hoping that whatever gets me in the end, doesn't get me until I'm a ripe old age. I've counted up everything I've typed so far, and there's a whopping great 45,000 words. This is a huge relief as my supervisors want to see me prontito and so far i've only given 'em 1,000 words and I had promised them the first draft by October. Hmm. Now who was being ever so slightly over-optimistic there! I didn't factor in the summer holidays with the kids, a two week trip to Spain, or teaching a new course.

But 45,000 words. And note-books. Endless note-books. Woo hoo!

And I've been vindicated. I haven't been rolling on the floor screaming because I'm over-dramatic, but because I have ugly little rocks in me tum, and bright things on other vital organs. Wonder if I've got costachondritis as well?! Now that would be unlucky!

I'm off to down more Ibuprofen and plan lessons to take my mind of all these pleasant thoughts!

Have a great day, and be healthy!