Ladies and gentlemen, I bring you... labyrinthitis! Upon diagnosis, I did wonder if this might have been brought on by an excess of David Bowie and too many gnomes but it turns out, it's completely unrelated, and actually means that your clever, clever brain forgets which way is up, which way is down, and makes you fall over and vomit. A lot. It's nothing to do with being pregnant, but because vomiting a lot dehydrates you, I had to go to hospital. Joy.
High points of labyrinthitis:
- Finding out that if you vomit enough, you get to bring up some really interestingly-coloured bile. Think a bright neon yellow marker pen. Cool!
- Finding out that if the staff at Whipps Cross hospital tell you that they don't have a bed that you can lie down in until you are triaged, there's not much you can do... Until, that is, you decide to lie on the floor in the corridor, clutching your sick bowl and moaning, and then suddenly a whole room becomes available really quickly.
- Finding out how quickly dignity disappears. The best part of one night was having to press a buzzer to get someone to take me to the toilet; I had to hold onto my IV stand, sit on a bedpan, whilst vomit into another bedpan (and partly over an orderly), whilst said orderly watched me wee.
- Finding out that injections in your bottom really hurt.
- Getting a preview of a labour ward. If you're a certain amount pregnant, pretty much no matter what's wrong with you, you go to the maternity ward instead of A&E. Basically I spent a night inside a very personal episode of One Born Every Minute. I have decided, pretty finally, that childbirth, or a C-Section, both sound like not very good ideas. I am open to other suggestions.
It took ages to start feeling better, hence my absence. Even as I type this, I am still completely deaf in one ear and find crossing the road a lot more like Frogger than I used to. Especially the part where I have to jump on crocodiles' backs to cross a fast-flowing river.
Anyway, I'm back. Hello.