The ‘Poll about a poll’ results are in. 18 people voted in favour of a regular poll, 1 person voted against, and a small furry woodland creature with access to a laptop and Wi-Fi voted its indifference. Well, from my rudimentary understanding of democracy, the most votes wins, so expect to see more polls in the coming weeks. The first is below. And thank you to everyone who voted.
Wednesday, February 13, 2008
Monday, February 11, 2008
A nose for trouble
The other day I was washing my hands when I noticed in the mirror that I had a blemish on the bridge of my nose. It was a blotchy, brownish, speckled discoloration, slap bang right in the middle of my conk. Aye-aye, that’s new, I thought to myself, with a shrug. I didn’t pay it too much attention, because to be honest waking up to discover spots, boils, rashes and what we used to refer to at school as ‘the lurgy’ is pretty much an everyday occurrence. In fact, if I woke up one morning to find the image of Christ peering through my chest hair, I wouldn’t be too alarmed. It certainly wouldn’t put me off my Sugar Puffs. I’m a sensible sort of chap. Not one to get irrational over a rash. But as I’ve written before, I have been making more of an effort to listen to what my body is trying to tell me. So throughout the day I tried to think what my mysterious nose blemish could possibly mean. I’d taken all my usual medication in all the right doses at the usual times. I hadn’t eaten anything ‘risky’. I hadn’t had any alcohol. My bowel movements were what I would now describe as ‘normal-ish’. I wasn’t feeling tired, run down or stressed. Nor did I feel bloated or have any abdominal pains. No achy joints, no nothing. All in all I was feeling pretty darn good. I just happened to have a brown mark on my schnoz. No big deal, what do I care if people stare? Let ‘em have a good look at the funny man with the weird nose. Roll up! Roll up! You’ve been bamboozled by the bearded lady and you’ve been knocked for six by the four-legged boy, but, ladies and gentlemen, you haven’t seen anything until you’ve had a gander at the incredible, the unbelievable, the fantastical, white man with a black man’s nose! I exaggerate, but it did kind of stick out. So when I got home I decided to give my nose a closer inspection. Under the clinical bathroom lights I was able to see the mark clearly. I was also able to deduce the cause. It turns out it was something I’d drank. The brown mark on my nose was in fact chocolate powder from the rim of a mug of hot chocolate I’d had that morning. It seems all along the answer wasn’t so much under my nose, but on it. Pillock.
Saturday, February 9, 2008
Platoon
The air is hot, close, claustrophobic; thick treacle darkness imprisons us like a nightmare you can’t wake from. There is no light where we are. But maybe that’s a blessing. Some things are best unseen. Even the worst your imagination can conjure is better than the reality. This is the large intestine. The UC is out there. Everywhere. Close enough to touch. A breath away. The platoon members rest a moment, but remain alert, taut, tense, always ready.
Azathioprine sits, eyes darting, bewildered. ‘Newmeat’. A voice inside his head, his own quiet voice, tries to make some sense of it all, “Somebody once wrote Hell is the impossibility of Reason. That’s what this place feels like. I hate it already and it’s only been a couple of months. Some goddamn couple of months, grandma…”
In the gloom Azathioprine can just make out the even, muscular features of Asacol. A veteran, Asacol has led the campaign since Feb ‘07. They say he’s a lifer. He’s been fighting the UC so long it seems like all he’s ever known. It probably makes little difference to Asacol if he gets out or not.
Azathioprine watches, alone with his thoughts. No one talks to ‘newmeat’. No one tells you anything. No one even wants to know your name or where you come from.
Hunched in a corner, pinched, twitchy, birdlike, is Prednisolone. Pred’s another veteran. This is his fourth tour of duty. Every time he thinks he’s home and dry, he gets hauled back in again. It shows on his face, like his soul has been sucked dry like the marrow from a bone. Pred’s three days short. In three days his war will be over. But the fight will go on without him.
In time Azathioprine will get wise, learn the unwritten rules, and out of the shadows will step a battle-hardened fighting machine. Mean, scarred, unfeeling Asacol will continue to lead from the front, taking on the UC wherever it hides, until the enemy within is finally defeated.
Azathioprine sits, eyes darting, bewildered. ‘Newmeat’. A voice inside his head, his own quiet voice, tries to make some sense of it all, “Somebody once wrote Hell is the impossibility of Reason. That’s what this place feels like. I hate it already and it’s only been a couple of months. Some goddamn couple of months, grandma…”
In the gloom Azathioprine can just make out the even, muscular features of Asacol. A veteran, Asacol has led the campaign since Feb ‘07. They say he’s a lifer. He’s been fighting the UC so long it seems like all he’s ever known. It probably makes little difference to Asacol if he gets out or not.
Azathioprine watches, alone with his thoughts. No one talks to ‘newmeat’. No one tells you anything. No one even wants to know your name or where you come from.
Hunched in a corner, pinched, twitchy, birdlike, is Prednisolone. Pred’s another veteran. This is his fourth tour of duty. Every time he thinks he’s home and dry, he gets hauled back in again. It shows on his face, like his soul has been sucked dry like the marrow from a bone. Pred’s three days short. In three days his war will be over. But the fight will go on without him.
In time Azathioprine will get wise, learn the unwritten rules, and out of the shadows will step a battle-hardened fighting machine. Mean, scarred, unfeeling Asacol will continue to lead from the front, taking on the UC wherever it hides, until the enemy within is finally defeated.
Thursday, February 7, 2008
Wednesday's diary on a Thursday 3.0
WDOAT is thirty weeks old. Blimey.
Wednesday 6th February:
6am Loose stool, very light blood mucus
11.15am Loose stool, very light blood mucus
1.50pm Firmish stool
Medication:
6 x Mesalazine 400mg
1 x Prednisolone 5mg
3 x Azathioprine 50mg
3 x Ferrous Sulphate 200mg
2 x Calcium Carb 1.25g
Comments:
Maybe my ulcerative colitis doesn't like pancakes?
To poll or not to poll, that is the question
I’ve been thinking for a while now that it might be interesting to introduce a poll as a regular feature of the blog? We could use the polls to find out how many bowel movements a day we consider ‘normal’ or should we get our prescriptions for free or who would win an arm-wrestle between someone with ulcerative colitis and someone with Crohn’s? Cerebral hot potatoes like that. But the reason I haven’t tried a poll so far, is I’m scared. I’m scared because its success is going to rely on readers participating. And I’m not sure if I have enough readers. If I put a poll out there and only two people vote, one of whom is my mum who doesn’t have UC, then it’s not really going to be worthwhile. Plus it will be a pretty bruising indicator that I’m blathering away to myself here. I’m not one to shy away from the truth. If I have no audience, I can take it. So here it is, either the first and last poll on Number Twos or the first of many. You decide. (Okay, and you, mum.)
Tuesday, February 5, 2008
Dear Sick Boy...
I write further to your recent enquiry regarding our decision on your Protection Plan Policy application.
I have written to your GP explaining our underwriting decision. Please make a convenient appointment to discuss the contents of my letter with your GP. He will be able to answer any queries you have.
Ah, more joyful correspondence from my dear friends at Friends Provident. As you can see it’s a letter brimming with compassion, warmth and genuine empathy. Hmm. Just to quickly recap, I’m buying a flat and I need to get life insurance so if anything happens to me the mortgage company isn’t left high and dry and they get their money back. For someone my age this should be £50 a month, but because of my ulcerative colitis Friends Provident have ramped it up to £100 a month. Now I’m no mathematician (I got a D at GCSE maths, re-sat the exam 3 months later and spectacularly got a E) but even I can see that’s double. Does this mean I’m twice as likely to die young as someone without ulcerative colitis? Friends Provident seem to think there’s certainly a risk of this happening. But no doctor I’ve seen has ever mentioned my impending doom. And I’ve seen a lot of doctors. You’d think if my life really was ebbing away, one of them might have mentioned it by now. So where are Friends Provident getting their information from? Have they been tipped off by Him upstairs that my number’s up? How long do Friends Provident think I’ve got? Is there any point in me renewing my weekly travel card? Well, according to the letter my doctor will have all the answers. I guess I’d better make an appointment soon, before it’s too late.
I have written to your GP explaining our underwriting decision. Please make a convenient appointment to discuss the contents of my letter with your GP. He will be able to answer any queries you have.
Ah, more joyful correspondence from my dear friends at Friends Provident. As you can see it’s a letter brimming with compassion, warmth and genuine empathy. Hmm. Just to quickly recap, I’m buying a flat and I need to get life insurance so if anything happens to me the mortgage company isn’t left high and dry and they get their money back. For someone my age this should be £50 a month, but because of my ulcerative colitis Friends Provident have ramped it up to £100 a month. Now I’m no mathematician (I got a D at GCSE maths, re-sat the exam 3 months later and spectacularly got a E) but even I can see that’s double. Does this mean I’m twice as likely to die young as someone without ulcerative colitis? Friends Provident seem to think there’s certainly a risk of this happening. But no doctor I’ve seen has ever mentioned my impending doom. And I’ve seen a lot of doctors. You’d think if my life really was ebbing away, one of them might have mentioned it by now. So where are Friends Provident getting their information from? Have they been tipped off by Him upstairs that my number’s up? How long do Friends Provident think I’ve got? Is there any point in me renewing my weekly travel card? Well, according to the letter my doctor will have all the answers. I guess I’d better make an appointment soon, before it’s too late.
Friday, February 1, 2008
Through the keyhole
Not even teenage girls spend as much time in the bathroom as I do. Which I suppose can be mildly irritating for anyone else waiting to use the toilet. But thanks to these clever little stickers I can shift the blame to make it look like it’s someone else hogging the bog. Okay, so it’s highly improbable that Brummie bat decapitator, Ozzy Osbourne would be having a dump in my flat, but it’s a bit more fun than the sad reality. You can see more of these stickers here.
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