Shit happens.

After a very sleepless night, I eventually found out  why I’d spasmed so much.

When you can’t feel your tummy, neither can you feel a ‘ funny tummy ‘.

Diarrhoea is something I’ve not had in 3 years plus, until this morning.

The carer had the lovely job of ‘ dealing ‘ with that, poor lady.  I feel nothing at all.  Well, except embarrassment and shame.

That bad start over, I was accompanied by the awesome Mr T ( Strauss)  by a mix of bicycle ? and Triride, and Tube ( again )  under West London through to Tower Hill ( next to the Tower of London ), across the historic bridge ( my first time ) to London Bridge Hospital, to see my spine surgeon.

Five minutes before I was due to go into his office, I realised that I was again in a mess. You can’t call it the Trots if you can’t trot, the Runs if you can’t run, so I’ll have to call it the Shits.

You’d think a hospital would be the best place to be in this situation, but with a nurse only going as far as to offer some tissues then perhaps not?

As  I can’t stand up and ‘ sort my own shit out’ it was Mr T to the rescue. He explained that he was used to wiping the dog’s arse, which made me feel a lot better…. his dog is called Olly, and now Olly and I suddenly have a lot more in common.

There when I fell off my bike in France, I didn’t suppose Toby was looking forward 3 years and imagining this afternoon’s pleasure. If he had, he’d probably have insisted we all go on a walking holiday instead.

More cleaning when I got back and now it’s 1 am and I’m spasming badly in bed all over again

Groundhog Day coming up ?


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