I am not getting off scot-free after all, you know. Last night the Universe saw that I was physically comfortable, and the Universe saw that this was not on at all, and any and all suffering done in the past eight years by no means entitles me to a ‘get out of jail free’ card this time, and yea, verily, the Universe woke me at four am for a smiting.
Basically, and predictably, I stopped taking the progesterone supplements, and my hitherto politely dormant endometriosis awoke with a start, and leaked blood all over my lower bowel. What else was it going to do under the circumstances? So now I have that pain, in my lower abdomen, the crampy irritated pain like trapped wind or someone wrapping elastic bands round loops of my intestine, which makes me feel I constantly need to fart even when there’s nothing up there, and which causes outbreaks of diarrhoea. I also have lower backache, because my pet endo-monster does that. Not to be left out, Cute Ute is angrily sore and tender, and is spilling a little fresh blood, but she’s not able to work herself up to full-on Despoiler mode, as she’s fresh out of lining, for which relief much thanks. I have a headache, a stiff neck, and a sore throat (oh, well, cheers, Universe. Why not a summer cold, at this point?). More weirdly, and frankly unpleasantly, I woke with violent cramp in my left calf and both feet, which makes walking to the lavatory and back into something melodramatically tragic à la Little Mermaid, original worryingly sadistic Hans Christian Andersen version.
I am a fucking wreck, Gentle Readers. And much of it feels like a dirty psychosomatic game being played against me for elaborately sadistic metaphorical reasons. And I resent it.