When you're in a leotard and tights, in a ballet class at university and you're worried that if you do a split leap you may inadvertently shit yourself. Not ideal, I think you'll agree?
Well this was pretty much my thinking during every dance class whilst aiming to get my BA Hons in Dance Studies at Roehampton a few years ago.
Luckily I never actually pooed whilst dancing. But still, I certainly mastered the art of the quick strip when getting to the toilet (FYI, never underestimate the difficulty of stripping when in 75 layers of Lycra)
So there I was: just turned 20, in my second year of uni up in London, living the dream of dancing every day. And then it all took a casual turn for the worse.
And by casual, I mean UTTERLY HORRENDOUS.
It's the little things you notice at first...how suddenly it's a lot trickier to finish a meal without feeling sick. How the ones closest to you start wondering why you're pushing your food around your plate, but never actually finish a meal. The weight loss. All of these things tend to compound to (apparently) mean one thing to the ones who love you. I must have an eating disorder. Of course! How silly of me to think otherwise (?!)
To be honest I can see where they were coming from; I was a dancer up in London living away from home for the first time. Each time I was home from uni I was that little bit thinner. Eating was tough. When I'd finished eating I sat in the bathroom for a while. Didn't look great.
But what they didn't realise is that at no point was I voluntarily getting my food back out my body. If you can find me anyone who can poo on demand, well...I'd give them a bloody great high-5.
And this is what I found most concerning. The amount I had to go to (what I call) the toilet-toilet.
Now after reading up on this, the average amount for a normal person to poo can range from three times a day, to once every three days. Either way, I was suddenly going a lot more than this. And by a lot more, I mean at one stage going 18-20 times PER DAY.
So this lead me to visiting the Student Medical centre on a regular basis, as I was convinced all was not well with my internal plumbing.
"You've got IBS"
"This is your normal"
"You may have Coeliac disease"
"Let's strip back and build up each food group"
I'm sure if you are a fellow IBDer, then these will most likely be things you've all been told at some point.
I had another blood test...turns out I had Helicobacter Pylori. To you and I, that's a duodenal stomach ulcer which was in some way helpful as it explained the constant-vomiting-when-eating I'd encountered. But I still wasn't convinced this was my main problem.
So I gave it a fair shot, I did as I was told. That was until I had a quite horrifying experience whilst on the toilet-toilet.
WARNING - descriptions ahead
Those of a queezy disposition may like to skip the next paragraph
The best way to describe it would be if someone had poured a tin of red paint into my toilet; completely liquid and red. Yes, you guessed it! It was blood. A lot of it. And at this point I'm around 7 and a half stone and not really able to keep anything in me, at either end. Unsurprisingly, I was shocked/panicked/scared and so I cried. I sat on my bathroom floor and sobbed. What was wrong with me? Why was this happening?
Come morning I'm back down the medical centre for another blood test, desperate to find out what was going on. But still nothing conclusive.
*Forward to the Summer holidays when I'm back at my home-home*
I have a lump on my bum and it hurts. Sneezing hurts a surprising amount (so many muscles down there?!) and it doesn't seem to go away, so naturally I go to see my GP. Turns out I have an abscess?!
"Take these antibiotics for three weeks. The lump will stay but the pain and swelling should subside."
Sure it will...
Three weeks later, the lump is still there and if anything it's bigger. So I see a different doctor and he sends me straight to A&E, where by all accounts, I should have gone three weeks prior.
Long story short: abscess drained and packed and a few weeks later I'm back at uni and at the Student Medical centre, hospital note in-hand.
"You need to see a Gastroenterology specialist, now."
Oh hi Chelsea and Westminster hospital. Seems you and I are going to become good friends...
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