Terrible pain in guts. Ouch.
Not being very bright off the mark, I put it down to stress. I put everything down to stress. It’s usually a good diagnosis.
A rather delicate rose-coloured shade of urine. No. Not stress.
Engage brain. Bad pain in the little tubey bit from kidney out through, plus pink bits = kidney stone.
‘Go! Now! To gin shop!’
And, some gin later, it was all over.
My neighbour over the road was the one who put us onto the gin pain reliever for kidney stones. Gin is cheap in Gib. Cheaper than Ibuprofen. And more effective. A bit like vodka for toothache (Smirnoff, blue, 40%).
I don’t like drinking spirits. I like kidney stones even less.
If it’s not kidney stones, it’s bruises.
I’ve always bruised easily.
At school, the medical doctor was suspicious. Why did I have so many bruises?
Climbing trees, playing outside, answered my mother glibly.
She forgot to say my father slapped and pinched me and pulled me down the staircase. It might have received more attention had I not had a heart murmur so off I went for ECGs and the bruising was forgotten.
These days, they come from the dogs who jump on me. Not from my partner. Or my long-gone dead dad.
But, when I’m bruised, I only go out at vampire light, because I am not an abused woman. I don’t want people to jump to conclusions that my partner hits me.
Even if I was an abused child.
Dogs, because, just … their bruising isn’t intentional.
But I’ve never been as abused as this dog. Please help if you can.
And on a good note, shoot over to Smashwords for great offers on books but it ends 31 July.