Item – I fell off the diet wagon with a rather louder clang than I anticipated. On Tuesday, the scales were grumpily informing me I’d GAINED 2 lbs. Cue massive crise des nerfs. They’d gone again by this morning, but that makes Week 2 of the Shrinkathon a bit effin’ pointless. No matter. On we soldier.

Item – Big work ‘Do’ tomorrow, though. With cake and booze and one small plate of crudités I shall have to monopolize as inconspicuously as possible. As for no booze, eh. Antibiotics? Tell them all I’m permanently (as opposed to cyclically) off my bonce on codeine and it dinna mix with white wine? Run away? Remember, the truth is not an option. I do not discuss diets with colleagues, people with functional gonads, or skinny little less-than-8-stone sociopaths who spend all day telling me how all these doughnuts in the staff-room are undermining their diet (their what?). So. Dramatic lying it is, then.

Item – I ovulated on Tuesday, you know, as you do (go Satsuma!). This means that when I go for my return visit to The Professor, and then the next day when I go to the gynaecology clinic to discuss the results of the scan I had back in March which showed I had adenomyosis (oh, only, what, FOUR months ago), I really will be off my bonce on codeine, also bent double, sweaty, blood-stained, and incoherent. Oh joy. I shall have to make H write everything down. Dictaphone maybe? (Oh, hey, I could muster a faint in the gynae clinic and, you know, MAKE MY POINT about ignoring people with debillitatingly painful conditions for FOUR MONTHS). And getting across town to the appointments will be… unpleasant. Oh dear.


9 responses to “Arse

  • Nina

    I tell you what you say. You say “what diet? I don’t want to hear that shit anymore, and when you’re through having your regular, non-codeine riddled cycles, normal hormone levels, perfectly fitting clothes, and just generally easy times of it, could you not rub it in, please, as I’m suffering over here and really need a drink.” And then let them know how you really feel. That would be my approach, but I’m sure you’re nicer than me. {{{Hugs}}}

  • Hairy Farmer Family

    Oh ARSE in-very-deed.

    The scales hated me like poison after our long weekend, too, and I have only just shifted it again. I swear, if you add up the weight I have lost over the years, only to regain it, I’d bet you’d have the equivalent of a substantial family saloon car. Maybe even a small truck.

    I never did have chance to comment on your ‘how do you do YOUR dieting?’ post. Answer: I become a complete, neurotic obsessive and begrudge Every. Single. Fucking. Morsel that passes my mouth. (Do I really NEED to eat EVERY segment of this orange?) I weigh myself at least twice a day, and frequently, more often. I nod with grim satisfaction when, upon hopping on the scales at night, I can see that in the morning (which is the Weight That Counts) I will have dropped another pound. I tot up exercise calories burnt with feverish calculation, trying to work out if I’ve done enough to cancel out the food I’ve eaten. Eventually, I cease to be hungry.

    It’s a shit way to live. It’s not sustainable, and certainly not healthy. But I can drop weight this way -particularly combined with exercise – startlingly quickly. It’s so much harder to concentrate on it this time around – last time I lost the weight 2 or 3 times as fast, but I was single and had an empty schedule in which to exercise. This time, I seem to be having a few good days followed by a couple of bad days which partially negate my efforts. Two steps forward, one step back, etc.

    The fact that I’ve let my weight creep back on again over the years – more than once! – is solid testament to my overwhelming sweet tooth and sedentary lifestyle. Go me.

    8-stoner sounds like she has an unhappy little head on her, but I, personally, would fart in her handbag.

    It puzzles me how the follicular phase can be so bloody erratic, yet the luteal phase is so drearily predictable. I have taken to imbibing a cocktail of codeine, paracetamol, AND feminax – careful doses of all, I hasten to say, and reasonably spaced – because the pain is just so not fucking funny anymore, and I simply can’t function. Crouching on the floor groaning is not a nice way to spend a morning, and I know this extremely well, and extend my most solemn and empathic sympathies. FOUR months. The buggers.

  • a

    You could always go with “Oh I had to quit drinking. I can’t hold my liquor any more. I’m still recovering from overdoing it last weekend!” Also, don’t forget to show extreme shock and surprise if the 8-stone sociopath has a drink…reinforce her eating disorder by telling her how alcohol is terribly high in calories. And it converts immediately into sugar in her system, which then gets stored as fat.

    If you can roll into the exam room, groaning and incoherent, I think your future service might improve.

  • Solnushka

    I was just about to suggest what a has. Make the 8-stoner stress about drinking alcohol. Wait till she’s had a few and is more suggestable. He he he.

    I have never satisfactorily found an excuse for not drinking. This is extremely annoying as in the normal run of things I do not actually drink. So drinking is the exception for me yet people do give you funny looks when you don’t. You could grab one wine glass and carry it around all evening, occasionally moistening your lips. People don’t usually notice you aren’t actually drinking it and if they do, tip it in a flower pot every now and again. I suppose it depends on whether you would find that more annoying.

    A dictaphone might be a good idea. I’ll ask B if he has one stashed away. It’ll be hell, but none of your medicos have ever seen you like that have they? Except for Doc Tashless? It might help, I agree. Although I do think you shouldn’t have to keep falling on your sword.


  • Ben Warsop

    Good luck with it all.

    I find it easier not to drink than I do not to eat (years of being the nominated driver, and also quite often I’m *thirsty* dammit and want liquid rather than alcohol).

    The appointment sounds especially tricky.


  • Allison

    Go with the dictaphone. Men never listen properly. (Uhm. No offense to H. Just generalizing. It’s what I do.)

    As for the not-drinking, I find saying “I can have plenty fun without booze” in my most judgmental tone works wonders. Particularly around people who have seen me down two bottles of wine in an afternoon. They’re curious, but confused enough to not ask.

  • Betty M

    I get a glass of fizzy water/ tonic and pretend it’s gin or otherwise nurse a glass for an evening. Or sanctimoniously talk about the dangers of alcohol abuse.

    Like a perhaps they will be more proactive if they can see what it is really like for you.

  • Twangy

    Oh I missed it, being away (with fairies, some would say). But in general, dramatic lying = defo. Go big, I say. A huge lie, like “None for me, thanks. It interferes with embodification when re-entering the Zog atmosphere” just barely muttered, so the colleagues aren’t exactly sure what you said, and are left wondering if that was a joke, or if THEY are over-boozed.
    In truth I never hit upon the perfect lie, so I just say, I have a bit of a headache. Or, no, you’re grand thanks. Which is a kind of answer-all in Ireland, and is just a little bit confusing too. An acquaintance used to say it to people tapping on the street, as in:
    Have you any change love?
    No, you’re grand thanks!
    (Too bleeding heart-ish for this myself. Also used to be a soup-runner).

    I do go on. But once you said you liked long comments! Ones that make sense, you *might* have meant. Ah well, shutting up now. Just will leave you with massive sympathy on timing re appointments. Can’t believe it! Is TOTAL misfortune and bad crap luck. Prof better be impressed with results of diet thus far, too.

  • QoB

    All these suggestions are very entertaining. I especially like the Zog one, though I admit if it were me I’d take the easy way out and go with the tonic/7up disguise.

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