|Image sent from a friend originally from tumblr|
At this point you will most probably be thinking 'Eh up, who's this chick rolling up into my Reading List?' for which you'd be forgiven.
But its only me, back from the depths of illness..whoever suggested I had expired (is a cheeky bugger) was a tad misinformed, because like Britney Spears virginity this is nowt but urban myth, I'm alive, struggling to get well and have spent the last few months shuttling back and forth between the hospital and my leopard print onesie.
Since the start of December last year up until now a flare up of The Other Bowel Problems have kept me firmly ensconced in a groundhog day of A&E, collapsed veins, numerous personal questions about my bowel habits, a litany of interrogations by various doctors, trundling around various wards dragging drip stands with wonky wheels, hospital meals I wouldn't feed my dog, endless days of reading old copies of Take a Break and Woman's Own and eavesdropping on whats wrong with the other patients on any given ward.
Thankfully it hasn't been one long hospital stay and I've mostly got away with only spending a few nights there at a time, thank all that is holy because if id have been in that hospital since Christmas I would probably be dictating this post to someone outside my padded cell rather than typing it up myself from the comfort of my own bed.
TOBP's (like Eamon Holmes presenting skills) have been in a steady state of decline for months (but feels like its been going on since the year dot) and have been dragging my mental down the dunny with it.
This aggravates the absolute eye teeth out of me, because the last thing anyone wants when they feel rough as arse-holes is to feel mentally unhinged as well..but this is just my bodies way of heaping a pile of cream on top of the a crap sundae I was already being dished up.
I have been enjoying (this is lies, there has been no enjoying) various tests on my bowels with varying degrees of invasion into my privacy and dignity.
A few weeks ago I had an MRI for which I had to knock back 2 litre's of some very funky tasting jollop and then had to try and clamber up onto a glorified tea tray and arrange myself face down on it with as much dignity as I could muster in a hospital issue gown (Versace it wasn't) while the doctor and MRI technician pretended not to notice my older than time itself knickers which once beheld diamante studs spelling out S E X Y across my bum but which now only have the E and the X and part of the Y left and none of the elastic.
I'm assuming this fresh battery of tests is part of my gastroenterologists 'Lets Get Kate Well So I Don't Have To See Her On My Ward Every Week' master plan.
At least I'm hoping so, because at the moment there seems to be an awful lot of standing around looking at the steak dinner and no actual eating of it.
All I seem to be doing is knocking back tablets which seem to just slightly dilute my symptoms down to less ball achy versions of themselves...which feels like my doctor has given me a plastic hammer to bang in iron nails with.
Around New Year I always have a last ditch attempt at shelving my cynicism and naively hoping that this will be the year I finally clear all the crap out from underneath my bed// They find a cure for cancer...and its Cadburys chocolate// I finally tell my friend it was me who put my hand in the coat of paint she'd just spent ages doing in her bathroom// That George Lucas finally stops twatting about with the Star Wars films// and that is will be the year my doctor pulls his finger out and TOBP's become manageable enough that I can start getting a semblance of a life back together (oh but isn't woe me?).
Its obviously never come to fruition (although if Anna is reading this I'm sorry about the paint job!) but every year I do a secret finger crossing because its no real skin off my nose...except however much I try to act like making a new years wish is just a bit of silly arsing about there's still the teeny tiny, corny Disney wishing percentage part of my brain that hopes George Lucas will stop trying to find things to ruin in Return of The Jedi and that when I say 'This will be the year I get better' I actually will.
But this year I didn't bother to do my customary attempt at Healthy Eating during the first week of January, nor did I attempt to put a lid on the potty mouth and stop saying shit, bollocks or wanking-nora, and I certainly didn't bother wasting wishes or New Years resolutions from my Pigs Might Fly Fund on hoping 2012 would be The Year I'm Healthy.
Well the wish fairies obviously did not take kindly to my attempt at thwarting them with a bluff this year and hence this has been the worst year for TOBP's in living memory...and also a new kick in the taco health concern which shot into my life to spice things up at Easter...
So...the long and short of it is that as of this week I'm being treated for Epilepsy.
My doctors still don't know if that's definitely what it is (because trying to get a straight answer out of a doctor is like trying to get a cat to bark) but its a safe assumption after looking at my tests and observing my seizures over the last week.
I had my first fit about a month ago on Easter weekend (I had up til that point never had a seizure in my life) I remember absolutely nothing about what happened but came to in my bed to find my poor mum standing over me wearing her best 'That's 20 more grey hairs you have just given me Kate' look and a paramedic that looked like Right Said Fred stood next to her...unable to remember much the first sensible question to ask seemed to be 'so whats the crack?' , and it turned out I'd had a seizure and not just a little twitch either, a full blown legs-doing-the-can-can-fit and since I couldn't even say what day it was ('what day is it Kate?' 'Thursday' it was Sunday) much less make a decision myself it was decided that I should probably go to A&E (because I hadn't been there enough apparently)...and all this in my skankiest pyjama's...the only saving grace is that I didn't tiddle myself.
Anyway, since then I've had over 30 seizures of varying seriousness and this week my neurologist decided it would be safer for me to be in hospital than at home so that's where I've been until I came home on Friday.
I wanted to write this post just to explain where I've been for the past few months, I've felt awful for ignoring my blog and abandoning twitter but I felt like any posts I did while I've been as ill as I have been and felt as mentally done in as I was would have been halfhearted, half arsed pieces of crap. This is categorically not a 'give me sympathy give me attention' post, because I don't want any of either, quite frankly any attention for being ill is not what I think of as well earned, I'd rather be the eye of the storm for doing something of interest rather than something of interest happening to me. It was important for me to tell you where I've been and why there has been a distinct lack of posts around the place.
While Crohn's (TOBP's) and Coeliac's have been my life since I was 20 and I know the ins and outs of a ducks arse where they are both concerned I have little to no knowledge of epilepsy or seizures so if any of you guys are epileptic, if you know any good websites, could recommend treatment medications etc or just tell me anything about it that I won't squeeze out of a doctor I'd love to hear from you and if you don't want to leave a comment for the rest of the rabble to read you're more than welcome to email me email@example.com.
I've really missed your mushes...the blog and being part of twitter has bought some UH-mazing people into my life and all your tweets, emails and texts have been more than lovely and the support you've given me has left me lost for words sometimes (which you will probably know by now is a virtual impossibility without a balled up pair of socks and some duct tape).
But even with all the health bollocks I'm a very lucky girl indeed, Thank-you to all the Katie-Boo babes who stuck around, from the bottom of my heart.