The only way is up.

Well turns out my gastro was so atypical, it's not even gastro.  (Sigh).  Yep, once more even the vaguest trace of normal slips through my fingers.   It seems that Bob has dreams of world domination and my gut is Poland.  Joys.

Who knew there would be a time in my life where I would wish I had a bunch of rancid bugs having a rave in my lower imtestine?  Not me.  But there you go.  The fun times just never end.

So yet again I am discussing my bowel habits with various members of the medical profession.  Yet again there are more specialist appointments to be organised.  Yet again there are more tests.

It seems that uberneuro was right about the whole progressive thing.  Only by 'progressive' it appears he meant 'faster than a speeding bullet'.

So now I have more tablets to take.  More time to waste.  More checking in with my doctors to discuss my poo in great detail.  Daily conversations about the the consistency, shape and odour of my excretions.  Something to look forward to I'm sure.  I know they're just as excited as I am.  At least they get paid for the pleasure.

So my plan for now is watching re-runs of 30 Rock whilst sucking down Hydrolite popsicles, which taste suspiciously like Tang.  Luckily the new tabs also make you sleepy, BONUS!  Given the first one left me comatosed on the couch for a few hours, only to wake up to Mr G and the eldest rug rat eating dinner next to me, it looks like a snoozefest is on the cards for the next few days.

But really, if things don't pick up soon I may have to break out the big guns, otherwise known as, 80's Power Ballads.   So if you hear the first strains of I Want to Know What Love Is, or even worse, I've Never Been To Me, you'll know that the shit really has hit the fan.

Thanks to everyone for their well wishes, they are greatly appreciated.  I'm sending you all big cyber hugs and air kisses.

Michelle

Update:  Always read the small print: "medication may lower blood pressure and cause rapid heart beat".  So shortly after taking its already:

Yep feeling better already.  #@!$%^&*%$#@!!

Okay I may just need one hit of 80s magic to make it through the day.  

Atypical aka WTF?

Just once I'd like my bodily fluids to be normal.  Is that too much to ask?  I didn't think so, but apparently the universe has other ideas.  Because my recent mucus adventures obviously weren't enough fun.  (I think I hate you universe).  Atypical gastro.  Yes, that's right.  Atypical fricken gastro.  Because apparently I can't even get the shits like normal people.

Not that I really know what that means.  Not that I really think my GP knows what that means.  But fingers crossed that the poor unfortunate at the path lab who has to grow my poo bugs will know what that means.    Good lord, I hope he's wearing one of those yellow suits from Outbreak, before he pops the lid on that container.

But I'm looking for silver linings, I really am.  Lets see.

For once I do look sick, according to Mr Grumpy.  So I guess that's something.  Mind you I never really thought of gastro as fitting into the Super Model disease group like Bob.  Something about exploding bodily fluids doesn't exactly scream beauty.

And I have lost those pesky pounds, plus a few, and I didn't even have to go to a single Jenny Craig meeting.  Though that could stop right about now.  7kg down in a little under a week not so good for symptom management and I'm pretty sure I could have just tossed my meds straight into the loo rather than bothering with trying to down them.  But at this rate I'm a shoe in for ANTM, well apart from being an old fart and all.

I got to freak out my GP, which I always enjoy, by having no peripheral pulse.  Though she could get one from the weirdly spasming blood vessel in my stomach that she could both see and feel.  A first for her apparently.

I didn't even feel the large needle in my bum to stop vomiting.  Go the power of SNAFU.

I also managed to gross out my eldest son, again something I enjoy immensely, by pointing out that there was a bag with my foul poo in it, sitting right next to him as he drove me to pathology.   

I haven't had to cook, which is really a bonus all round, as no one wants a gastro-infested woman touching their potatoes.

See silver linings and all that jazz. 

Now if only I could work out how to stop water working like a laxative I'd be pretty happy.  And real food would be nice.  But, that just sounds picky.

So I'll crawl back under my doona and cuddle my pillow, and think about how in a few days I'm sure to get a gig on ANTM.

Michelle

And because show tunes always make me happy.