My So Called Life Part 2 – The Human Geyser

I think the title of this blog speaks for itself. I mean, when you voluntarily give over £10 to watch “Dude, Where’s My Car?” you know you’re not going to get an arthouse piece about the social ramifications of giant, shopping centre car parks. So don’t blame me if once again you’re eating whilst reading this and I put you off your fat arse friday fish and chips.

Last time on “IBS is a Pain in the Arse” I spoke about the problem with flatulence in the workplace.Hmm, wellllllll, that’s not all. There’s more to this embarrassment isn’t there? As they say, where there’s smoke there’s fire, or more to the point, where there’s gurgles, there’s a geyser. It’s simple. Geological events give us warning signs of imminent eruptions and unfortunately, or fortunately if you’re in mixed company at the time, a rumbling tummy to someone with digestive problems only means this…

Thar she blows…

I’ve never felt such empathy to a geological event before. If I ever have a baby boy, I might name him Gush. Then again, if I stay in London everyone will just think he has a lisp.  Continue reading

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My So Called Life, Part 1 – The Human Whoopee Cushion

I hate doctors. I don’t know why exactly, but part of me thinks of them like mechanics, like I’m going to go in there with a sore throat and sniffles and come out with an under active thyroid and a tilted uterus. If it’s not going to kill me any time soon and it doesn’t involve some big old ugly tumor growing out the side of my neck, I don’t wanna know about it, alright? So suffice to say, when there’s something wrong with me I’ll put up with it way past the point of reasonable comfort levels and common sense before I even consider going to a doctor.

Here’s one thing I’ve learnt; working in an office is not good for a dodgy stomach. There are too many opportunities for silence, my new mortal enemy. Let me paint a picture for you and please, if you’re eating, come back to this later. When I eat something tummy dislikes, tummy’s going to do two things – it’s going to fill me up with gas and turn me into a human whoopee cushion or it’s going to fill me up with gas and turn me into a human geyser. Or if I’m really lucky, it’ll do a combination of the two.

Now with the first one, as far as I know it’s not the done thing to sit at your desk in an open plan office and follow the “better out than in” rule. Maybe if you were a guy and you worked in a small office with three of your best mates from school nobody would bat an eyelid, but I’m pretty sure in mixed company, in the corporate world and in Britain, lying on the ground and asking someone to come and sit on your stomach until all the gas is squeezed out would not be acceptable. It would on the other hand ensure nobody sat anywhere near you, which means you could fart to your heart’s content, but odors tend to waft don’t they, so no, still not ideal. Continue reading

Eat Me

When the doctor said IBS to me, I ran home and researched the hell out of it. Ok, that’s an exaggeration, I skimmed two websites. But I didn’t like what they said much, so I stopped. This thing sucks!

Just when I was finally getting more sophisticated with my eating, my gut has to pull me back to the slums of mediocre gastronomy from whence I came. I wouldn’t say I’m a fussy eater, it’s others who say that, it’s more like there’s way more I don’t eat than I do. The main ones are that I don’t eat seafood, salad or anything spicy. Nando’s lemon and herb dressing is too much for me. On a good day I can handle a bit of chorizo, but anything more complicated than that and I just about need the Fire Brigade to come and put my mouth out. My three favourite food groups are potato, cheese and alcohol and I’ve just been told I have to stop them all.

So last week I did something unheard of. I made my first ever salad. And what’s worse, I ate most of it, and I kind of even enjoyed it. Well, I didn’t spit any of it out.

Don’t ask me what a salad is doing hanging out on a cushion by the window.

Now just so you know, I will discuss what I discover about food and IBS, but this won’t be a blog of IBS recipes and dietry do’s and don’ts. I’m not that helpful. No, if I have pictures of food on here, it’s more likely to be because I’m playing around with my new camera. But fine, the salad had grass lettuce, cucumber, red onion, avocado, feta, olive oil and lemon. I’m sure you can figure it out for yourself. I think the only reason I like it is because it is topped with cheese, something I’m not supposed to eat. Continue reading

Happiness Is…

So, lets get this IBS business out in the open. As I said before, I haven’t been diagnosed yet, but a doctor I spoke to a month ago asked me about 700 questions, I said yes to I think 694 of them, and then he uttered the blasted acronym that has now overtaken my life. I still have to go and have tests that would eliminate me from some other similar, equally hideous diseases, but a few of his questions were so specific to what’s been happening to me, I’m pretty sure he’s on the right track. Then again, he could be like those tricksters that Derren Brown tries to expose and maybe he just read my body language, but I’m pretty sure I wasn’t subconsciously miming sitting on the toilet while I was in his office. Continue reading