Tuesday, 12 April 2011


Well, that was a fine start to my Easter holiday, wasn't it? Spot of 24 hour vomitting and other such bodily unmentionables. Woke at midnight on Sunday/ Monday with the most awful stomach cramps and the feeling that I was going to die of a heart attack. Feeling exacerbated when I caught myself leaning over the kitchen sink in the same pose adopted by my father the night he died of cardiac failure 13 years ago. My, how irrational the brain is at 2 in the morning. Paced the floor downstairs twixt living room, writing room, kitchen and bathroom in an attempt to get away from whatever it was that was invading my personal body space.

Four hours later and I was still pacing having tried every permutation of 'trying-to-get-comfy' positions including three sofas, sofa cushions on floor, rugs 'n' cushions combos, reclining, supining, leaning against walls, hugging the electric fire in the living room because I was too cold, standing out in the back garden garden because I was too hot, sipping water, mint tea, sucking indigestion tablets,
trying to distract myself by reading, doing puzzles and listening to the dawn chorus when it arrived at 5.30. I even tried some self-healing, concentrating on sweeping a blue ball of healing light through me, visualising the intruder bug being caught on it and rolled away to an intruder bug disposal unit.

Spent the day sleeping, yakking and trying to run away from pain or confront it with more self-healing visualisations. Thoughts of heart attack subsided and were replaced by thoughts of cancer. Cheerful, eh?

But finally, after a day of sipping nowt but water, things began to calm down, and last night I slept - fitful sleep, but sleep nonetheless. Whatever it is, has left the building. Or is at least packing its bags for check-out by 10.

This morning I feel tired and gurgly. My stomach wants to know where the food is. I am saying, 'Hold your horses, pal. You can have a teeny bit of toast and Marmite and we'll see where we go from there.' 'No cake then?' 'No. No way. Absolutely ne pas.'

And I feel foolish and marginally ashamed, because my pain lasted merely a day and all I have to cope with now is catching up with my sleep which I have the luxury to do because I am on Easter Holiday; there are people who live with pain every day of their lives. What have I to fuss about? Nothing, that's what.

Rare days like yesterday make you value your health and the body's amazing ability to sort itself out.

And it also makes you value hubbies who text to make sure you are okay and if you need anything, and get you a newspaper and a new DVD for you to watch to cheer you up.

Even though they themselves have a nasty hacking cough at the moment and are aching like mad because they spent all weekend digging a massive hole in the backgarden to make the base of a herb garden for you.

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