Save Me


I’ve been thinking about the sonographer yesterday probably more than I should, trying to work out what it was I sensed from him, and there’s one word I keep coming back to: irritation. This is one of those moments where I wish I’d had someone else with me, so I could check if I read the whole thing right or not, because inevitably one of my failings is grasping intent from strangers. I’m hoping what I sense was annoyance, that a perfectly healthy woman was wasting his time with a set of scans that showed that I have no infection, I’m completely fine and don’t need surgery. That’s my hope, that when the GP sits down with me next week and looks at the ultrasounds there’ll be nothing except the understanding I have the stones, but as of right now they’re causing me no discomfort or issue whatsoever, and we can all go back to life before all this stupid happened.

Of course, there’s also a part of me that is worrying he saw something horrible but because he’s not a medical professional, that isn’t something for him to pass on.


Whatever happens, I’m in no pain at all right now. This is the best I’ve felt for close to six months, and in terms of fitness and energy, pushing 20k steps yesterday would not have been possible were my body not doing the business. I’m trying really hard not to think about what might happen, and have reconciled myself to the surgery option should it be required, but then I have to think about the sense of sticking me under the knife if I’m feeling perfectly fine, and can continue to ensure I never get a repeat of what happened by eating sensibly going forward. I’m not a doctor, after all, but it occurs to me that considering the current strains on resources, and assuming I have no issues with my health right now, what happens in a situation such as this. Do you assume it will happen again and plan regardless, or is it left to me as the patient to make the choice, I wonder?

I’ve never been in this situation before, so I have no idea.


I’ve taken a day off exercise. PT is normally scheduled for tomorrow, and I’m back on focus towards losing the last of my excess weight. It’s also May 1st and that means it will be a month before I effectively become totally self-employed. It is a bit scary, all told, what is coming up however has got me more excited than anything for several years. Here is the opportunity to sell myself effectively, based purely on my ability to create content.

I hope I can encourage people to take the chance.


I’ll be honest with you. Today would be one of those days where I could so easily give all this effort and hard work up. No exercise, full on cake and sugar, the works. I’d be happy to just sit back and forget the goals I have set, and overlook the mental fortitude. The fact I can sit here knowing that when this post is done I’ll be walking to the Gym is testament to how far I’ve come in what is quite a short space of time: I only started the serious exercise push in September, after all.

The fact I went out in a dress yesterday, in public with bare legs? That’s a different issue entirely.


I think this is probably the larger step forward: my body issues are well known and mostly internalised, but being confident about myself has always been a bit of a thing. There are days, sure, when I can feel great and hugely relaxed, but mostly I’ll hide myself (at present) in leggings and a t-shirt. Except here I am, IN SHORTS, which are normally reserved for holidays where there’s no chance anyone I know will see me. It isn’t just the pear shape, the long body and short legs that is at issue. It is this basic belief that I’m just not happy as I am. For so very long I just couldn’t even think about it, the idea made me ill. Now, there’s a simple reassurance that amazingly? I’m comfortable.

Where on earth did this come from?


Then there’s the fact the last time I wore make up was for a TV interview somewhere in the mid 1990’s. Oddly, in that respect I have absolutely no desire to hide at all, and the juxtaposition of this with my body issues is… well, worth some research. Maybe its because I have other stuff to worry about with more significance. However, it is more likely to be the opposite, I suppose. Having stopped giving a fuck about a great many things when it became apparent there wasn’t enough time for such stupid? Everything has shifted. It’s making my writing more honest too, which is something I may never actually be able to thank myself enough for. After all, I published a poem today. Actual rhyming couplets.

Writing is fucking hard people. If you can do it without thinking, you’re monumentally clever.


I like the idea of setting mental fires under myself. Then I can’t stop moving and have to keep on my toes. The next stage of course, once I hit my target weight and have only maintenance to worry about? What do I do about my residual self-image?

I think maybe I should worry about that only when I get there.