Brian the Obloid Fibroid

 Told the surgery I needed blood tests and an ultrasound and they booked me in for a clinical review with a GP a week hence. When he rang I was in a noisy pub watching football. “Looks like you need a blood test and an ultrasound!” he bellowed at me, helpfully, while I hovered outside by an overflowing ashtray, away from the cheers and groans. “We’ll get you a blood test first, then if it shows anything nasty you’ll be fast-tracked for a scan!”In fact I got appointments for both the week after, probably because I sound like a sharp-elbowed middle class wanker who’ll cause trouble otherwise. Blood test today, with a kind beautiful nurse. I warned her I was squeamish - oddly, caning people until they bleed makes me happy rather than faint, I dread to think why - and she distracted me with tales of her son, who’s about to have his tonsils out. Is he nervous? I asked. No, he’s super excited, she said, can’t wait for the pain and nuisance to stop. Wow, life lessons from a 7 year old, wa...

 Disclaimer: this will be a journey into self-pity - disgusting, sweary and furious. I've barely endured a medical problem before and I’m obsessed with this one. I can’t keep bothering friends and twitter followers with every loathsome detail and crippling fear, so I shall record them here, because writing is how I make sense of the world, and also if I can get some copy out of this horror, that will feel like partial recompense.  A couple of years ago I started struggling to pee. It was worst in the mornings and when my period was due. It wasn’t like cystitis: there was no stinging. It felt like there was something physically blocking the pee from emerging. If I walked for ten minutes or so, things started to ease up and I could pee like a normal girl. Same thing happened if I’d been crunched up on the sofa or in the car. Gradually it got worse. I started to sweat one day I might not be able to fix it with walking and I'd blow up in a giant pissy puddle, which would make for ...