If there was ever a talent I never thought I’d be so grateful for it’s this- I CAN POO ANYWHERE!
Not necessarily by choice but over the past year I’ve managed to drop the chocs everywhere from a rancid blocked train toilet to the five star rest rooms of Claridges mid press conference. With the exception of the kitchen sink there’s nowhere I won’t scout out as a potential point of relief.
I’m not dying, with the exception of swabs and cameras I’m not about to undergo any major surgery but my bathroom smells like I am.
I’ve perfected all the tricks for and an embarrassment free dump filling the bottom of the loo with a bit of toilet roll and running the tap to block out the sound. I also regularly wake up in the early hours of the morning, bash my shin on the corner of the bed and run to the middle floor to relive myself to prevent my partner from waking up to the stench from the en suite. He’s never complained never given so much as a grumble but the man must have a nose of steel. Almost a year has gone by since we met and I swear a third of that has been spent in the toilet.
It’s not something I’ve ever wanted or been proud of, I find fart jokes repulsive and as a young person would come back from residentials practically constipated as I was only comfortable with the toilet at home but that’s no longer a luxury I can indulge in, there’s been times that only 10 minutes into class I’ve had to make a mad dash for it.
I’ve always had a podgy tummy, and there is nothing to blame for that other than bad diet and cheese cravings but over the past year or so it’s been different. Bloated, hard and looking perpetually six months pregnant. I’ve been offered seats on the tube, managed to get to the front of a toilet queue and spark village rumors after the mums at beavers were convinced I was up the duff (yay). It became a bit of a party trick and we regularly walk around poking it and laughing at my ‘booze baby.’ But it’s not funny and I can’t carry on like this but finally a Doctor has started to take me seriously and referred me to a gut specialist.
It’s not sad, it’s not a shame for me it’s actually a great thing as I’m going to be able to finally start living without being scared I might shit myself. On a daily basis I get to make the decision between feeling sick or taking tablets that make me want to sleep all day- bonus I finally get to live like a cat. And with any look I might be able to stop carrying ‘moist toilet tissues’ everywhere.
The last time I was ill I bottled it up and got pissed. I only spoke about it when drunk and got hysterical. I pushed friends away by being a mess. I don’t want to do that again. Yesterday morning I woke up at half five lept out of bed, woke up Tom and said a drink must have spilt in the bed.
It hadn’t, I’m 30 next month and I’d wet the bed.
We stripped it and he slept on the sofa, we then propped the mattress up while we were out for the day in the hope it would dry out.
Then I realised two things. 1) I need to by one of those waterproof mattress protectors and 2) I need to talk about things as I would HATE to stay over at someone’s house and look like I’d taken a drunk wee or something.
So now, I sit and wait for the next appointment and look forward to being awesome. I feel sick I want a big glass of wine, but its midday, I’ve got work to do and a mop of blonde hair to wash.
Life hasn’t stopped- life is just about to get better.