The Chronicles of my Unhappy Belly

http://www.acm.uiuc.edu/sigbio/project/digestive/middle/stomach2.jpg

The Chronicles of my Unhappy Belly started in December 2008. A suspected bout of giardia coupled with superstrong antibiotics to "kill off the good and bad bacteria so that you can build the good bacteria up from scratch" left my belly feeling battered and tired. Throughout 2009 I had more belly issues- mostly minor and always very annoying. Some days I could eat the rear end of a horse and my belly would be fine. Other days I would eat boring foods and I'd be running for the toilet. I ignored it until December last year when it all seemed to start again. (You can read about it here if you feel the urge).

When you have a stomach lurgy, you have only one friend. Or really, one friend who really matters. He goes by a number of names, most commonly:

"The Porcelain Throne."

"The John ("John")."

"The Chair with the Giant Hole in it that you had nightmares about when you were little." [In my case I envisaged a green hooded monster rising out from the bowl and chasing me down the corridor each time I flushed it].

Anyway, pet names aside, since last Thursday my stomach has not been a happy woman. The first two nights it gurgled, frowned, grumbled, roared and with each searing cramp I ran willingly into the arms of John. I would sit there for hours as midnight turned to early morning and early morning turned into breakfast time. I would complain to anyone who would listen: unwitting work colleagues, the blameless boyfriend, the sympathetic BigSister, the puzzled Parents. But no one could understand like John could. I thought it would pass- these things usually only go for 24 hours and then you're right as rain: eating feasts and basking in the afterglow of a full belly of food and a glass of wine.

But this time it wasn't to be- the lurgy grew into a demon and my stomach felt like it would never be the same again. Over the next three days I had to embark on the scary task of obtaining samples of my you-know-what (aka Number 2 samples). At the end of the three days, the receptionist at the doctor's surgery took my samples of you-know-what with an undisguised "yuck" face and I went home to clean the death out of my fridge who had had the thankless task of housing my containers of you-know-what over those three days so that they wouldn't lose their testability. Poor fridge, I will forever be indebited to you because I know you probably didn't sign up for that when you decided to become a fridge.

I missed work, stayed at home and got lectured by my mum all day long about the fact that I clearly didn't eat enough food during the day and obviously that's why this had happened. I rolled my eyes into their orbits each time she launched into her tirade, but as the days went by I had to admit- she may have been right. I ate and ate and ate and slowly the cramps at night are subsiding. I put on 2 kilos in 2 days.

Hurruah hurrah for good food, happy bellies and feeling better again.

Meanwhile in other news, last night I saw Ghost with Demi Moore and the late Patrick Swayze. Talk about romantic, heartwrenching drama. As Patrick Swayze walks off to heaven with the technicoloured background swarming all colours blue, orange, violet and red I sighed, sat back in my chair and considered that the simple love story will always be the best story. Get outta town all you action flicks with fake romantic interludes chucked in for the pash factor. The real love stories will always prevail.

Swoon.