Wednesday's diary on a Thursday 4.4

It all went bonkers on the bog front yesterday. I must stress it looks far worse than it is. I feel fine, just slightly confused why one day I might go to the toilet once and then the next day I go five times?

Wednesday 14th May:
5.55am Solid
1.45pm Solidish
3.40pm Loose stool
7.40pm Blood mucus
8.09pm Loose stool

Medication:
6 x Mesalazine 400mg
3 x Azathioprine 50mg
3 x Ferrous Sulphate 200mg

Comments:
It's raining.

The diet poll results - bon appetit

Does diet affect your UC?

Definitely not: 5%
Haven't really noticed: 18%
Maybe a bit: 32%
Definitely: 43%
Burp: 2%

The poll results would suggest 43% of us are sweetcorn dodging, fibre-shirking, tomato-phobic, veggie boilers.

32% of us might pass on a peanut, be a little wary of grapes, but at the end of the day think sod it, and take our chances with a Snickers.

18% of us have our local tandoori on speed dial and in Asda we fill our shopping trolleys with whatever we damn well like.

And 5% of us must have really good dinner parties, where anything goes. (Food-wise, I mean, not one of those dinner parties where you chuck your car keys into a bowl.)

So it seems food is a bit of a grey area. Personally, I eat and drink pretty much what I want. Although I have found red wine makes my tummy grumpy, and nuts are a no-no. But there’s more to life than Shiraz and pistachios. I did think about seeing a dietician a while back, but now I’m glad I didn’t. It might have put me off my grub.

The ginger quarter

The weather has taken an unexpected turn for the better. The bruised, swollen rain clouds have shipped out for the summer and it’s blue skies all the way round these parts. Summer has arrived in Central London. For a bit, anyway. So not wishing to squander one single ray of sunshine, at lunchtime myself and several hundred of my fellow office dwellers cram ourselves into Cavendish Square to eat our Pret sushi, crayfish salads and various deli delights from the John Lewis food hall. Today I had ham and English mustard sandwiches and a pork pie; a perfectly acceptable lunch circa 1975. A path criss-crosses Cavendish Square, quartering it like the Scottish Saltire. In the centre is a plinth with the statue missing. Either that or it’s a statue to commemorate the Invisible Man. Large trees provide shade, giving you the option of sitting in the sun or out of it. I would say 70% prefer to feel the warmth of the sun on their skin. The remaining 30% seek out the cool of the shade. I call this The Ginger Quarter. In The Ginger Quarter you’ll find our freckly, fair skinned friends, new-born babies, Goths and me. I’m not a nappy wearing ginger Goth, but I do take azathioprine. And the sun and azathioprine are not a healthy mix. So if I don’t want to increase my chances of getting skin cancer I’ve got to spend my lunch hour huddled up with all the other translucent skinned creatures of the night. It’s like a picnic scene from a Tim Burton movie; me munching on a pork pie whilst all around me feast on the blood of virgins. But I’d rather be outside and in the shade than inside with the rain pelting the windows.

Wednesday's diary on a Thursday 4.3

Not a hell of a lot for you to read today, but that's a good thing, right?

Wednesday 7th May:
7.30am Solid

Medication:
6 x Mesalazine 400mg
3 x Azathioprine 50mg
3 x Ferrous Sulphate 200mg

Comments:
I'm also taking a 3 month course of antibiotics for this here infected acne business. No link to my UC at all, just bad luck.

Playing the prescription game

Wednesday morning and me and Saskia are wondering whether at lunch we should go to Pret first, then Topshop or go to Topshop first, then Pret. I know; it’s pretty wild stuff. Saskia wants to go get some food first ‘cos she says a girl can’t shop on an empty stomach. If she had it her way we’d go to Pret first, then nip into McDonalds, and if there’s still time before we’ve got to get back to work we’d get a Cadburys Cream Egg and a couple of scratchcards. Saskia’s alright though. We’ve got this game where we try and guess what’s wrong with the customers collecting their prescriptions. It passes the time of day. It’s weird what illnesses people are carrying about with them. If you only knew the kind of things they had you'd never go on the tube again. You look at some of them and they look alright, some of the lads in their suits look seriously alright, but you get to see what’s on their prescription and you wouldn’t touch ‘em with a barge pole. Not even Saskia, and she’s usually not that fussy. This one bloke came in earlier. Stood around like a divvy, not in either queue, just hovering with a blank look on his face. I said to Saskia, bet he needs gormless pills. Saskia gives him the once over and says, oh he’s not that bad, probably a mild case of stupidity. He starts looking at me like he’s lost and I’m a map or something. I give him one of my raised eyebrow looks and he’s straight over like a shot with his little green prescription that matched his t-shirt. I take it off him, and, whoah, this boy’s no amateur. He’s going to need a wheelbarrow to get this lot home. He looks all sheepish and says, should I come back in a bit? Der, yeah! I’ll be here all day getting this one ready, I thought. 360 mesalazine, 180 azathioprine and just for good measure, 90 erythromycin ethylsuccinate. Yikes. No wonder he looked vacant, probably doped up to the eyeballs. Anyway, so I got Saskia to give me a hand, ‘cos there’s no way she’s going to hang around for me when she could be eating.

Back to front

I am born.
I am small.
I am running around.
I am hurtling down a hill with my brother beside me.
I am told off.
I am overfeeding a guinea pig with grass.
I am excited about the cockle man
I am bored by the adults playing bingo.
I am drinking pop with a paper straw.
I am in the back of a wardrobe.
I am dancing to a band.
I am carrying a bag I made out of a cushion cover.
I am a schoolboy.
I am fast.
I am picked on for having big ears.
I am even faster.
I am a scrapper.
I am scared.
I am funny.
I am someone’s best friend.
I am a runner.
I am imaginative.
I am picked on for having big ears.
I am left out.
I am a fly half.
I am in big school.
I am rubbish at maths.
I am good at drawing.
I am watching.
I am still scrapping.
I am sitting on a bench.
I am dreaming.
I am rollerskating.
I am holding hands.
I am scared.
I am going to be something.
I am not sure what.
I am 6ft.
I am a driver.
I am not a virgin.
I am not a stud.
I am away from home.
I am insecure.
I am trying very hard.
I am drunk.
I am out of my depth.
I am a scrapper.
I am in a big city.
I am alone.
I am in a library.
I am walking.
I am working.
I am drunk again.
I am drunk some more.
I am a worry to those who love me.
I am here, there and everywhere.
I am dancing.
I am Camden.
I am the bee’s knees.
I am reading.
I am fat.
I am someone to someone.
I am alone.
I am the man with the note pad.
I am older.
I am happy.
I am imagining…
I am someone to someone special.
I am all of these things and much more.
I am not defined by ulcerative colitis.
Not ever.
No way.
I am drunk.
Again.

Wednesday's diary on a Thursday 4.2

Okay, no one panic.
Do not be alarmed by what you are about to read.
An ambulance will not be necessary.
It looks worse than it is.
I'm not in pain.
I'm not even in any discomfort.
I feel fine.
I just went to the toilet a lot yesterday.
Oh yes, it was a 5 dump day.
Haven't had one of them for quite some time.
But it's a blip.
That's all.
Nothing to worry about.

Wednesday 30th April:
10.50am Solid, a little blood
1.35pm Solid, gassy
3.20pm Gassy, bitty
7.20pm Spluttery solids
8.50pm Itty bitty shitty

Medication:
6 x Mesalazine 400mg
3 x Azathioprine 50mg
3 x Ferrous Sulphate 200mg

Comments:
How queer.