Joanna Cake and the Jeremy Kyle Shows...

I’m struggling to string two words together and the computer keeps giving me a headache but I can’t leave you guys any longer, so beg pardon for typos and incoherence.

We had been planning it for ages, almost six whole weeks where, with just a few days excepting, we would be spending the time together. A chance to really be a proper couple so that no one could say ‘Oh, you only ever see the romantic/sexy side of life.’

An opportunity to truly test if we were compatible – living in each other’s pockets and having to deal with meaty issues like washing up and putting out the bins. And Ruf took his annual leave, closed for business in the Midlands and came back to Essex for two weeks doing yoga and seaside things.

So that was the plan and all was going well… but, during the first night back here I first became aware of the discomfort in my lower back, it was keeping me awake. I must have overstretched at yoga because I was starting to ache all over. During the morning, Ruf told me I felt really warm but I was cold. I went for my massage and he gave me a gentle rub down before telling me I was so hot that he suspected I was about to come down with something.

When I got back, I managed to eat a small dinner and then went to bed – which is when it all went horribly wrong. I woke in the early hours feeling cold and shivery so I got some hot water bottles and took some echinacea. Ten minutes later I was face down in the toilet throwing it back up and I had a vicious headache. I took some paracetamol with a little water… I saw them again too. In the end, nothing would stay in except ice cubes.

It was as if my body had become a fortress focussed on fighting some unknown opponent. Drawing resources from all areas, I could almost feel the good guys marching their way up my bones to try to get to the relevant point.  Only it didn’t seem to be able to communicate where that point was to my brain.  I kept mentally scanning my body, trying to work out exactly where I felt ill but it wasn’t my kidneys, it wasn’t my guts and I didn’t have a cold.

Digestion was a function that had become  unimportant, so it was letting nothing in and nothing out either.  All energy was being diverted to fighting whatever it was and, all the time, I was forced to lie horizontal and nauseous, one minute drenched in sweat, the next shivering so bone clatteringly it required  two big hot water bottles and the winter duvet to warm me again. And if I even smelled food, it made me retch.

Quite pathetic… but the way my body does what it does best.  Personal self-defence.

For three days I lay there, methodically crunching the ice cubes that Ruf supplied.  Drifting in and out of wakefulness, listening to something here and there on the television (no foodshows please), watching the funny patterns on the backs of my eyelids – space invaders, other computer games that I’ve never played before, shapes and formations that reminded me of battle fields in LOTR.

I was aware that my brain was losing synch with my body through lack of food and I kept thinking I must blog that feeling or this sensation but never really understanding how long had elapsed between the awareness and the identification.

But the worst part were the occasional moments of mortal dread when my head was full of noise.  It always took  a few moments to realise that I’d rolled onto the remote control and allowed the bedroom to be invaded by the guests on one of the Jeremy Kyle shows that play here every morning.  (The UK equivalent of Jerry Springer).

Terrifying!