Dear Letter ‘A’.
I know you are the first letter of the alphabet with a tempting array of latin medical conditions ascribed to you, but you and your fancy-pants ailments can kindly sod off now. Asthma, check! Aneurysm, check! Appendicitis, motherflippin’ CHECK. Do you have a list? And can you burn it?
What’s left for me? Alzheimers? Amyloidosis? (I don’t actually know what Amyloidosis is, but it’s on “House” an awful lot and between it and Lupus accounts for a disproportionate number of diagnoses on the show).
So Letter ‘A’ – you conspired with the Letters ‘S’ and ‘C’ to make me think I had excruciating Stomach Cramps for a whole day on Saturday until the pain moved to my right side and made me suspect Appendicitis. I dragged my husband away from his boy’s night of Settler’s of Catan (yes, at least letters ‘S’ and ‘C’ have something going for them) to take me to Emergency. Once he’d safely deposited me in a seriously overflowing ER (Saturday night, Supermoon, you do the math) I insisted he go back to hang with the lads over geeky strategy play and get drunk. That’s right, M for Martyr. That’s me.
Happily, I was admitted to the hospital quickly and appendicitis seemed to be the likely cause of pain, but I didn’t make it to theatre (no, not that kind of theatre, Letter ‘A’, unless you wish to tick Actor off your list, although last time I looked not specifically a medical condition) until Sunday night. I wasn’t allowed to eat or drink until the operation, so I ended up fasting for 45 punishing hours. Anyone who knows me Letter ‘A’, knows that I don’t do “well” without food or water for two days. On the plus side, the fasting proved to be a lovely little detox. Assuming you don’t include the bucketload of morphine, oxycodone and antibiotics the nurses pumped into my body but *cough* made me feel a shit load better. Nor the crap they subsequently served up to me at meal times – jellified brown sludge masquerading as poultry with a side serve of Deb potato. But you take what you can get.
Now I’m about 180 grams lighter, not that I’m espousing appendix removal as a weight-loss trick. But again, you take what you can get. And right now, I sure as hell aint getting my arse on a treadmill.
Tomorrow I will love you again, Letter ‘A’. Thank you for the Austin Hospital (and their amazing staff, including a rather arresting Anaesthetist), Amigos, Analgesia, Andrew Lincoln and being Alive. But for now, you and your medical conditions can shut the book. The alphabet is long.
P.S. I know this post may make me sound Entitled, but I do know how you like to get a bit one-on-one with the other vowels.