Suicide bunny and other musings ….

I am not sure how to start this post.

This is not a cry for help.

This is not a cry for trying to convince me to speak to someone.

Really it is not.

I have this post on the edges of my brain, and if I don’t put it down then what ever I write is going to feel like I am being dishonest.  As that is not what is really on my mind.

I have struggled with depression and an anxiety disorder for some time.  I have my good days, and I have my really cannot get out of bed days, but know I must pull the duvet off and just get on with it days.

I am on the right depression and anxiety medication.  I feel a hundred times better than I did say two years ago.  I am much more level and my emotions and reactions are even keeled.  The internal buzz has more or less quieted down to a mild drone.

Good times.

The addition of IBS has been challenging – the problem with it is that I feel ill much of the time.

My abdomen swells, I look 6 months pregnant – the pain spreads out across my back, then everywhere to the point where my skin actually starts to feel sore.  I am fending off remarks about “when I am due” with way too much frequency – of course it affects how I feel about myself and look horrendous.

I hate the way I look.  I hate looking at myself in the mirror.  I try to avoid seeing myself.  Tricky with floor to ceiling mirrors in our bathroom.

If my child asks me once more if I have I have a baby in my tummy, I might throttle her.

I have changed my diet/intake of food lasts week, because I believe my issue is far greater than a few days of feeling shite.  I am reading a few books on IBS and there have been several home truths -and reading another two for perspective.


The list of what I should avoid is long.

There is no easy quick fix.

There is a however a solution if I carefully monitor my intake, and ensure that I avoid refined sugar, refined wheat, dairy, caffeine and alcohol – pretty much everything at McDonalds.  Clearly I draw the line at excluding alcohol.  Let’s not be rash and too hasty now.

If I am excluding that, then the reason to live starts to get a bit hazy and uncertain.

The last four or five days have been a period of exclusion and making different decisions about what I eat.  There is just no way I can continue to survive and eat as I have been doing.

I don’t eat badly or in excessive, but I just cannot eat this way for myself and be healthy and comfortable.

This requires some thought, and a bit of a rethink about my life going forward.  I am not suggesting that IBS is a bit of a stomach ache.  I am suggesting it has become such a pr0blem that affects my every day functioning – I need to decide to behave differently if living is a goal.

My other issue is misophonia – a violent, sudden and physical reaction to sound.

I generally control the sound I experience and generally it does not change my mood or the way I behave.

The only exclusion is the drive home in the afternoon with the kids from school. It has become abundantly clear that I am actually unable to do that five days a week, and ensure all four of us make it home alive – the fighting and the noise in a confined space is doing my head in.  One drive home at a time.  One at a time.  I wistfully think of giving them bus fare/taxi fare and just “winging” it. If two out of three get home, then it is a win, right?

I have been falling out of the car recently and being thankful we have all made it home alive.  I am so irritated, and tense that the rest of the evening is a total lost cause.

Music radio??

For the love of gd.  It is beyond me how I managed to listen to it for so many years.  At the moment I always have audio CDs to listen to when I get into my car.  I listen to a story, or a collection of music CDs that I know will not trigger a reaction.  More story CDs than music, because I find the repetitive nature of most songs sets me off.  It is like having nails across a chalk board, or cutting wool with your teeth.

However when I get into Kennith’s car he listens to Five FM, and I seriously start wondering if I opened the car door, and released my seat belt if I could quietly roll away and the sound of the repetitive really bad music would stop and I could roll myself into a coma and then quietly pass away.

I am weighing up whether rolling out of the car is better than stabbing him in the temple with my Revlon chubby stick.  I am not sure.  I get more irritated that he does not realise how much the noise is a factor and how much it upsets me.  So instead I sit there and stare out the window and praying the car trip will be over.  Grinding my teeth and praying.  Soon.  Let it end.

Music radio is repetitive and at a pitch that I cannot bear.  5 minutes of five FM and I would kill you to make it stop.  Like dead.  I would feel total comfort in burying your body under my lavender.

Not feeling well, makes me wound tight as a reel.

Everything totally freaks me out.  I am sore, my nerves are shredded and no doubt it just makes my stomach tighten and the cramps and spasms worse.

Priv has just had a baby. Priv is my rock, she is the reason I remain vaguely sane.  The last month (June and July) without her in her usual position has left me frayed and stressed.  I was stressed before she has her baby, as I imagined the worst possible outcome for her and her  baby.

I worried, I fretted.

She went into labour last Monday, and the week was about running back and forth to the hospital, waiting in waiting rooms, trying to navigate the public health system and worrying for her every moment of every day made my nerves frayed, and I am exhausted.  I feel sick with worry.

Priv and her baby girl are happily home and I am relieved.

But I worry.  I worry how this is going to work going forward.  I worry about everything.  I worry about her.  I worry about the baby. I worry about how this arrangement is going to work going forward.  I worry. I worry eternally about everything.  Of course when someone asks I say “it’ll work itself out” in a little sing-song voice I have mastered.

Every little thing. I worry about.  I worry to the point that my jaw is sore because I have it set in such an uncomfortable manner.

If I started biting my nails (as I did until 1999) they would be bitten to the quick and bleeding.  But I have nice nails, and no longer chew them – but I have started scratching my legs – that helps.  I also pinch my upper leg, or I flick my fingers.

I am so worried about her.  I am so worried about me and my ability to cope at the moment.

My IBS on a scale of 1 to 10 is a good and solid 8 1/2 and I feel grim most of the time.  It makes me irritable, hostile and angry. I cannot function when it is at it’s worst.  My stomach swells, I feel nauseous, I feel sweaty – I have cramps and spasms that are surely my comeuppance for not attempting a birth.

The last three nights as I dozed off my mind has been trying to calculate exactly how much medication an overdose would be.  How much would I have to take?  Would I prefer a 3 month coma or straight death?  Tricky, tricky — which will it be?  I have enough schedule 5 drugs to stop a small herd of goats firmly in their tracks.

Could I just go to sleep, and be at peace?  No more pain, no more discomfort, no more feeling shite.  Could that really be an option? Or is it time to schedule another little sojourn in my nearby clinic?

I don’t want to rob my kids of a mom.  I also do not want to be an irritated, upset, horrible mother than clouds their existence.  The reason they are on a leather couch in 15 years bemoaning why the fuck their mother could not just be happy.

I looked at some short videos that Kennith had taken recently of our holiday, and Georgia’s birthday party.

I am not the one smiling.  I never look happy. I look pained, irritated and angry – which is pretty much how I feel most of the time.  I am never smiling in videos or photographs – unless someone tells me to smile, and then it is forced and never moves to my eyes.

I know that if I wrote down a list of “things to be happy for” and “things to be fucked off about” – my list of happy would far exceed my “things to be fucked off about.”

I have a good life.

I have some wonderful advantages in my life, I have so much to be happy about – but I am unfortunately so deeply unhappy.

The reality is that my reality feels dark, sad, pained and confusing — and at a certain point I start to look for ways to step off the fun, but nauseating round about.

So that’s how I feel them.  Clearly not main stream happy, and maybe not Living and Loving Magazine cover bullshit, but there we go.  You know what they say …. actually I have no idea what the fuck they say.


suicide bunny

IBS …. holy crap


I have suffered with IBS since about 1994.

Need to know what IBS is – check out this link and this one, and then you know.

I am sure I had episodes (what I politely call bouts of swelling, cramping, sweating, crying and looking like I am 7 months pregnant) before, but I recall them from 1994 onwards.

I am not sure I know what caused IBS.  I still am not sure exactly what my triggers are.  I am not sure how to relieve the symptoms.

It is excruciating, and I thought over time it would get better – the last two or three years have been a slow and gradual dip into the hell that is irritable bowl syndrome.

IBS is the same as a stomach ache, as a Migraine is the same as a head ache.  Nothing like it.  The only similarity is the area of pain.

I know that when I have too much: pasta, meat, tea, a bad combination of food, too much food, white bread, the wind blows slightly north-easterly, I watch too much Toddlers and Tiara’s.  The point is I have no idea and short of lying in a drunken stupour and not being aware of anything, I really have not found the trigger and the cause.

I merely deal with the symptoms.

I go into spasms and it kicks it off.  Some times it just gradually grows worse and worse until my skin is stretched so taught that I start t0 walk like I am pregnant and hold my lower back.

My stomach swells – I start to get spasms, that start in my abdomen, then spread out into my back and then I think into my brain.

On the upside, and really I mean this sincerely, some people suffer from such explosively bad diarrhea that they cannot leave the house – “fortunately” I am on the other end of the scale, and get so constipated there is actually no realistic manner anything is or can come out, without the introduction of a large garden hose and a fair amount of water pressure.

A fairly good bout of IBS makes me want to purchase a sawn off shotgun, kill everyone and then myself.

All I can think of doing is getting in to bed with a hot water bottle, taking a stupid amount of Librax and sleeping, and when I wake up taking another handful of Librax and repeating the exercise until it is no longer needed.

It is not loads of fun.  It makes a barium enema look like Disney Land!

I have had a bout which started about two weeks ago, and somehow managed to find a way to get more sore each day.

The problem with being in excruciating pain is you lose your sense of humour.  Like totally.

You start to develop a sincere disinterest in everyone’s babble-babble because all you can feel is your pain – and really the energy it takes to pay attention is almost impossible.  Yesterday my mom was trying to show me the house they had renovated — I was leaning over at 90 degrees holding my side and going “huh-huh-huh”and the pain was so bad I actually could not hear what they were saying.

Which was a pity as they had done a phenomenal job.

I have realised I would make a poor amputee or person with cancer (yes I realise that is somewhat politically incorrect) -anyone who is sick or injured and who has a jolly composure.

You know how sick people sometime have that upbeat attitude and you get all soft and squishy about them and say “why, my goodness she is an inspiration!!” yep, I would be nothing like that.  NOTHING!

I would be the opposite of what ever that is.

I would be the one no one wants to visit, and no one sends cards to.

I would be folded triple in my hospital bed swearing at the help, and be a bit sour when you popped by to brighten my day.  I might even say things like “fuck you and your carnations, you have no idea of the amount of pain I am in … ”

I might move between that and promising sexual gratifications (which I would pay for, but not supply) to anyone who was able to push up my Morphine supply and promise me relief-giving suppositories on the half hour.

The last three weeks have been slightly less than fun.

Last night I stood and cried in the shower and wondered if there was any way in hell if my stomach could actually be pushed out any further without me being given a surprise baby shower and being asked to pant and not breath.

After I wiped the snot on the towel I decided to see if I could overdose on Dulcolax.

The short answer is no.

But if you take enough you will wake up at 4am. Not gently.  But in the “sit up screaming WHAT THE FUCK” as you fly out of bed to find the nearest toilet – BECAUSE THE EARTH IS ABOUT TO SHOOT OUT YOUR RECTUM.  But not in a fun way.

Holy cheese and rice.

I think I might have broken the septic toilet.

I have decided to sit here quietly and say nothing as I watch the plumbers work – every now and then I shake my head in agreement and say “those damn kids, you never know what they shove down toilets ….. tsk tsk tsk ….”

IBS.  I have nothing good to say about that heinous bitch.


I have a pretty glass water bottle for my desk …..

I am probably the world’s worst eater according to a schedule person.

I seldom have breakfast. I often skip lunch, and if I don’t feel like eating for dinner I don’t.  Food, right now, is not a high priority in my life.  I am not sure why, but I seldom feel an overriding need to eat.

It is more of a “I choose to eat” and often I don’t choose to.  And I can sometimes get past two days and realise I have not eaten anything.  I just forgot.

One would think I would be über skinny.  Sadly no.  I sense that not eating but drinking copious amounts of wine, probably cancels out the low calories on the one hand.

I bounce between feeling super wired and hyped to being so lethargic, I just want to lie down … for a long time.

I hate drinking water.  I drink a lot of Earl Grey tea.  I put ice in my wine, and that counts as water intake.  I often forget to eat.  I often forget to go to the bathroom.

Last night I met with Lizel who is going to become my “better health, better diet” coach.  Bless her, I am not sure she fully understands the uphill journey she has ahead of her with me, but she is very positive.

We chatted about eating and life, and how it impacts your body, and your everyday life.  The realisation that many common illnesses are diet related.  I nodded, and then leaned over to sip my wine.

I am starting on some Herbalife products tomorrow.

I figure worst case scenario I start and if I drink 3 x shakes in place of meals (that I am not eating anyway) at least it is a start.  Gets protein in, and is very little effort, as long as I don’t make a song and dance about it.

The main point for me right now is to find an alternative for food that I can get in, so that at least my body is getting some sustenance, rather than doing this “famine/feast” thing it has got going on.

I have also bought a really pretty glass water bottle and placed it on my desk, with my cheap-arse glass and it is my aim to drink water during the day.  For me that is a bit of a revolutionary behaviour.

I usually don’t drink any water – at all – so the fact that there is a bottle on my desk is already quite an achievement.  I figure to start I just need to finish one bottle a day – 750ml.  If I can do that, then maybe I can graduate to 2 x bottles of 750ml, and we can see where we go from there.

Part of the aim is to lose weight, I’d like to lose about 10 – 12 kilograms.

But I also just want to feel better.  I don’t feel better right now.

I really need to find a way to get some energy back.  My energy levels are all over the show, and probably directly related to my eating habits.  If I can get that down to some sort of “order” then my blood sugar stabilises and logic tells me it will assist with my mood, my energy levels and maybe help me with my depression and anxiety disorder.

I get that a shake = a help for depression is a bit of a stretch. But right now I am willing to give it a whirl.  I am also hoping that my IBS/Spastic Colon gets some support as well.  Lizel has suggested some Aloe stuff to take in the morning.  She promises is it lemon zesty and I will really like it.  I am always pessimistically suspicious, but I am giving it a go.

I promise never to wear a pin badge “Lose Weight Now, Ask me How!”  If I do, I give you permission to take the badge off my shirt, and stab me between the eyes with the pin part.

So that’s my plan. Herbalife.  Water.  Shakes as meal replacements.  Not amending my wine intake at all.

Day 1 is tomorrow, so here we go.

And the hits just keep coming …..

I have a very simple theory to prevent yourself being pummelled to death with a doughnut.  It has worked well for me over the years, and I am about to impart it to you ….. so prepare yourself.

It goes like this: “Never EVER ask if someone is pregnant, or when they are due.  Unless YOU HAVE SEEN a fetal baby scan photo that the person has shown you in the last hour.  Alternatively if you have actually seen a head crowning between that woman’s legs.  I personally think the head crowning is a much safer measure”

Those are the only sure fire indicators that a woman might/may well be pregnant – and unless you see one, either or both of these indicators, NEVER ASK IF SOMEONE IS PREGNANT.

Just don’t.

The problem is if you ask, and the answer is no, well then you are screwed.  There is actually just no way to recover, and that person will hate you FOR.E.VER and E.VE.R!!

Even if they say “no it is okay, I get it all the time” it is not fine, and they will hate you and you are a chop!

I have had a few corkers in my time:-

1.  I was at Tech and first day in a lecture, put up my hand and asked the lecturer when she goes on maternity leave will there be someone filling in for her ….. she then explained to me that she was not pregnant and had a little bloating.

You know that moment when you realise that no matter what you do in a course, you are going to just not do well.

<and since then I have never asked another soul if they are pregnant – that was my moment of learning>

2.  I went to a business dinner with Kennith and some suppliers from the East a few years back – I think it was in 2007.  Dinner was going famously, until one of the guests leaned over and asked me when I was due.

The problem is that I did not quite hear her and had to ask again.  By that point, I had heard her, the entire table had heard her and so too had the parking guard out  in the parking area.   I was mortified!

And really cheesed off.  It was not because I was overweight, it was because of the shirt I chose that was clearly a bit too flowy ….. that must be it ……….that shirt found it’s way to the dustbin pronto.

3.  Kennith’s cousin’s dad also asked me if I was pregnant and I think that was around 2008.  He is a small man and at the time was lying on a low couch watching television – I used the excuse that his perceptive of vanishing points was all wonky, because he was lying down.

Of course I did want to kick him in the nuts as well, but I didn’t – he is sort of loosely family!

4.  Then my latest and greatest was we were in Johannesburg last month and on the Gautrain on our way to the stadium for the U2 concert.  Train was pretty full, and a guy offered me his seat.

I thought nice guy – well he did not offer me his seat as much as he offered to scoot over and sit really close to his mate and make space for me.  I thought it was my charming personality and the slight sway I had in my step from the bottle and a half of wine at lunch.

So I thanked him for his manners and queried why he was kind enough to offer a space to me and not to the other girls on the train ….. he said something about ‘someone in your condition’….and I thought ‘well, yes I have been drinking, but it is not like I have to drive the train…..’ and then the penny dropped.   I think the penny did not drop as much as I heard Kennith giggling …… and then the penny sort of echo’d into the tin that is my brain.

Someone with more principles would have kneed him in the scrotum and stumbled off all offended, but I accepted I had a seat …. and proceeded to really think about my waistline a bit and whether I really should have eaten that full portion of ribs for lunch ……

Anyway, so all in all, I am not exactly riding the wave of good vibes right now ….. I do really think that I am going to have a total sense of humour failure quite soon what with my age and my pregnancy and all.

Not feeling so good …

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.

IBS is a Bitch

I have suffered with IBS for some time and during 2008 it was in full swing with a vengeance.  I am not sure if it was coincidence or whether the hormones during pregnancy added to the problem, but I was really not in the best place with awful bloating and serious cramping.

I could not take Buscopan (there is a big warning on the pack related to pregnant and lactating woman, that scared the bejesus in to you, so you tend to rather just lie in the fetal position and weep)  or anything else and was feeling quite awful.  Kennith suggested I try our chiropractor guy.

I was somewhat apprehensive as I could not see the correlation between IBS and how re-aligning my spine was going to work out my problem for me.

Listen, I am so the skeptic, so trust me if I toddle along to something and it works, then you must realize that it is just short of a miracle, because there is no way it worked because I have good karma or believed in any way!!

I explained my situation to the long suffering Dr. Mark.  He did not actually say that he would be able to “cure” the IBS – which I appreciated – but he seemed confident that he may help with the symptoms.  Sometimes I need to have people who have an optimistic outlook to negate my very pessimistic frame of mind.

I can’t quite explain how sore I was.  If you have not suffered from IBS I realize it is difficult to gauge how uncomfortable it is.  You probably think it is a bad tummy ache.  But generally the symptoms – for me –  are severe bloating – I can add 2 – 3 sizes on my clothes for swelling. I have cramping, often a dull cramp, but combined with sharp persistent cramping.  I usually feel a bit sweaty, like I am in real distress. I start to feel very tired, as my body just want to lie down and rest.  Sitting is sore, standing is sore, everything is sore, and nothing seems to relieve it.  Having this constant pain starts putting me into a very bad mood and my temper gets shorter and shorter.

By the time I got to Dr Mark I was unable to sit in the chair in the waiting room – I had to stand, pace a bit, lean over a chair a bit – take shallow breathes, it really was all a bit sad and pathetic.

I lay on the narrow chiro bed and he applied some pressure to pressure points on my neck, my lower back and behind my knees – no spine popping or anything.  After a bit he said he was all done and I could go and I should come back.  Initially I felt a small bit disappointed that there was not a “halleluja” moment where the heavens opened up, but anyway, clearly I was expecting too much out of this.

I left feeling sore but realized that though I was sore, I was not in excruciating pain.  I was immediately suspicious that I had been duped, but went back for the second appointment about three days later.

Well, bugger believing!!  I am not sure what he did,  but my IBS went away – and it was brilliant. Once the results of the cramping had relaxed and I could start to stand straight and take a proper breath, I definitely felt better.

Bearing in mind that I had not had a symptom free day in more than 4 months, so damn it was like a modern day miracle.  (I am nearly 11 months down the line when I write this and I am still symptom free, so do not poo-poo a chiropractor as a possible solution.)

I think because I knew this would be my last pregnancy I tried to be much more aware and present the whole way through.  So it was wonderful to be able to sit back and start enjoying all the changes going on in my body, rather than being curled up in a ball in the corner sobbing!!

Congratulations …… it’s an Enema

My first pregnancy was pretty uneventful.

At the time you worry about whether you are standing too close to the microwave or have you eaten too many carrots and poisoned your child with excesses of vitamin A.

The things that your mind can worry about are pretty endless.  They tend to be the kind where your little eyes pop open from a peaceful sleep to worry and fret, while your husband/partner/sperm donor snores on peacefully.

Sidebar:  I’ve suffered from IBS in varying degrees for years.  This particular year it seemed to have increased in intensity. I had weeks of swelling and unbelievable cramping.  Eventually I made an appointment at a gastroenterologist.  I was not quite sure what one did – I had to look it up in the Yellow Pages and they had a helpful diagram which pointed to the body part and told me which specialist I would need – very clever marketing.  I was beyond caring and just wanted him to take the pain go away.

While examining me I had to lie on the bed in a fetal position as there was no way I could lie flat with that amount of cramping. He sent me along for the standard (and non-conclusive) blood work and then decided that a barium enema was just the thing to cheer a young girl like me up.

I happily took enough laxatives , ate my body weight in Buscopan and limped along to the x-ray to leave whatever was left of my flagging dignity while a doctor and a nurse shoved what was the equivalent of a garden hose up my bottom – all while trying to make small talk with me.  Me trying to hide my face and just weep quietly into the hospital issue pillow.

After a few more days of lying on the couch in what really was an inert position and moaning or whimpering, Kennith bravely suggested a pregnancy test, and as history can reveal it was positive.

I could not have been more surprised and had been so sick that trying to track my menstrual cycle did not really seem very important at the time.

Generally X-rays and Buscopan are not recommended as part of a diet during the early days of conception, so we had every reason  to be a tad worried.  We had a wonderfully knowledgeable OBGYN who he sent us a long for a few extra fetal assessment scans to put us all at ease.

We saw our little bean bobbing around in the amniotic fluid.  We were so full of smiles and good times that none of us noticed the cataclysmic H-bomb that that little bean had in his back pocket.

I fondly recall hours of lying on the bed on a Saturday afternoon reading my book and dozing off whilst a trail of saliva pooled on the pillow to wake me from my afternoon slumber.

It was all so pleasant, so idyllic, little did I know that there was a shocking awakening approaching …..