As Seen On TV

I reckon being ill is one of the great pleasures of life, provided one is not too ill and is not obliged to work till one is better. ~Samuel Butler, The Way of All Flesh, 1903

And maybe he's on to something. This morning I stayed in my bath robe until noon, reading the latest Mark Haddon book while stretched languorously on my bed in a stream of June sunshine. Feeling particularly and unusually tired, I moseyed downstairs, lazily flicked on the telly and plopped on the sofa to watch an old episode of ER while my tummy lurched and burned. It was the one where Mark Green rented that beach house in Hawaii after he realized his brain tumor was terminal. I hadn't seen that one before and for some reason when the tears came, they wouldn't stop. I feel more than a bit silly admitting that here, but the part where he wanted to write letters to his daughters for them to open at their graduation or on their wedding day really got to me. I guess it reminded me of the way my own father didn't get a chance to finish his Christmas cards.

There was a question about whether my father's death was intentional. He had metastatic colon cancer and at the end, he was in a lot of pain and taking a lot of medications, it would have been easy to lose track. There was a brief inquest by the medical examiner, but ultimately ruled out suicide by means of my father's half finished stack of Christmas cards. When my sister and I were collecting his things from the house, we came across one card that was actually in progress, pen laid out across the paper and then we knew for sure. He was the kind that sent a card out every year to everyone he'd ever met.

I always wondered if he had intended to write the same kind of letters like the good Dr. Green on TV, my father was so meticulous about so many other things surrounding his death that it always surprised me that the letters never surfaced.

I tried to remember the last time I cried and couldn't. It must have been years, probably not since around the time that my Dad died. It was that breathless kind of sobbing that leaves you covered in snot and so very thankful that you're alone. I cried for my Dad at first, but then it turned into something else. Something shifted. A letting go. A release of nervousness over my own health and the culmination of frustration and embarrassment at feeling so fucking miserable all the time.

In 45 minutes, the G will be taking me into the hospital, again. This time the doctors will be putting the camera down my throat and into my belly in hopes of discovering the cause of my misery. I'm nervous, I've been fasting all day and am feeling tired. I hope they find something and I hope they don't. It's a strange dichotomy.

Summer Solstice Soliloquy

The first day of summer comes on dreary and grey in the English midlands, much to match my mood as of late. What's it like where you are? I'm thinking of solstices past in Seattle's Fremont district, watching the joyous parade over a pint of Hoegaarden from a cozy beer garden and marveling with love for my community. Of Alaskan all nighters where it never really gets dark, but maybe a bit dim where calling in the summer from the dizzying heights of railroad bridges over Denali's great cravasses or scooping up the first of the summer's kittiwake chicks on Middleton Island seem so remote and removed from my life now. Of dipping my toes in the Atlantic for the first time on Mount Desert Island in Maine, the summer I discovered hidden swimming holes, the pure delight of licking my fingertips after a dinner on the pier at the lobster pound and the heavy heart of a love affair that falls apart before your eyes.

I'm feeling centered and settled and more engaged with who I am now than at any other point in the crooked path leading me up to where I stand. I admit, however, that I'm finding illness disheartening and this week I've been feeling more and more discouraged. I woke in the night from nightmares of being disemboweled, to find that I am in fact being scooped out by some unknown and creeping pain. I feel rotten. My tummy is in knots and there are moments in which I feel I'm being torn apart and it drops me to my knees. When that eases up there's the lingering and somewhat more sinister burning fist of pain punching at the base of my ribs, like a stitch in my side from running or swimming too hard. It's always there, I can disguise it with painkillers or distract it with exercise, but it remains, lurking, just under the surface. The doctors tell me there are only more invasive tests to be done, the ever pragmatic and optimistic GI specialist I see once a week regards the new medication regime as something to look forward to instead.If you've been wondering why I've been so quiet on the blog of late, this is your explanation. Though, in theory, I've had more time than usual, what with the being off work and all, but I'm finding it difficult to think positively and I didn't want to drag you down with me. I've been vaguely productive, what with nearly finishing the binding off of my first ever quilt, the transporting of my veg garden and planting out of the greenhouse into the garden of the house next door to which we'll be moving in four weeks time, of packing and cleaning for said move, and the tinkering with this and flirting with the idea of starting a home business and the posting of flyers around town and neighboring villages. None of which seemed particularly interesting enough to post on this here blog.

The idea of a blog as a sort of journal teases me. I set this blog up with the idea that it would be a nice way for me to keep my friends and family back home up to date with what I've been up to, a register of the things created before they were inevitably given away or eaten up, or else a curiosity to anyone who fancies moving abroad and wants to know a little more about life on this side of the pond. The blog as a diary or confessional is something I really wanted to avoid, my neighbor insists that the minute my blog becomes too personal she wouldn't want to read it anymore. I think she's on to something. And so, with the onset of summer, the turning of a new leaf, this post will be a one-off and I'll try not to moan too much about my tummy from here on out.

Biliary Blues (and a recipe for low fat chocolate zucchini cupcakes)

So things haven't gone exactly to plan after my emergency gall bladder surgery nearly two months ago. There's some sort of mystery pain that has had me in and out of the hospital ever since. There are a couple of possible explanations - one being that there's a stone left somewhere in the ductwork in my liver and the other being something elusively called post-cholecystectomy syndrome which basically boils down to spasms of the ductwork in my liver. Bummer.

In the meantime, it means I've had a lot of time off work. One more reason to embrace being an expat in Britain: Sick Leave. Even in my first year of employment with the college, I've been given 1 month sick leave at full pay and another at half pay. After I complete the first year, it'll be 6 months of full pay and a year at half pay. Have you ever heard of such a luxury in the US? (Have you seen Michael Moore's 'Sicko' yet? It compares health care in the US with that in Britain, France and Cuba of all places. It's a really important and eye opening film. Do go out and watch it, will you?)

I've had to make some serious changes to my diet as well, since I'm absolutely not able to tolerate any fats without horrible pain and vomiting and nausea. Wonderful. You see, that's what bile does - breaks down fats. Now that my gall bladder's gone, there's no bile available to digest it with so it just makes me sick. That's actually been fairly easy to cope with when it comes to main meals, but desserts are another ball park altogether. So I've been experimenting....

Confidential to anyone who's dieting out there: this one's for you!


Fit and You Know It Chocolate Zucchini Cakes

1/2 cup olive oil
1 1/3 cup granulated/caster sugar
3 eggs
1/2 cup orange juice
1 tsp almond extract
2 1/2 cups all-purpose/plain flour
4 tbsp cocoa powder
1 tsp baking soda
2 tsp baking powder
1 tsp salt
1 tsp cinnamon
1 1/2 cups shredded zucchini/courgette
1 cup semi-sweet chocolate chips
1/2 cup dessicated coconut

The thing about zucchini is that you can't even taste it once it's in a cake, but it adds so much moisture and texture to your cake you won't be able to stop yourself.

Preheat your oven to 350 F/170 C and turn on Regina Spektor's Begin to Hope CD and start bopping to Fidelity. While you're singing along, insert cupcake liners into your tin. In a large bowl, combine the oil, sugar, eggs, orange juice and almond extract. Beat well.

In a separate bowl combine the flour, cocoa powder, baking soda, baking powder, salt and cinnamon. Gradually add the dry ingredients to the wet ones. Mix well. Fold the zucchini, chocolate chips and coconut into the batter.

Fill the cupcake liners 3/4 the way full. Bake for 20-25 minutes or until a toothpick inserted in the centre comes out clean.

For the Icing:
1 1/3 cup confectioner's/icing sugar
1/3 cup cocoa powder
1/4 cup fat free sour-cream
1/4 cup skim milk
1/2 tsp vanilla extract

Combine all ingredients in a small bowl and whisk well with an electric mixer until smooth. If it's a little runny, you can add more icing sugar until you get the consistency you want. This will not be a hard set frosting, (there's no fat!!) so be prepared for it to run off the edges of your cakes or go with a less is more policy. Adorn with dried berries, hazelnuts and sunflower seeds and gobble greedily without guilt.

B is for Beautiful

I often like to pretend that no one I know actually reads this blog thing and that it is more of anonymous bit of whinging and reminiscing. Though more and more I'm realizing that most everyone who knows me in the real world has tracked this blog down (though you never comment! eh hem!) and I thought it was time I actually acknowledged that you're probably interested in what I've really been up to. Not all this making this and baking that mumbo jumbo.

So here's a photo my sister sent me recently that has knocked my socks off. How gorgeous are they?! Does anyone else find it a little strange that Zoe looks more like me than my sister does?

What else can I tell you? I'm leaving tomorrow for Tucson - Woo Hoo! I'll be there through the 1st and then head off to Seattle to catch up in a long overdue trip to my old stomping grounds. There's an old school BBQ revival planned, so if anyone got missed in the e-vites, please contact me and get yerself over there on Friday night!!

My surgery went well, I'm recuperating for the most part though a bit achy breaky here and there and, quite frankly, amazed by the amount of sunshine poo one girl can produce. That's right, I'm talking about my bowel movements online. AGAIN. Geesh. Sunshine poo, I mean it, it's bright yellow. It's amazing. I guess that's where all the bile goes without a gallbladder to store it in anymore....? I'm finding that I can eat foods that I haven't been able to eat in years. Tomatoes? Oh yeah! Cheese? Yum. Carrots, peas, pineapple and grapes? So far so good! It's a liberation of sorts. Can't wait to hit the mexicana cucinas in Tucson and have salsa and guacamole for the first time in years! Yee Haw!

Bisbee is also making a strong recovery. Crazy Legs has begun joining us in bed at night again and is stretching out in front of the fire in the evenings instead of hiding under beds or refusing to leave the safety his cage. We hope to let him back out to freedom when we return from our trip. A big thanks to Zoe next door for looking out for him while we're gone.

Things will probably be quiet on the blog for a couple of weeks, though I will try to post a postcard or two. And I'm afraid I've sort of fallen behind with project 52. The week in the hospital and the last week of house-arrest have kept me away from our dear oak tree. Now that I'll be abroad for the next couple of weeks I'm afraid I'll completely miss out the spring time exuberance of the oilseed rape fields in the background. But I'll make an effort to get a photo at least once a month from here on out......

So long. xx Bee

The Road To Recovery

After spending a week in the hospital, an emergency gallbladder surgery and an 'interesting' national health service experience, I cannot begin to tell you how grateful I am to be laying prone on my sofa in my own sunny living room with a whole day of George Clooney to look forward to on Film4 this afternoon. Wow, what a week! I had a 4 mm stone blocking my bile duct and causing all manner of chaos in my body. They say gallstones are as painful as child birth - I appreciate you mamas out there all the more now. It's absolutely astonishing how something so small, merely 4 mm, not even a 1/4 inch, not even a garden pea, maybe a lentil? can cause so much trouble! I really appreciate the way my body works in harmony with itself most of the time, it really doesn't take much to throw it off track. Geno said this morning that seeing me in hospital has made him vow to himself to get his body back into tip top shape, so at least there's a positive out of all this suffering.

My road to recovery is paved with Arizona red rock. We've been planning a trip to see my family in Tucson next week and it's been most worrysome that this little stone might have put our holiday in jeopardy. But, I think if I can manage the flight - thankfully it's direct! - I'll recover poolside in the Arizona sunshine and leave the miserable English April showers behind! See ya later, alligators!

K is for Karma

Something my dad said once has always stuck. I was having a particularly unlucky day and called him up with tales of radiator leaks and of locking myself out of the house in my bathrobe. He said that whenever you feel a bit of bad karma coming on it was time to pull the covers up over your head and lay low for a couple of days until things blow over. Man, I should've listened.

First, Bisbee had a mishap and ended up with a broken pelvis. We're not sure if he was hit by a car or fell from a tree or rooftop or what. He didn't have as much as a scratch on him, other than a small puncture wound on his left hip. The x-rays showed he has a fracture on the right side of his pelvis, so maybe he fell and got hung up on a nail or a branch on the way down. So that means 8 weeks of cage rest for the Bisbee.The very next day, I ended up in hospital with....wait for it..... gall stones. Can you believe it? I thought that was only for the elderly or somebody other than me. It's a bit miserable, truth be told. I'm not sick enough to have an emergency operation, but I'm sick enough to be off work for a week. People say it's as painful as labor pains, I wouldn't know for sure but I can't say that it's pleasant to wake up at 3am with a woodpecker boring out your liver. On the bright side, it means I may finally have an answer to why I've had so many digestive problems over the past year. And I've had some time to work on this new doodle and get my hands dirty in the garden.

F is for Flare-up

I want to formally apologize to a certain dear friend of mine who has suffered from IBS long before I ever even dreamed it could happen to me too. I can recall a certain incident involving an emergency shit in someone's unsuspecting hedge in Wallingford on our way down to see the fireworks at Gasworks Park for the 4th of July and my obvious and insensitive annoyance of having to take you back home. There were other occasions too when you complained that you didn't feel well enough to make our dinner date or to come over to some party or another that I was throwing and I sighed in exasperation.

Vengeance is upon me now, and how! All of my eye-rolling and mutterings of 'it can't really be that bad....' started to wane when I began having emergency shits myself, mostly on holiday when dietary indiscretions are inevitable. (Forgive me please for my demarcation of that construction site in Krakow as I was stumbling back to my flat from a late night out with friends, near that pretty little alpine lake in Spain where we just enjoyed a picnic of chorizo and goat's cheese, and that poor little struedel house in Berlin, I enjoyed my wienerschnitzel very much until it turned on me.)

As I'm writing this, I'm writhing in pain from yet another flare up of this weird disorder. I, like many of you I'm sure, thought that IBS was something that was a psychological problem created by stressed out people who if they would just calm down they would feel healthy again like the rest of us. It really wasn't such a big deal, what's the fuss all about? After more than a year of suffering alternating bouts of diarrhea that strikes with cruel precision and often without warning when you're standing in line at the bank, in the car and on a long road trip or going for a run outside Coombe Abbey Country Park and there's not a toilet for 3 miles. And then there's the following weeks of constipation and the painful bloating and discomfort that comes with that and the time spent looking like Hiro from Heroes, stopping time. And then came the medical investigations - some of them invasive, but all of them time consuming, anxiety creating, and ultimately unnecessary.


Why am I going on about this? For one thing, I feel like an ass for being so insensitive (though I don't think ever directly) and not taking the time to understand what a dear friend was going through. It's embarrassing, to say the least, to sheepishly explain that you have to leave the movie cinema immediately or you might explode. I get that now. I also hope to be some kind of advocate for raising awareness about IBS, it's likely that you know someone who has it - they say 1 in 5 Americans will have it at some point in their lifetimes. Some 4 million Brits are affected.

From Heather Van Vorous, IBS expert "IBS is indisputably a physical problem. Simply put, the brain-gut interaction of people with IBS influences their bowel pain perception and motility. In a nutshell, the processing of pain information within the central nervous system varies between normal individuals and those of us with IBS, with the result that we can experience even normal GI contractions as painful. The interactions between our brains, central nervous systems and GI systems are just not functioning properly. We have colons that react to stimuli that do not affect normal colons, and our reactions are much more severe."

This morning, I measured my amazing bloated girth. Even my husband is suspicious that I'm 5 months pregnant, and he knows better. My waist is normally large at 35 inches, but it has today expanded to an incredible 43 inches. I can't bend at the waist. I don't have any clothes that I can wear comfortably, and with the painful contractions from being so blocked up that drop me to my knees on occasion, I'm really not able to leave the house today.