Thursday, June 01, 2006

An organised collection of tubing

I begin to notice the transit of various substances through my body as being something outside of normal.

Take blood for example (although you'll have to queue behind my midwife). As there has been no time in my life since the day the first blood vessel formed that it has not been making it's way around my system, one would think that against the general panorama of strange happenings in the world of my body that my circulation would pass un-noticed. But no. No no no. There's more of it, you see. More blood. Meaning higher blood, pressure. Meaning either I can hear it pumping away or the sea has moved conveniently close to my house. While my 'BP' as the docs call it is still lower than most normal standy-uppy humans and not to be worried about, my previous condition as a vaguely anaemic person with blood pressure of little over nothing (combined with my new status as Hurricane Hormones) means that I am hypersensitive to the movement of blood through my system. No really, it keeps me awake.

But that's nothing. Think of eating. My digestion is slowing down so much that each stage is amplified. Swallowing. The stomach filling. Digesting. You can imagine the rest. Really, all this time I thought I was a body and I find out I am merely an organised collection of tubes and valves straining and popping away like some mad Victorian engine dreamed up by Terry Gilliam and Ralph Steadman after a night on the Wife Beater.

And swollen joints. Fluid taking a time-out from the general hurly-burly of circulation collects around my joints for a gossip meaning that movement of ankles is limited, rings have to come off, my watch doesn't fit - even my capilliaries are in revolt.

The blob is now inhabiting a fair percentage of the space between my hip bones and ribs normally reserved for minor organs such as my liver, kidneys, stomach, bladder and, oh yes, my lungs. While he's not taking all of the space (yet) there is a definite internal shifting, particularly notable during any manoevre that requires bending. While it's not an enormous displacement, the feeling that everything is being shunted around a bit is definitely there.

It's quite disconcerting, turning one's gaze from the surfaces of hair/skin/figure/nails/teeth to the inner world of plumbing, chemistry and engineering but it's increasingly hard to ignore.

3 months more of this and I shall be looking at myself completely inside out.

1 comment:

Hoto said...

Witches of Brailsford. Act 4, Page 1
Grumble, burble, gastric trouble;
Stomach burn, and acid bubble.

Giant double chocolate cake,
'Gainst my judgement did I bake;
Eye was bigger than a dog's,
Thought I'd eat it? Off my clogs.
Now I suffer heartburn's sting,
Fiery shits leave burning ring.
Babe's surrounded by the noise,
Burps and rumbling gut annoys.
Turns and thumps me, what a slugger
Farts will choke the little bugger.