Plathitudes

Plathitude

What a couple of weeks.  The end of term has finally arrived and I can not believe how quickly the first week of the summer holiday has whizzed by.  Though mostly I feel like a ghost as I’m here but I’m not really.  My big operation is next week and I wish it was now, the waiting is almost, though not quite, as excruciating as the pain.  I don’t really feel like I’m here, just drifting.  Plus I could really have done without another frickin period before hopefully being sorted out next week.  Hello barrel tum.

Last week I had the pleasure of seeing pictures of my insides.  Glorious.  Something no one expects to see really.  I didn’t want to look at first, I felt pretty disgusted by it and forepictured a complete tangled, black endofied mess, but then I thought if I was going to look at it I might as well dive in and find out what everything is and what’s so mangled about all that there in my tum.  Mr Trehan was scientifically detached about it all which is what I needed.  I just remember thinking: is that it?  Literally every organ looks the same.  My bladder is not this see-through balloon I thought it was, there is no space for things to truly ‘float’ around like I thought my ovaries should be, no dark spaces.  Just lots and lots of pink.  My bowel looks the same as my womb as my bladder as my Pouch of Douglas.  Obviously to these very untrained eyeballs.  Which probably look pink from the inside too.  Respect to the pink.

I couldn’t articulate how I felt.  I felt as though I’d seen reality.  That I take so much for granted about how our bodies work.  But looking at my insides I realised that all it takes is for a tiny bit of all that precious matter to go ‘wrong’ and it can feel like torture, like the end of the world, our world.  But that actually I feel so bloody grateful for everything that is working well.  We are literally piles of organs linked together working their arses off to keep connected, keep going and sending us no messages to ask for thanks, just ruddy doing it all.  It’s only when some connections drop, a cyst gets in the way, a tumour, a bug in our bloodstream, that we get some tiny inkling of what happens when the links are broken. Yet it scrabbles on, working overtime to heal the breaks.  Every time we recover our health we should have a party of thanks.

I feel pretty crap but I also feel very humbled.  Thanks, body, for working so hard to keep it all together.  You’re doing great.

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