My IBD has been terrible these past few weeks, and I was at the end of my rope yesterday evening, worrying that I will never get any respite from the constant intestinal catastrophe my body inflicts on me day in, day out, preventing me from having any social life.
Will I never be able to go for a walk again without worrying about whether my gut might throw a wobbly in the middle of a path? And what about the concert tickets I’ve bought for July and August at the gorgeous little coastal festival? We’re supposed to be seeing Simple Minds, and then Michael Buble. How can I possibly go? And what about my poor husband? Will we never be able to go to visit friends? And there’s that wedding in Portugal in September! I can’t possibly go! It will be so stressful! What if I get really sick during the reception?
On and on my mind whirred. Living with this kind of anxiety day in day out is exhausting, and I often sleep for hours in the afternoon. I know it’s crazy, that I shouldn’t think this way, but I feel ever so guilty to be inflicting this on my husband when he should be enjoying his retirement. We should be able to do fun things together, but we can't.
However, I am a little more hopeful this evening after contacting my Spanish gastrolenterologist this morning, right after speaking to my Swiss gastro who had nothing helpful to suggest, which made me cry in despair.
My Spanish gastro - who is the most empathetic doctor I’ve ever met - sent me a prescription for a medication that should help, and told me not to worry because there are other options available. So, I’ve taken the medication, and I hope for a peaceful inner life. Keep your fingers crossed for me; I’m dying to go for a walk along the coast and a dip in the sea!
Here is a poem I wrote early last year, from a prompt by Beth Kempton (the prompt was “bunch”) It was very short in its original form, so I’ve had a little play. I’ve completely re-written it, added a bunch of stanzas, and written it with someone in mind!
Francesca xx
THE FIBBER
I’m an excellent fibber,
I can tell you a bunch,
I fib before breakfast,
I fib before lunch.
I fib in the afternoon,
I fib late at night,
I fib when I’m wrong,
I fib when you’re right.
I fib to my wife
And to my kids too,
I fib to my mistresses,
- I have quite a few!
I fib to my people
Don’t mind if I do!
I fib to world leaders
Hey, what can they do?
I fib to make money,
To make crooked deals,
I fib to my people,
The art of the steal.
