Went and saw lovely surgeon again last week, he of the twinkly blue eyes and always warm hands. I swear he either has handwarmers in his pockets or the adrenaline of rearranging people’s innards keeps the blood pumping. I was anxious as ever but his warm smile kept me from blurting out something stupid from nerves like last time, when I ended up offering his son a job.
Having dutifully been treated to a lovely dinner a deux of barium and Weetabix it was time to get the results and talk turkey about what’s next. Although no turkey please, it will only make me puke. Because that’s the thing… solid food makes me puke. I puke a lot. I’ve puked everywhere you can think – even into a carrier bag on my lap doing 50 in the slow lane and then had to drive home with a bag of warm sick on my knee. I was sick into a desert bowl at a friend’s wedding during the speeches; I’ve been sick on every date I’ve been on (I carry a toothbrush for these reasons); I’ve been sick in a Church; on several planes; I’ve been sick pretty much everywhere. Gross isn’t it. And I can guarantee that I’ve been sick in the presence of most of you reading this, and a lot of you will not have had the foggiest idea it’s happened. I am now the Queen of the puke and return – I slip off, do my pukey business and am back with you smiling and carrying on before you can so much as blink.
After years of avoiding the issue, being told it was heartburn by the NHS, and getting stuck in with what he calls ‘maladaptive eating’ I decided enough was enough and ponied up the money to go and see lovely surgeon privately. I’m not ashamed to admit that I cried and wanted to give him a rib shattering hug when he said he could help. Couldn’t just help in fact, but would fix whatever had gone wrong and get me back on the right path. Talk about relief.
But LTA I hear you cry, if you’re being sick so much why are you not a size zero bobblehead who needs bookends to keep her head upright because she is so weak from hunger? Why?! Well it comes down to the aforementioned maladaptive eating – basically only eating shit that doesn’t make me sick. Lovingly called ‘slider foods’ it’s all the stuff you’re precisely not supposed to be eating when you’re trying to lose weight which is precisely why my arse is expanding which combined with the puking is a fairly miserable place to be.
So I’m there in his office and we’re watching the barium go into my system on a loop, down and down it goes and I’m thanking fuck I didn’t have to swallow it this many times and he’s nodding and doing his best head tilting thinking face at it. To me it all looks kosher and I can feel my heart sink through the floor when he says ‘I hope I have good news’, before telling me that the bottom end of my stomach isn’t emptying properly and needs to be stretched out to let food through. So far so fixable.
Of course he then goes on to tell me that he also thinks my intestines are telescoping in on themselves like some sort of really shit go-go-Gadget device and that if that’s the case he’ll stitch it all back to where it’s meant to be. So far so fixable… and I’m sat there waiting for the bad news, that I’ve got to have an exploratory laparotomy which will push things back even further but nope, there is a chorus of angels and lovely surgeon tells me he will go in and do his lovely surgeon magic all at once. Huzzah!
Except of course all elective surgeries have been cancelled due to Jeremy Hunt’s master plan for ‘saving’ the NHS. What a Berkshire hunt…