I have not been feeling well for a few days, it was mainly IBS  (irritable bowl syndrome – or spastic colon or fuck-my-stomach-is-really-sore) related issues.  From about Tuesday night the tempo was definitely stepped up and I really started to feel more crap than bad.

Wednesday was pretty grim, and by Wednesday night I was in agony.  We stopped at an all-night pharmacist and they gave me the usual things that really barely bounce off my symptoms.   I  do think pharmacists should give you schedule 4 or 5 drugs if you have a convincing enough story and lie on their counter, but we can address that in a separate post on another day.

I seldom miss work due to IBS.  It is around so much, that if I stayed off when IBS hit, I would be at home permanently.  So I tend to chew back half a dozen Buscopan and go to work and just focus on getting through the day without screaming at too many people.

I generally lack patience and tact, but when I am in pain, I have been known to be rude to blind crippled children with dyslexia.

My symptoms are usually spasms, of the kind that make you sit up and take notice.  In my case I have to stand, as I can’t actually sit at my desk.  I break out in a slight sweat, and feel really nauseous.  The pain/discomfort increases and it gets to the point where I actually cannot hear what people are saying anymore as I am in so much pain.

My pain is often intensified when people say “Have you got a sore tummy, take an ENO that always make me feel better.” At about that point I start imagining smashing the Eno glass into their face … but again, I seem to have gone off on a tangent.

By Thursday morning I was really out for the count and phoned in sick – I know I may appear to be a lackluster employee, but I rarely take sick days.

I popped off to see a GP.  Who turned out to be really nice and mature – I am so tired of seeing GP’s who look like they are 12 years old and graduated in 1995.  I like my doctors a little old and weathered, and more important who appear to be older than I am – which is getting harder and harder to find as time moves on.

Doctor B was great and did not try to cure the problem, but we discussed my symptoms what has helped over the years, what has not and what today’s problems were.

She gave me some muscle relaxants – gotta love that – though I was hopeful my sphincter did not think the relaxants were for him – and then some pills for intestinal cramping.

What a great combination, especially when taken together and at maximum dose.

Strange how when you look at the recommended dose you always think “well, that is for mere mortals with normal pain, for the pain I am experiencing – which is way off the chart – I need to double if not triple the recommended dose…”  Well, that is how I reason it anyway.

I always figure, what is the worst that can happen – I will just got to sleep for a long time, hardly seems like an undesirable side effect to me.

I would suggest being close to a bed, and not operating any kind of machinery or trying to text at the time of taking said muscle relaxants.

Thursday I lay there like a vegetable, and Friday was not much better – but I did start feeling mildly more human on Friday afternoon.

But strangely for the balance of the weekend I just kept feeling really crap – still crampy, though not throw-you-on-the-floor spasms, but nauseous, heavy, and just totally shite all around.

I was lying in bed on Saturday night whining quietly to Kennith.  Kennith suggested – in a not affectionate/optimistic voice – “is there any way you could be pregnant?”

Now I know that it is scientifically/biologically/religiously/time-space-continuum impossible, but at the same time I recall how I felt when I was last pregnant.  For those first three months and it was pretty much how I felt now – like absolute shite.

Suddenly I was alarmed – and still feeling sick!

Immediately I started worrying – good grief, could you imagine if I am pregnant!!  I am paranoid on the best of days and with the power of suggestion – especially negative suggestion – my mind can pick up on that scenario and run with it.

I had already worked out that I was due in late February/March, it would be a boy.

Kennith and I would practically be divorced then, I would weight at least 30 kilograms more.  Our house would be beyond chaos with too many children and not enough rooms.  I anticipated Pepe resigning because she felt I had pushed her too far.

Work had fired me as I would be so sick during this fourth pregnancy that I would not be at work much, we would be so far into financial trauma that we would be selling off any wedding presents we had received.

I went to scratch in the bathroom cupboard to see if I had an old – unused – pregnancy test lying around.  Sadly no, went back to bed to worry some more.

Sunday stopped at Clicks at Century City – pee’d on a stick – and not suprisingly it was negative.    The emotions one goes through when one is trying to urinate on a stick and not on your hand as you stare at that little line to appear or not to appear is really quite special.

For a moment, I actually thought “gee, what if I am” in a sort of silly smiley way.

The impact of a fourth child now would have killed us, even me a mildly rational person could have seen that.  I am barely coping as is.

Part of me – the sane part – was so relieved to have failed the test, though a very small – actually teeny-tiny-minute part – the unstable part – was a little disappointed, but that part of me likes to fly a little too close to the sun.

Kennith again asked if I would just let him go and have a vasectomy – and again indicated in no uncertain terms that he is OVER HAVING MORE CHILDREN!!  He even added “I AM DONE” with his arms that go up in the air for extra expression.

You know, I understand that.

I don’t accept it, and will continue to badger him some more – but in a subtle way.

He has taken to talking loudly and slowly to me on this issue so that there is no misunderstanding from him to me as to his wishes. But I just ignore him and think he will get on board.  (We can talk later about how I manage to sustain my delusions in the face of all evidence to the contrary.)

I know three children is too much and I often agree that we have bitten off more than we can chew, all this I know, but any way, that was my day.