Staring into the abyss.

So for about the last month or two, I've been suffering from every major disease you can think of.

Ever since I started feeling a weird wee pain in my guts, the feeling of dread has been growing. I finally worked up the courage to go to the doctors a few weeks back, and was sent for an ultrasound of my gall bladder and liver. Convinced I had exploding guts syndrome, as opposed to the exploding head syndrome I had last year, I hunkered down and waited for my appointment.

See, I've always liked a drink. We all go mental when we're younger, and I was no different really. I used to stagger about with the best of them, but nothing over the top and only ever on the weekends. Then I got divorced. I held it together ok, mostly thanks to my mates, but, well..... 2 bottles of vodka a weekend for a guy my size is quite bad. I cut it down a lot after a while, but I still like a good drink. Thinking back, I've shifted a lot of drink in my life, and it gets you thinking...... to put it flatly, have I fucked my insides up?

So I'm worried. I'm a hypochondriac. I was worried about that too til I found out it wasn't terminal. I mean, though, I have a weird little dull ache that comes and goes right where my liver is...... surely that's not good :o I'd stop drinking altogether but my brain keeps saying "Go for it, you're fucking dead anyway." Which is nice. The doctor told me it could be gallstones, which reassured me, then said "Hopefully we won't have to remove your gall bladder" which pressed the big red button with "do not push" on it in my brain once again.

So today was the day. Here is how it went.

The alarm went off. I switched it off. Then it started going off again. I spent a good minute switching the radio alarm by my bed on and off til I realised it was the one on my phone. I switched it off and got ready to get up. Then I started rebuilding that run down old house in the woods I had found with all the other survivors of the nuclear holocaust, and my brain shouted "WAKE UP YOU'VE FELL ASLEEP AGAIN!" It was now 35 minutes before my appointment and I was well and truly late.

Somehow, I got there in time despite being trapped behind the slowest lorry in the universe. I pick my way to the radiology dept. and wait my turn. For a while. I eventually get taken to the barium room..... and now I reckon I'm getting a barium meal. I ask. The woman says yes, I'm to get a barium. I shit my pants. It turns out I'm not getting a barium, I'm getting an ultrasound as previously thought. So I wait.

For some reason, I dunno maybe God decided to have a last poke at me before the bad news comes, it would appear that I was to be given an ultrasound examination by the winner of Miss World 2010. Jane. Aaaah Jane. If it turns out I'm on the way out, I'm coming back to that radiology dept. with a ring and proposing. Absolutely lovely. I felt like a slug being massaged by an angel :P So I pops the old gut out and lie back, trying to look as cool as possible with my pants hiked a clear 4 inches above the waistband of my jeans and my one-pack glistening in the harsh hospital lights. She approaches, a tube of jelly in her hands. I push that thought out of my mind. And that one. It's hard not to think sexy thoughts in Jane's company. Then I remember the difficulty I had combing my hair into a reasonable style and realise how fucking awful I look after taking a whole 3 minutes getting ready this morning. Then I think how it wouldn't really have mattered if I'd had 3 days and Gok fucking Wan to help me, Jane is so far out of my league I'm lucky I can still see her. Suddenly, I'm not thinking sexy thoughts any more.

*Cold jelly on the ribs!*

She presses the wee doofer into my guts. The machine pings. She says "Big breath in for me please" and as I do so, some bloody alarm goes off in the hall outside. For a fraction of a second, I think I might have set off some sort of emergency "We need to get this guy to the ICU STAT!" type alarm, and try my hardest not to shit my pants. No men in environment suits descend on the room, however, so I relax. We continue with the deep breaths. "And hold it there................"

Four. Five. Six. Seven.

"....................."

Going a bit blue now.

"........................................"

Has she forgot to tell me to breathe out?

"..................................................."

She must have. Maybe it's like a test. Maybe they want to see if I'll just go ahead and breathe on my own?

".........................................."

Fuck this, I'm going to bre...

"and breathe normally now."

Christ. Never mind if I'm ill, am I going to survive this ultrasound? I hear a noise like a rumbling tummy. I guess Jane aint had her breakfast this morning. Bollocks, nope, it was me, my guts are rumbling like a maniac. Not a flicker on her face though, such a professional. I think I might be in love. Jesus she's firm with that doofer. In fact, that's actually quite sore. Ayah.

"Big deep breath"

AAAaaaaaaaaaaaAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHH.

This goes on for about 15 minutes, with me in various poses. My left hand side is also checked, which sets off the brain into action again "Why is she doing that? She must have found something!" She then goes and gets the Doctor to check her images.

The doctor didn't know how to work the machine. This is slightly disconcerting. However, Jane (who I have now already fathered two imaginary future children with and who's name doesn't really suit having my surname after it, I have determined) steps in and shows her the ropes. "What's he in for?" says the doc. "Query gallstones" "Oh yep, he has one".

I'm fucking SURE! SURE AS I SIT HERE TYPING! She said "Oh yep, he has one." They had a look through, then the doc had a go at me with the doofer herself. Apparently, they couldn't find my pancreas. Great. Wonder where that little fucker has got to now. Anyway, they didn't bite their hands or look unduly shocked, but after Jane (aaaah Jane. Jane Jane Jane :) ) told me to go to my GP in 10 days for the results, the doc added "Everything looks normal, though. Now, I know Doctors. When my Mum was ill they skirted round the houses for days rather than say "there's nothing we can do", but usually they don't say things look OK unless they are. There's a difference between not unduly worrying the patient and outright lying, in other words, so I feel a bit more reassured, and as I'm BLOODY POSITIVE AS SURE AS EGGS IS EGGS the Doc said "oh yep he has one", I reckon it's a gallstone. I just always thought a gallstone would be sorer than this. Ach, I must just be a double hard bastard. As I suspected.

So there we are. It was too late for any meaningful time at college, especially as I had to take my dads car because I slept in and had to bring it home first, so I got myself a subway, a nice new fineliner pen for sketching, put on a hairdresser's appointment and a dentists a appointment and came home to tell the internet about my adventure.

I know it's premature, but after months of thinking I'm probably dead, I think there might be a 1% chance I'll see Christmas! The down side is I won't marry Jane, she won't want me unless she'll be inheriting my millions quickly, but it's all swings and roundabouts.

My liver, if it is normal as the doc said, is a fucking tank.