And I Call Myself An Adult…

OK…. So something weird happened to me yesterday. Over the last couple of weeks, I’ve had a customer who I shall call Gentle Giant. He’s been in a lot, and he’s spent a lot of time in my store, mostly because my company are somewhat incompetent at times. (Just another reason I’m leaving… Friday is my last day!)

Well, we happen to have a vaping habit as common ground. Talking and sharing tips, things moved on to a Facebook level. We’re now friends, and by all accounts, flirting.

And I Call Myself An Adult...

Now, before you get too excited, let me just tell you something. He’s not attractive. He’s big and lumbering and hairy. Like six and half feet big, and almost as wide. I think he’s a couple of years younger than me, and there’s no physical attraction there. However, on a ‘talking’ level, we have some sort of weird connection. Our Facebook messages are getting progressively chattier even though I can see his ‘taken’ Facebook status, and I would imagine he could sense mine. If Someone New didn’t look enough like my boyfriend, I’m sure my constant and very regular status’ with Bestie will make me appear off the market…. Right?

Wrong. I’m pretty sure he’s flirting with me. To be fair, I was sure he was into me before we’d even gotten to a Facebook level so to some extent, I’m not convinced this ISN’T leading him on. But all that aside, I shouldn’t be indulging in cheeky flirtation. I have Someone New. Although I think Karen was right in her comment… I’m not that into him, am I? He’s just a little something to pass the time, perhaps? Although I know it’s only going to be a matter of time before shit kicks off and we’re ready to part ways. It just seems a bit of a shame. He’s actually a decent guy, if a little on the controlling side.

Back to the Gentle Giant though, and I can’t work him out. Like he must know that I can see he has a girlfriend? It’s on his Facebook page. It’s not like its secretly hidden somewhere. I didn’t need to go looking to find it. So why is he flirting with me? And worse, even though I’m not interested, why do I feel compelled to flirt back? Even the cleanest of messages ends up having some sort of weird flirty twist in there. Its like I can’t help myself.

I know what it is. Bestie has gone away on his vacation for a week, and I’ve been left to my own devices. He’s only been gone for a couple of days, and I’m already bored of Someone New, made a new friend (Gentle Giant) who I’m not attracted to, but can’t help flirting with anyway, and booked my leaving party for work…. Which will probably end up with me and Number 42 in bed again. Let’s not beat around the bush. It’s probably going to happen.

He’s already made it clear he wants it to happen. He’s been the one instigating the event. There’s a problem though. The last few weeks I’ve gotten somewhat closer to a different male work colleague, and he’s started to take things to a flirtier level, trying to get me to go a festival with him, and telling me he’ll kidnap me if I don’t come out for the leaving do. I’m definitely not flirting back. We’ve worked together for too long for me to see him in THAT way, plus he’s a few years younger than I am. It’s a no-go. Even I’m not that dumb. But, Bestie picked up on the flirty atmosphere a little while back, and I’ve started to notice little things myself.

I think it’s just a weird period in my life. I’m quitting my job. I’m becoming proper, full-time self employed and I won’t lie, I’m shitting my pants about it a little bit. Plus I don’t know what I’m doing with Someone New. Although I do know I’m about to blow him out this afternoon. It’s a shame he doesn’t know that yet. He will soon. Maybe I’m just bored?

See, I can’t be trusted when you leave me to my own devices. I need Bestie back to help me make my decisions again! And I call myself an adult. Pffft.

Because It’s Shark Week?

Sooooooo, last night I decided to finally go and see my Someone New. I’d blown him out for about four weeks and he was starting to get really annoyed with me, so although I was about an hour later than agreed, I eventually got my ass over to see him.

We were going to go for a cocktail or two, and then head back to his to watch Fifty Shades of Grey and have mindless sex. That was the plan, anyway.

Instead, I got my period. 56 days after my last one, it was heavy, I was in agony, and after that LLETZ procedure that seems to have completely wrecked my insides, I was in no mood to fuck around. He was bugging me every five minutes as I was getting ready, “How long will you be?”, “Where are you?”, “Are you on your way?”, and I snapped.

“If you quit bugging me, I’d be ready and on my way a hell of a lot sooner. I’ll be leaving soon. I will message you when I’ve left. Now be quiet and let me finish what I need to do!” 

I didn’t meant to be quite so sharp with him but I’ll be honest, Someone New was really pissing me off at this point.

We met up, and planned to head for the bar we usually frequent, and he decided to spice things up. “I want a Long Island ice tea, so we’re going to a different place!” This different place was miles away, or so it seemed, and it was packed. I had already told him I had crippling back ache and didn’t want to walk all over town, nor would my crippling social anxiety allow me to go into a packed bar on a Saturday night, so I would only go there if it wouldn’t be really busy.

We got there, and of course it was busy. So we went back to his. I was annoyed. By this point, I was now in agony with lower pain ache, and period cramps, and I knew I’d need to take one of my painkillers that have a tendency to knock me the fuck out for the rest of the day. With the period, the walking, the lack of cocktails, and the painkillers, there was absolutely no point in the date.

He made dinner, half of which I couldn’t eat because of my ridiculous Poo Problems, and then I passed out on the couch. We spent 14 hours together. An hour and a half of that was spent moaning, or me subjecting him to the sulky silent treatment, 8 of those hours were spent sleeping in bed, two of those hours were spent with me sleeping on him on the couch. Eleven and a half hours of our 14 hour date WASTED. I started to wish I hadn’t gone.

You see, I’m starting to see him in a slightly different light now, and I don’t know if that’s because I’m an uber-bitch because of the period from hell, or if I’m really not that into him. Because I really don’t think I’m that into him.

I wasn’t overly bothered that I didn’t get to see him over the last few weeks. Yes, I was marginally pissed off, but it wasn’t end of the world stuff. And he’s really starting to annoy me. If I’m out of contact for a couple of hours (which I am, regularly), or if I don’t appear at the exact time we first agree, he’s on the phone to me, bugging me every five minutes. I can’t be with someone like that. I’m always late. ALWAYS. I’m late to everything – work, social events, writing work occasionally. I don’t know how or why I’m late so often, especially as I seem to get up stupidly early some days, but I am. There is a vortex right outside my front door, and I’m sure there’s hours of my time stuck in there!

Plus I’m really disorganised. I’m not grubby but I am messy. I live in continual chaos, and my desk is always covered by pieces of paper and little note-scraps. I leave the dishes for a couple of days sometimes, and I don’t do my laundry as often as I need to. He’s like OCD clean. Within ten minutes of finishing dinner, he’s off to the kitchen doing the dishes. I cannot live like that. I want to veg out after dinner.

Last night was the first night I was bored with him. I just felt like the date had been a complete waste of my time. I could have stayed at home, gotten high, and written a few thousand words, earning myself some much-needed money. Instead, I spent a fortune getting over to his, and then only actually spending a couple of hours with him, and I’d hardly call that quality time. Pointless.

I’m meant to be going back to his place Monday night / Tuesday day to spend it with him, his two friends, and their two-year old daughter. He wants to introduce me to his friends? Really? I can’t even decide whether or not I really want him in my life, and he’s dropping the L-bomb conveniently into conversation all the time, and introducing me to his closest friends. I’m so not ready for this bullshit.

What the fuck am I meant to do here? I’ve already blown these particular friends out once, possibly twice. I think only the once though. I can’t blow them out again. Someone New won’t be able to forgive me, and as much as I’m not sure if I want him in my life, I definitely don’t want to hurt his feelings. I’m not that much of a bitch. Am I?

I’m not over Jock enough to jump into a relationship like this. There’s me casually dating this guy (although not dating anyone else either), and he’s IN LOVE. Plus I’m pretty sure he’ll have a rock on my finger within a year. He’s that kind of guy, you know.

What happened to taking your time? I’ve had this conversation with him. I’ve told him that I want things to slow down. He agreed with me. He said he would slow it down. So why is he making me do this? Social anxiety aside, I’m not ready to meet his close friends. I’ve not yet been brave enough to head into his work place yet. Apparently the girl he used to screw said I was pretty. She’s young though. I’m not stupid enough to think she won’t react to me in some way. Not only am I his NEW squeeze, but she probably still has a bit of a thing for him as he’s older and she’s pretty young. Plus I look the way I do. I’m quite intimidating when I want to be. And I’m very snooty and up my own ass when you meet me. My quiet, shy, social anxiety persona doesn’t come across as shy and quiet. She comes across a real fucking bitch. But I know this. I accept it. So that’s fine, right?

So what do I do? Find myself some balls and go see his friends Tuesday anyway? Or do I try and find another excuse to get out of it? I can’t just tell him I’m not sure about him yet… Can I?

Maybe Because It's Shark Week?

Maybe it’s just because of shark week? 

Bad Times, Peeps. Bad Times.

If you’ve been a reader for a while, you’ll probably have noticed that I seem to be suffering with some kind of debilitating bowel condition, usually leaving me with either vomiting, diarrhoea, strange gut noises, excess gas, odd smells, you name it. Except apparently, I’m not suffering with some kind of debilitating bowel condition. I’m making it all up. That’s what the Doctors think – it’s all in my head.

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Bestie had a stomach bug last week. We actually thought he had norovirus (sp?) – a virus that is apparently doing the rounds over here, crippling one person at a time with dodgy guts and flu-like symptoms. Then I got it. Or so we thought. Six days later, when I was still vomiting at least once a day, and still getting a very bad stomach even though there was nothing left inside it, I made myself a doctors appointment. I’d already called in sick at work once and had my head well and truly bitten off by my boss who has turned out to be a real dick about all of this. If I hear the words “following procedures” one more time come out of his mouth, I’m going to ram my fucking fist down it. I know what the fucking procedures are you little cunt. I’m well-fucking-aware.

The Doc told me that although there are lots of little problems discovered throughout the investigations into why my insides are trying to kill me, there was nothing serious to give a real reason behind it. My anxiety is getting out of control, however, so she’s referred me to yet another shrink, and given me a prescription for a course of antidepressants / anti-anxiety pills that I should be on for about six months, starting off on the lowest dose and working my way up from there.

Sorry, how is this possible? I’ve already thrown up in the garbage can in my bedroom once this morning, and my stomach has had me doubled over in pain and running to the bathroom three times. I’ve been belching up air that tastes and smells like egg, even though I haven’t actually eaten eggs for a good couple of months, and I feel as if I have been hit by a truck. How is there seriously nothing wrong with me? How can they seriously not find anything wrong with me??

The doc asked if I had allergy tests yet. Nope. I have been promised a dietician for months but nothing has materialised. She’s sent me off for more blood tests, given me a pamphlet for a new shrink, a thirty quid prescription for drugs I really didn’t want in the first place, and still no answer to my questions. There are still no results from my endoscopy biopsy from back at the beginning of April. The endoscopy itself only showed a small patch of erosion in my stomach, and some GERD. Whatever GERD is. Again, none of this has been explained to me. I have no idea what GERD is, or I didn’t until I researched it myself with the help of Google. And we all know what Google does. It takes a headache and convinces you you’re suffering with lung cancer.

Now, don’t get me wrong. I know what a blessing the NHS is. I’ve lived on the other side of the world where you need to pay for your healthcare unless you have some pretty good benefits. I’m not complaining about it per se. Well, actually I am. Don’t I pay for this NHS? Why isn’t it doing me any favours right now?

For a while I thought they might have been right. Maybe this was all in my head? Maybe I was doing this to myself each and every morning I woke up, my skin wracked with goosebumps because I was in so much pain on the toilet? But how can I be? I know the mind is a powerful thing, but surely even the mind can’t give me chronic diarrhoea for three days in a row, when there is literally nothing left inside my body to produce as waste?

This is starting to have a very real and very negative impact on my life yet the Doctor’s can’t find anything wrong. Apart from the polyp up my ass which didn’t end up being bowel cancer, but still put me at high risk, plus the diverticula (or diverticulitis – we aren’t sure which, and each doctor calls it something different) which apparently, isn’t a real condition and shouldn’t be giving me any symptoms at all, and the GERD plus minor erosion they found when they sent a camera down my throat, apparently there is nothing wrong with me.

There is nothing inside me that would give an exact reason as to why I get diarrhoea most days, and vomiting on the very worst of them. They can’t explain why my stomach makes so much noise, that I no longer feel comfortable eating in public. They can’t explain why it feels as if I have marbles rolling around inside me, causing some very real discomfort. They can’t explain why I projectile-vomited in the kitchen sink at a party of four held just for me because I keep blowing them out when there is a massive group of people are around, while they were trying to dish up dinner. They can’t explain why I had the worst pain underneath my sternum the other night, to the point where I almost took myself off to the hospital. They can’t explain why I have spent the entirety of today burping up what tastes and smells just like egg, even though I’ve not eaten egg in months. None of these very real symptoms can be explained by anything. They keep telling me there is nothing wrong with me. Surely that’s not right?

None of my doctors know how to communicate with each other. I have never seen the same doctor two times in a row. Nobody knows about ALL of my symptoms. They haven’t listened to the recordings I made on my phone when my stomach-noise was at it’s worst and loudest. They haven’t heard the cries when I’m in crippling pain because it feels as if my intestines are being twisted around by giant hands. They aren’t understanding how I’m down to barely one meal a day, and even then I can’t guarantee whether it will stay down… Or up. They don’t listen to how EXHAUSTED I feel for most of the day. I wake up more tired than when I went to bed, and I have zero energy left by the time I’ve made it TO work, let alone HOME from work.

Speaking of work. I’ve quit my job. I’ve handed in my 30-day notice. I seem to have skipped an ‘action plan’ for my sickness, and gone straight to a written warning disciplinary, and my boss is making this really hard for me. I’m not sure whether or not he’s trying to, but I’m already well aware of how much I’m letting them down. I’m trying so hard to make it to work every day. I really am trying. But with my anxiety apparently getting worse, it would seem like I’m not doing a very good job of keeping it together. This was the last straw for him, this final week I’ve been signed off by my Doctor. He’s having me moved to another store. That’s what he messaged me back. This doesn’t work for him or me. Blah blah blah.

Fuck it. I quit. I’ll be a writer and hope and pray everything works out. If it doesn’t, I’ll go looking for another job. I guess?

See, I’ve been putting off becoming a full-time writer for about three years. I’m so scared that I won’t pull myself together. I’ll be self-employed. I’ll need to kick my own ass into actually doing the work I need to do. And if we go by the last three months I had signed off work, where I did the bare minimum (although I was having the HARDEST time and was VERY sick), it’s not going to go well at all.

But I’m a different person now, aren’t I? Although my insides might not agree with me, aren’t I meant to be a ‘stronger’ person these days? Surely, with all the time I’ll have, and the knowledge that my ‘day job’ won’t pay my rent if I don’t finish that writing project, I’ll be able to make it work? Well, I don’t have a choice now. Because I’ve done it. My response to him was “I’ll hand my letter of notice in tomorrow. I can’t do this anymore”

I’ve written it out. I just need to email it to him. But I’m putting it off. I don’t know why. Not that it matters because he’s already told at least one other work colleague. It’s not like I can just back out now, is it? I can’t believe he did that. I can’t believe he told my work colleague I was quitting before I’d even handed my notice to him. What a cunt.

There has got to be an end to this never-ending story of shit soon, surely? Oh, did I throw into the mix that I still seem to be bleeding for a week or so after every time I have sex with Someone New? Yes, that’s right – I didn’t even mention my pre-cancerous cells on the cervix situation I have going on at the same time as all that shit. Well, after my LLETZ procedure, I am bleeding far too fucking regularly for my liking. And that awful traumatic experience was months ago now. I cannot seem to get a fucking break. At all!

Plus, all this vomiting… And the bleeding? I’ve only just gone back on the pill… Tomorrow I think I’ll do a test. Just in case. You know, what with all the bad luck I seem to have had recently, I wouldn’t past it past fate to throw a fucking badly-timed pregnancy into the mix. Oh please God, don’t let it be that. I’ve never really prayed before but I will be praying like anything that it’s not that. For once, the boyfriend situation is the only part of my life going quite nicely. I’d be so pissed if that got all screwed up just like the rest of my life.

Bad times, peeps. Bad times.

Rant over. 

I HATE Condoms.

Right, I’m a 20-something girl who has had her fair share of sex and has racked up a certain amount of sexual partners over the years. I’m not a complete twat, I know how important safe sex is. I know how important condoms are. But seriously – I fucking hate them.

I Hate Condoms

They ruin the mood for a start. Now don’t get me wrong, nothing ruins the mood even more than an STI, but they seriously ruin the mood. There is nothing attractive about a guy putting on a condom, and let’s be honest about this, there aren’t that many attractive ways that a girl can put one on her guy either. What am I meant to do when these guys are putting on their rubbers? Am I meant to look at them, look away, amuse myself, flick dust bits off the duvet…? It’s an awkward, uncomfortable moment, especially when the lights are on or it’s daylight, and I hate it.

Oh, and what about buying them? I have the HARDEST time buying condoms. Just take a read at this:

Why Is Buying Condoms In Your Twenties So Difficult?

Once again, I fucking HATE them.

Oh and what about those times when you forget the condoms? Those are the fucking absolute worst times. That was like my third date with Someone New – both of us forgot them, even though we had even discussed having them ready and which ones we should buy, and it was the most frustrating, pissed-off date of my entire life. Either that or one of you has to do the mad, desperate dash to the local petrol station, chemist, shop, or pub toilet machine wearing jeans and no underwear, and no t-shirt under that hoody that you hastily threw on.

Then there’s the whole plastic-bag-in-between-you-during-sex thing. I don’t care how thin they make these fuckers, or how much like skin they manage to make them feel, they don’t feel like fucking skin. They don’t feel natural. They don’t feel non-existent. They are there, they squelch, they make noise, and most of the time, I can feel them.

Plus, have you ever given head to a guy wearing a rubber? Strawberry-flavoured my ass. It doesn’t matter what kind, brand, or flavour of condom that you buy, they always taste like rubbery, lubricated shit. End of conversation.

The position-changes are the worst though. He’s desperately trying to keep the rubber on his cock while you contort around the bed trying to breathe in, push your tits out, make your butt look firmer, and in reality, he’s not paying attention to any of your hard work. He’s just praying that his dick stays hard while it’s raincoat-covered self is desperately waiting for you to get comfy so he can merrily thrust into you again.

If he decides to just cum all over you, there’s that awkward moment when you’re lying there on your back, hands caressing your own breasts, and he’s there pinging the condom off his cock with gusto – like he’s just won a prize and is eagerly unwrapping it. What the fuck guys? Why are you doing that? Just take the condom off like a normal person. There’s no need to be a dick.

If he doesn’t decided to cum all over you and prefers to blurt his load in said condom, there’s none of the lazy post-coital moments where you let him go soft inside you and he slides out with a plop as the two of you doze off. Nope, you can’t do that. Not that most of us would want to. But if he stays in there just a moment too long, there’s the risk that the condom can come off as his dick shrinks in it’s porridgy grave it’s entombed within. Plus then he needs to actually hold his own manhood as he slides out of you in a most undignified fashion, to again ensure that the said condom won’t just slide off and spill his baby-batter everywhere.

Of course, you could be massively super unlucky like me last night. You could be merrily grinding and humping your way on top of him, the position that drives him crazy and makes him ‘cum so hard, I get dizzy’ (his words, not mine), let him blurt his load inside you, and then realise that the condom is nowhere to be fucking seen.

He goes to hold the bottom of the rubber while you ‘hop off’, but there was no rubber there to hold. Was it inside me? Embarrassed, I quickly have a feel before realising it’s not easily accessible wherever it is, and scampering to the bathroom. I pop two fingers up and have a feel around… I can’t feel the condom. Oh my god has it actually gone inside of me? No, surely not. That can’t be the case. There’s nowhere for it to go… Or is there? I recently had that LLETZ procedure to remove precancerous cells. Could it be lost somewhere in that? Holy shit. What the fucking fuck am I going to do?

I clean myself and his juices out of me and run back to the bedroom. He’s found it, thankfully. It must have become dislodged somewhere between me being on my back and me humping away on top of him. Breathe a sigh of relief – condom is not lost somewhere inside the inner depths of my body.

Later that night, I realised something. Six weeks ago, I underwent a very invasive and uncomfortable procedure to remove precancerous cells caused by essentially what is an STI passed to me during sexual contact, probably by my husband. He was a skank and he caught at least two disease in the time that I knew him. Yes, let’s blame him, the fucking skank. Despite my hatred for him and the complete disregard he had of my sexual health to go sleeping with hookers without using protection (apparently – that’s what he told me), just hours earlier I basically had unprotected sex with a man I’d known for just a couple of months. Oh and I’m not on the pill anymore and haven’t been for months.

I asked him to go and get himself tested and his response lead me to believe he hadn’t ever been tested before, or if he had, hadn’t been for years. He didn’t deny it when I asked him later on. I have pestered, badgered, and bugged him into finding the number for the local clinic and promising to call them up tomorrow to make himself an appointment. I don’t give a fuck how uncomfortable it makes him. He’s doing it or he doesn’t get inside me anymore. I’m going back on the pill and I’ve been recently tested for everything with the all-clear, it’s his time to stand up and take responsibility for something in our relationship. If he wants me, this is what he needs to do to get me. I don’t actually think that’s too unreasonable. Do you?

Plus, I’m not on the pill. I’m due on my period in the next couple of days, although we don’t know what the LLETZ will have done to my already pretty fucked cycle. I am considering getting myself the morning after pill but I will wait another 12 hours to see if my period comes. If it doesn’t, I’ll run to the pharmacy. The last thing I want to do right is get myself pregnant. Fuck that. Fuck all of that.

So yeah, I fucking hate condoms. I would go through every uncomfortable sexual health test in the world if it meant not needing to wear those awful, rubbery things. I’d forget about my needle phobia and have every vaccination known to man if I meant I could have sex without a condom.

I hate them. I fucking hate them. And now I’m hoping I don’t get fucking pregnant.

I’m So Indecisive Today.

I don’t really know what has happened. A few days ago, I was well into my Someone New. Then he went away for the weekend for work, and I found out that he stopped shagging a work colleague only a few months ago (plus they were shagging for more than a few months, and she’s prettier and skinnier than me, and they still work together, and he’s 30 and she’s only 21 – ew!) and all of a sudden, it’s like I’m not all that interested anymore.

I don’t really know what’s happened. I don’t know if it’s because I’m scared I have cervical cancer – I got a letter confirming that the colposcopy showed ‘high grade cervical intraepithelial neoplasia’ and I was to wait for the biopsy results to make a plan with my consultant in the ‘near future’. It’s all a bit scary if you ask me, even if I am being paranoid.

It might not be that. Maybe he’s just a bit blah for me? I thought at the beginning that he might be a bit of a ‘nice guy’. Maybe it was the revelation of the work colleague that he’s no longer sleeping with, but was sleeping with not that long ago, for a while, and they still work together? Surely everyone knows by now that you don’t shit where you eat? Plus she’s so young – 30 versus 21. That’s just weird, right? Just me?

Maybe I’m just having a hard time right now and I don’t know what I want? I said to him before he went away on his work trip that I didn’t know if this was right for just now. I don’t feel that this sick, weepy, emotional, scared person is a true representation of me. I don’t feel like I’m being myself around him. I’nervous and I don’t know how to act. That’s not me. I eat men like him for breakfast… Don’t I?

He’s already told me that he’s falling for me. He told me once via text message and then he went and actually said the words one of the last times we were on the phone. He’s falling for me. Four dates. A month and a half. He’s falling for me? Uh, again? Another narcissist? Why does this keep happening to me? Why couldn’t we have just sailed along nicely for a few months, like four to six months, having a good time, having too much sex and generally enjoying the ‘honeymoon’ phase before we went into “I’m falling for you” territory? What happened to courting? Dating? Wooing? How can he be falling for me already after just four dates and one sleepover? It’s like Jock happening all over again except it was seven dates for him, wasn’t it – 34 days?

That’s not all either. He told me I would have a surprise coming a while back and the day before Valentine’s Day, a small box with my favourite candies, a couple of stuffed toys and an anonymous Valentine’s Day card turned up at my work. He called himself “Little Legs” in the card so I knew it was him (for someone so tall, he has remarkably small legs), but I never once told him where I worked. I mean, he probably had an idea, but he would never have known where exactly it was. Apparently he worked out how long it took me to get to work in the morning when I was messaging him, and figured it out from my house. Kinda romantic, yes. Super creepy, absolutely!

Plus he keeps talking to my Dad! Admittedly he bought a few bike-related bits and pieces from him but even still, it’s weird that I personally haven’t introduced them, right? And that they are talking quite happily on Facebook. My Dad has even started liking Someone New’s posts on my Facebook page. It’s like this relationship is running away with itself for everyone but me. My Dad loves him. Someone New loves me. What’s the problem here?

I think I know what the problem is. I just don’t want to say it. Don’t make me say it. OK, fine. The problem is I’m not over Jock. I still love Jock. I still pine for Jock. He’s still the only guy I really ever wanted. It’s not as much of a problem as it was a few months back but I’m definitely still going through the motions of that breakup. I think this little love affair with Someone New may have started just a little too soon. I can see this ending badly – I’m going to break his heart.

There’s too many warning signs here for my liking. He’s too controlling even though he’s trying so hard not to be. I thought he came across as a nice guy but at times I wonder if this is just a facade. Is he really a nice guy? He has this dark undercurrent running through him and that won’t make sense to any girl that hasn’t sensed it for herself, but it’s like you can imagine them being really mean and spiteful in a fight, really out of line, really controlling. It’s that quiet arrogance, the same kind of quiet arrogance that I once found so attractive in my Husband. Look how that turned out…

I think maybe I’m just thinking too much into things right now. Maybe I should just kick back and relax? Maybe I’m just an angry, frustrated little bunny because I’ve not gotten laid, and I still have another couple of weeks to go before I can.

Doesn’t help me out right now though. I’m trying to work out whether or not I want to go on the fifth date with my Someone New in about two hours time. I’m trying to work out if I want to stay at his tonight. Or should we just have dinner and then I leave? I’m horny and seriously craving a man’s touch, but will getting him off be enough to curb my hunger for a couple more weeks? Or will it just increase my frustrations? I don’t really have anything to lose by going. Maybe I just can’t be bothered?

I’m so indecisive today. 

#SmearForSmear: From Normal Girl to High Grade Dyskaryosis & Potential Cancer Scare No. 2!

So, it’s taken me a little while to write about this, mostly because it’s actually a pretty terrifying thing for any woman to need to go through. After already broaching the topic of cervical cancer and some pretty suspect symptoms along the way with a doctor and being laughed out of the surgery, I had put the thought of it all to the back of my mind. I went for my routine three-yearly smear and within six days I’d received a letter – “High grade dsykaryosis”. (See previous blog post)

#SmearForSmear

I was referred for a colposcopy which I had yesterday. The gynaecologist, possibly the funniest Indian chap I’ve ever met in my life, informed me that they had found the severest grade of abnormal cells and he would definitely be offering me treatment at the same time – a LOOP procedure which involved him basically burning craters out of my cervix. Stupidly, (or not so) I had watched a couple of YouTube videos so although I was completely terrified out of my wits, I at least knew what I should expect and before I knew it, my mother was ridiculously crying to the side of me, my legs were in stirrups and the guy had jabbed a local anaesthetic needle into my insides FOUR times before cutting / burning out a section approximately the size of a chocolate mini-egg.

I was told there would be some ‘mild discomfort’ as they injected my cervix with the anaesthetic. Mild discomfort my ass. Apparently there are no nerve endings in the cervix itself so the pain I was feeling is the flesh being stretched, but the pain I felt was sharp, stabbing and felt like it had gone right up to my rib cage. To be fair, the second, third and fourth stabbing I barely felt but that first one was enough to put me off forever. Legs up in those awful stirrups, there was not only me and my mother watching him stab stuff inside me, but the gynaecologist himself and THREE nurses. There was literally a party happening in my va-jay-jay. The only thing that was missing was wine and music!

It wasn’t long before he was wiping a cotton bud with some sort of acid over my cervix. Nothing really painful about that but you could definitely feel someone moving around inside of you. I noticed the area had gone from pink to white, examining the TV screen myself, and he agreed with me – they were the abnormal cells, and he would need to take them out. He told me not to look at what he did next because of how uncomfortable I felt about the blood that appeared from the injections, and from what I can gather from the smell, the loop-wire contraption burnt and cauterised stuff away from me. It smelt like burning flesh and the noise the device was giving off was enough to make me cry. I’ll be honest with you, it was probably the worst procedure I’ve ever had done. It was an invasive, scary, unknown, frightening experience that completely stripped me of my dignity. I wouldn’t wish this on the nastiest bitches I know.

It lasted, in total, probably about twenty minutes. Maybe even half an hour. I went in, spoke to the gynaecologist, stripped from the waist down, positioned myself, and was sanitary-towelled up and walking out the hospital in no time at all. Oh yeah, you don’t realise how shitty things are going to be afterwards though. Quick it was, painless – nope!

I managed to walk the 15 or so minutes home afterwards and to be honest, the cool rain on my face helped me to compose my thoughts. I was a mess before, during and after that procedure, and it really knocked me for six. I needed some time, just me, to think about what had happened, and to consider what could happen next. It’s 20th Feb right now and if I haven’t heard from the team by the end of March, I’m to call them but to assume everything is just fine. I will have a follow-up smear and colposcopy in six months and see what happens from there.

If I do hear from them before that, it’s probably going to be bad news. If the letter comes quickly, it’s definitely bad news. There are a couple of worst-case scenarios – the margin of the bad cells isn’t within the biopsy they took and I’ll need to have a repeat procedure. Or the pre-cancerous cells they’ve found will show signs of actual cancer and I may need further treatment…. such as a hysterectomy. That’s probably my worst-ever case scenario. I don’t want to talk about that right now.

So now, I’m just kinda hoping I don’t ever hear form the team I saw again. Well, maybe in like a couple of months time to say that all is OK, they got all the pre-cancerous cells out, and I will just be called back again in about six months time to get checked out again. I don’t want to think about the alternatives – the worst case scenarios. I’ve pushed the symptoms I had to the back of my mind, I’m just going to breathe and take it easy. I can’t worry about having cancer again, despite how much of my cervix appeared to turn white under that acid, and how much of my body he actually removed. After only getting the all-clear from bowel cancer just a month or so ago, I feel that life has dealt me a very cruel hand right now. But I’m hopeful and positive that in just a couple of months time, I can laugh about this one too.

Going back to the colposcopy and I was told that I would experience bleeding on and off for around three to four weeks. 24 hours later, I’ve had no bleeding at all. There’s the tiniest bit of weird browny, jelly-like, almost clear stuff coming out (sorry for the TMI but I really need to talk about this!) but he put some antibiotic gel up there so I assumed it would squelch out of me at some point. You’re not allowed to wear tampons for four weeks, however, which is a big fucking deal for me. I have never used sanitary towels before in my life. I didn’t know which ones to buy and needed to go on a shopping trip with my (useless) mother (because she doesn’t use them either) and ended up taking the advice of my younger sister (embarrassing) to buy the longest, ugliest things I’ve ever seen in my life. Big pants are in these days, it would seem. Oh yeah, I never wear big pants either. I’m a thong / g-string kinda girl during the day because I hate a VPL.

So after waddling home with what feels like a whole role of toilet roll in my massive underwear, I chill out for half an hour and discuss my ordeal with Bestie and in a split second, I go from slightly sombre, scared chick, to screaming in pain, crazy-eyed freak. I was in so much pain I literally couldn’t sit still. I’ve never had kids so I don’t know but that’s totally how I imagine labour to feel like, with wave after wave of pain coming from somewhere right in the middle of me. I couldn’t sit still, I couldn’t stand up, it was so painful that wriggling my toes seemed the only logical option. I took two paracetamol and then half an hour later when the pain still hadn’t subsided, I took one more. I can’t take anything stronger because of the diverticulitis. I had a hot water bottle, and then I lost all hope, gave in and smoked a spliff. I couldn’t cope with those cramps and that pain. Mild discomfort my ass. There was nothing mild about that.

I’m starting to feel like I’m fighting a losing battle here. I have invasive procedure after invasive procedure with no real end in sight. I have no holes left to poke and prod, no orifice left alone by the godamn NHS. I have no dignity left. I have no faith left either. I came out of the bowel cancer a much stronger (or getting there) woman and I started to feel like I was getting somewhere. That rug has been well and truly ripped out from under me now. Cervical cancer scares apparently aren’t that much fun either. I don’t really understand why life keeps spectacularly falling to pieces around me like this.

I don’t really know what I’ve done to deserve all of this bullshit. 

#SmearForSmear

#SmearForSmear

So, keeping in line with the whole #SmearForSmear thing, I went and had mine done. I should wait two weeks for the results and if I’d not been sent a letter, it should be fine but to give my doctor a call.

Less than seven working days after I had my smear, I got a letter. “There were some changes to some of the cells in your cervix called high grade dyskaryosis. It is unlikely that you have cancer but these changes need investigation and the appropriate treatment.”

That’s right, less than a month and a half after I got the all-clear from what we believed could have been bowel cancer, I’ve been told there’s a chance I might have cervical cancer instead. I find that pretty fucking ironic seeing as I had Googled all of my symptoms and came up with cervical cancer by myself right at the beginning of what I had started to call my “Poo Problems”, almost six months ago. I even asked the doctor if there was a chance that I could book a smear because of my concerns, and I had also read of a blood test that you could have done, but he dismissed it entirely telling me that I probably had IBS and shoo-ed me out of his office.

Six months later I finally get the smear I had asked for, and now I’m told the thing I had suspected all along – there was something wrong – I have high grade CIN3 dyskaryosis. What does this mean? I have no clue. I called the Doc’s and spoke to an actual female doctor and she just told me what the letter had said. They had found high grade, severe abnormal cells and therefore needed to be sent for a colposcopy and treatment.

Now, I must present to you the symptoms I’ve had over the last few years. I’m going to say three years. As soon as I came home from the other side of the world after leaving Big Love, my periods were all over the place. I have been keeping track of them on an app on my phone for over a year now and my cycles are never the same. Sometimes it will be 43 days, sometimes it will be 22 days, and most of the time it’s a completely random number anywhere between the two. I had pain during sex and occasionally bleeding but I put that down to just being rough and ready (and normally drunk), uncomfortable lower abdominal pains, chronic backache, itchy and uncomfortable legs… Plus there’s the poo problems too. Apparently they could all have been linked from the start.

For someone that never really wanted to have kids, the thought of not having the option to choose literally fills me with dread. I can’t bear the thought of not being able to make that decision for myself. The thought of it makes me cry. Proper cry. Painful cry. The kinda cry where your lip wobbles uncontrollably, and you can’t stop the tears from falling onto your Mac as you type out the words. I know we’re talking about the worst case scenario here but it’s kinda hard not to when you’re faced with the thought of having cancer for the second time in six months. I also think it’s kinda ironic that the Hubby has a kid that he doesn’t want or see, while I’m faced with the possibility of not having kids at all. And let’s face it, with the diseases that he bought home, there’s a fucking good chance that it was him that gave me the sodding HPV virus in the first place. Oh yeah, I never told you that I found out he had a kid while he was on the other side of the world, did I? Lol, I can’t wait to get into that story.

I’m positive on the outside, not letting it phase me and just getting on with life, having a laugh and being the cool, bubbly person people know me as. Inwardly though, I’m a wreck. It’s not even 11:30am right now and I’ve already smoked a herbal little beauty and to be honest, I couldn’t care less if you judge me for it. Two cancer scares in less than six months. I reckon it’s the perfect time to live a little dangerously, don’t you?

On the plus side, I think tonight might be date number four with my Someone New. Maybe tonight I’ll get laid? I’d better get laid. After the treatment on Thursday, I’m not going to be able to have sex for four weeks, or so the pamphlet says. I can’t wait another four weeks to fuck him. It needs to happen tonight. He doesn’t know it yet (I blew him out last night) but he will be getting a little visitor when he finishes work in the form of a very nervous, very frustrated, very playful little Smurf. That’s his nickname for me, by the way. He said this was me: (which I kinda liked)

#SmearForSmear

I need a night of frivolous cuddles with Someone New. I need to feel desired and pretty, like I’m not just one health concern after another. I want him to prove that he will be there to hold my hand through this like Jock couldn’t. That’s not bad, is it? Plus, I really don’t want to wait another four weeks. I’m scared he’ll lose interest and worse than that, I’m scared I’ll lose interest. You know how that seems to happen.

So yeah, that’s what going on in my life right now. Two cancer scares in six months. Except this one is marginally scarier.