I have made a promise with myself to write a proper blog once a week this year and today is the deadline for this week but the ideas aren’t flowing.
I’ve been ill since before Christmas, been to the doctor twice and been told to just ride it out and now have definitely reached the end of my tether. I’ve done really well keeping a brave face on and riding out the storm but having spent the last two nights rolling round in the foetal position in between pacing up and down making noises like a hormonal Chewbacca, enough is enough.
I should have gone to the hospital yesterday morning but apart from being weepy I perked up after some food and was with also the Urbans (6/9 are doctors) so was in good hands. Last night I stayed in Salisbury and lo and behold 3:30 rolled around and I was in agony. Felt like I was giving birth without any painkillers type agony. It subsided after about two hours and I thankfully went back to sleep.
Except I can feel the pain ramping up again and am dreading another night of not knowing what to do with myself. There’s no loneliness quite like the one experienced when you’re in pain and yet I don’t want to go to A&E because I’m still hoping that my GP is right and the problem will stop of its own accord.
I struggle with being “the sickly friend” because it really feels like it is just one freakin’ thing after another with my body. I know I screwed my body into the ground by being so big but I just wish I could catch a break. It scares me that there is always something going wrong because it reminds me of Mum who always said she knew she wouldn’t make it to old bones, and is this my body’s way of telling me I’ll be headed the same way?
Gosh. Doom and indeed gloom.
Come on Mother Nature, back off a bit eh?!