Diary of a FODMAPee : Week 1

I am a wheat-free, lactose-free, vegetarian. God, help me.
It's one heck of a label, and one that brings up the same query, no matter who I tell:

"So, what actually can you eat?" They ask, scratching their heads.

My answer: "Rice..."

Don't worry, it's not just rice.

The mystery stomach pains I've had over the past goodness knows how many years, has finally been whittled down to probably being food allergy related. And so I'm on a specific diet called the FODMAP diet, which eliminates all fermentable carbohydrates from your diet. These are (in some people) foods that don't seem to digest properly in your small intestine. So I'm on this diet for eight weeks. But just in case I'm also intolerant to the moo-juice, I'm off milk too.

Right now, my kitchen cupboards are clear of anything naughty. I've done my big shop, bought wheat-free pasta for an extortionate £2.50 a packet, listed my suitable vegetables and stuck the list firmly to the fridge. I've said my goodbyes to chocolate and cakes and had my final cup of milky tea. It's my first week, and so I'm raring to go.

Lets see how long it lasts, shall we?

Day One 

My first day on the FODMAP diet and I take a detour through Sainsbury's past the bread and cakes section, just to have a sniff. Only a sniff, mind.

I'm swinging my plastic carrier bag containing my wheat-free, lactose-free, vegetarian packed lunch ready to pop in the fridge once I get to work. It's all pre-prepared, which means no stress and no possibilities of me falling into temptation and wanting what I can't eat.

Each morning, my daily routine getting ready for work is a timed-to-perfection rush. I know I need to speed up the hair dryer if I take too long in the shower, forget the jewellery if I'm indecisive about what to wear, and if there's only five minutes left, I ditch the straighteners because I just have to clean my teeth. However, this morning my list went like this:
  

• Shower
• Dress
• Teeth
• MAKE LUNCH

I loved having a packed-lunch. I felt like one of those special few at primary school who got to take a packed lunch to school. Those kids whose Mums spent loads of money on the latest lunch-box fads, like Frubes and Cheesestrings. You know, the cool ones who sit on the packed-lunch table. I always remember peering across my lunch- the suspicious reeking brown stew steaming across my plate, to the wonderful treats being pulled out of those kids' lunch boxes. I'd turn green at the swap of a Marmite sandwich and the exchange of a Club chocolate bar for a Twix. 

Because I'm on this diet, I've got one of those clicky-topped Tupperware boxes with the separate compartments as my lunch box. At 7:00am this morning I was grateful for this simplicity. So I pulled out my wheat-free bread, lactose-free butter and start spreading. Cutting my cheddar cheese into long strips and dolloping Heinz Salad cream all over it, I make the almost perfect sandwich (only not quite because wheat-free bread tends to have loads of holes in, which make for a bit of a mess). This fills up one compartment. Slipping a Babybel and one strawberry Lactose free yogurt in the other two, I'm pressing the lid firmly on and finally ready to go. 

Not bad for my first day, I think positively. Grabbing my keys I glance in the mirror and slightly horrified at the sight of me, I slick a bit of mascara on as a last minute thought. 

My usual walk to work means I pass a big Sainsburys. This morning the smells of wheaty wonder wafting through the air were enough to turn anyone's head. So I go in. Just for a sniff, mind. 

And I come out with Lactose-free milk. Because today is Day One. And I'm being really good. 

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To find out a little more about the FODMAP diet and what FODMAPs are, I've found this website helpful.

January Jitters

So, I'm back in the office and it's definitely January. The flowers in reception have been replaced. Transformed from the festive red berries and silver sprayed pine cones to a rather demure thistled number with grasses, red gerberas, pink lilies and (most confusingly) all bundled together with a palm leaf. The weather has also gone a bit berserk. Last night the wind screeched through my single glazed windows and caused havoc with the flower pots on my balcony. But today the deep rumbling clouds of yesterday transformed into a beautiful warm pink morning sky. They seem a bit like me; unsure how to be now January is about. You still feel the same as you did last week; same clothes, same hair, same old work to come back to. But there's also something different. You feel bolder and a little bit braver. When you woke up on New Year's Day, did you sense what I did? A spark, a sort of hope that musters about in the air, not quite brushing away last year's cobwebs, but giving you that lift to take on anything. Especially that fresh, clean, sparkling new year.

cited

A lucky black cat. The End.

I saw him standing at the end of the road, waving at me and smiling like a lunatic, a little black cat by his side snug and safe in the cream canvas cat carrier. Even from nearly two hundred metres away, I could see her eyes peeping through the black mesh, all big and looming. Bess had become quite heavy now she had a huge bandaged leg, so I was grateful Liam had been able to carry her to the hospital.


Liam had taken the morning off as I had to make it in for work at 8:30am, since there was no one available to cover those first few morning hours on reception, I had left work at 10:00am, grabbed my coat and taken the tube, reaching East Putney only twenty minutes later. As I walked out from the station, the sun was more than shining - it was positively beaming down on me - and I hoped it was the sign of a good omen.
The animal hospital wasn't far from the station, and I was glad for the walk along Putney high street to clear my head, it was nice to be in there at a strange hour, amongst different types of people - the ones I usually miss from being at work.


Nervous wasn't the word. Desperate was more accurate. 


'Don't worry.' Liam said as I reached him. 'You look petrified! You know what? If it doesn't work today - we have a back up.'


'I know.'

That was one thing at least.

'I'm okay. But thanks for bringing her over...' I replied softly, and then I leant down until those two gleaming black eyes were level with mine. 'Come on then, girl.'


I picked up the cat carrier and kissed Liam goodbye before walking towards the automatic glass doors.
Inside Putney RSPCA Animal Hospital, it was organised chaos. There were (rather unsurprisingly) all kinds of animals, being held on leads, in boxes, cages and on the knees of their worried-looking owners. I was rather amused, despite the situation, to see how many people in that waiting room did in fact resemble the animal they'd arrived here with. (Whether that meant I was small, black and furry, was quite another thing.)


I approached the reception, and gave my name to the lady dressed in green overalls behind the counter. She nodded and smiled at me, before ushering me to take a seat in the crowded waiting room. Stepping over one of the biggest dogs I had ever seen, I lifted Bess high above my head, partly because I didn't want her to get worked up about the dogs, and partly because the huge animal had started sitting up to sniff her. I placed her in the corner, so she didn't have to see the Chihuahua opposite, or the yappy Westie to it's right who just wouldn't stop barking. I realised after about five minutes that there were, in fact, loads of dogs in this waiting room. And then I noticed the large black and white sign on the opposite side of the room, which read 'CATS AND SMALL ANIMALS'.


Oooohhh.


Back over the enormous dog (bear?) that was still sprawled out across the pathway, we went, and into the much quieter area of 'Cats and Small Animals'. It was a bit like Narnia. No, it wasn't, really. But there was definitely no sniffing, barking, yelping, scratching or drooling. Hurrah.


There was one other girl sitting alone on the bench, with her cat placed on the floor by her feet. As I walked over, looking relieved, she smiled, and leant forward immediately to talk to me.


'Much quieter over here, isn't it!?' The girl said cheerily as I walked over. She was roughly my age, perhaps a little younger, and had wide expressive eyes and a open face. Instantly I connected with her, mainly because she was willing to talk to a complete stranger (like I do), but also because she had made me feel at ease in a situation where I was far from it.


'Ahhhh... Is that your baby?' She leant over and peered in at Bess. 'She's beautiful. Look at her silky fur. What's her name?'


'Bess.' I replied. And perhaps, as a rather unnecessary after thought I added, 'I named her after my Great Grandmother.'


'This is Gypsy, but we also call her Gyps. An actual gypsy woman gave her to us when she was a kitten.' The girl said. When she spoke, she waved her hands about a lot. I do that too.
'That's so sweet.' I replied, looking through the bars at her huge black and white cat, with a little black dot on her nose.


'Yes, well. The gypsy said she would have to drown her if they couldn't find a home for her, so we took her in at once.' The girl looked serious and thoughtful for a moment, before going on to ask me question after question about why we were here, what had happened at the other vets, how the prices for vets fees are just terrible and finally how she was here today because she had found a lump on Gypsy's back. Gypsy, I'd just found out, was nearly fourteen, and the second eldest of her four cats.


I was grateful for this chatty girl who loved cats. But before long, a vet walked out into the corridor and called Bess' name. I quickly wished the girl- and Gypsy- good luck, before picking up Bess and her three x-rays (which I had brought with me), and followed the vet into one of the side rooms.


The room was larger than the one we had waited in at the vets last week. The lady who had ushered me in, was indeed the vet, and she introduced herself as Juliet. Juliet had a sparkle in her eyes, and sounded ever-so posh, like she might have had horses and a swimming pool at home. She was matter of fact, but kind, because she put me at ease right away by joking about how they (meaning the other vets) might have given Bess a pink bandage, as it looked like she supported Manchester City football team with the sky blue one she had on now. I laughed, and said it might well be appropriate as she was born in south Manchester... Juliet took the x-rays out of the brown envelope and got to looking at them right away on the light box.


Alongside Juliet was a friendly-looking man in his late twenties. He was the veterinary nurse assisting the vet. He beamed at me, and I noticed how lovely his teeth looked when he smiled.


'It must have been a nightmare week for you. But don't look so worried, you can relax now! Bess is in safe hands.' He said as he helped me lift her carrier onto the examination table.


'Oh yes.' Juliet piped up. 'It's a bad break, and the bone is quite splintered. I really wouldn't recommend any other kind of operation, than one to insert a plate along the bone. Of course, there is always the option of amputation, but I really think we can fix her leg without such drastic measures.'


'And you can do the operation for her, here, at the RSPCA?' I asked, tentatively, shuffling from one foot to the other, expecting the worst.


'No problem. Now, we are very upfront about payment here, and we don't mind talking about money. A lot of people who come to us haven't got much to spare, so we understand the need to be open. Obviously since we are a charity, we are able to subsidise the prices heavily for you, but you are on the higher side of our pay bracket... Let me see... An operation would be in the region of....'

She checked her computer for a moment.


'... £400 at most. That's everything included. Today's consultation, the operation, anaesthetic, a few overnight stays, and the after care to take the stitches out and future x-rays. It won't be any more than that.' She pulled a oh god this is a lot and I'm sorry face.


I nearly jumped over the examination table to kiss her. She would do it. I could find that sort of money - I mean, it wasn't nothing - it was still a lot - but it wasn't such a unimaginable amount as £1,700. I suddenly felt lightheaded.


'Lets do it. Oh, you have no idea how relieved I am that you can help her. I've been so worried about her, and I've felt like such an irresponsible parent for not taking out pet insurance...'


'Oh, don't be silly. Even I don't take out pet insurance for my cats. They can be so catchy, full of loop holes.'

I didn't like to point out at that point that she was a vet and could probably operate on them at home on the kitchen table, herself.

She was quick, matter of fact, as went through the details of the surgery. She mentioned how, if once they'd opened her leg, it looked worse than they'd originally thought - impossible to salvage - then they would do the best thing for Bess' future recovery and quality of life - even if that meant amputating the leg. I trusted her implicitly. So, is that it? I kept saying to her, over and over, hardly believing that they didn't want more money, and there were no more complicated matters than this.

'That's really it.' Juliet said, laughing. 'She will be fine, don't worry. Give us a ring tonight, to see if we managed to squeeze her in for the operation today - if not, she will definitely be done tomorrow. Plus, you can pop in to see her anytime you like during working hours over the next few days, if you miss her.'


'Thank you so much for looking after her.' I said, and I had never meant it more.


The smiley male nurse, who's name I had found out was Leandro, went to pick Bess out of her carrier to put her into the RSPCA cage with a soft green blanket, which he had prepared as Juliet had been talking to me.


'Do you want to give her a cuddle before you go?' Leandro asked, avoiding knocking her huge blue bandage on the sides of the carrier.


'Yes please.' I said, as I took her out of his arms, and kissed her velvety left ear. She flicked it, and growled a little at me, but I stroked her nose, and hoped she knew she was staying somewhere safe.


Thanking them both profusely and glancing one last look at Bess, I walked out of the calming white examination room and back into the manic reception area. As soon as the door clicked shut, I felt a wave of pure relief wash over me, and I sighed loudly, utterly oblivious to the yapping and general chatter of the waiting room around me. The most colossal grin spread right across my face, I couldn't help it and I didn't care if they all thought I was nuts. It was as if every worry, stress and seemingly unsolvable problem of the last week had left my aura, crying a little 'oh' of happiness.

I looked over to the 'Cats and Small Animals' section.
A couple were sitting together with a wicker cat basket on the chair next to them. Gypsy and her owner had gone. Shame, I thought, it would have been nice to take her phone number. I hoped that Gypsy's lump hadn't been anything too serious.
The lady sat with her partner was looking at me, and had seen my euphoric face as I'd walked out of the examination room with an empty cat carrier.

'Good news?!' She asked me.

'Yes.' I said, and beamed at her.

I'd learnt it was like being part of a club, having a cat. Everyone wants to help as your rationality goes out of the window and your heart takes over. Cat-owners (or rather, cat-lovers) all understand that pain you go through when the little animal you are so used to having around the house; who eats the chicken you'd left out for dinner, leaves muddy paw prints on the windowsill, or dead mice under your bed, falls ill, or has a nasty accident. You see, when she was no longer able to prppp when I walked through the front door or curl into a ball on my lap as I watch television, stretching her claws out and spiking me through the fabric of my jeans, I had realised the lengths I would go to, to make her better again. 

Bess, home after the operation with her shaved and stitched up leg.
Getting all the love.

Bess is now back home, resting from her operation. It looks like it went really well. She has to stay in a large cage for a couple of weeks until the bone heals. But she is happy, and back to her old self again. Thank you to everyone who sent their kind thoughts to us and offered help; you made such a difference. If you would like to find out more about RSPCA Putney Animal Hospital, and the brilliant work they do, click here to visit their website.

When it rains

You know the saying: 'When it rains, it pours' ?

It does in my life. Quite literally.

It might sound just a little bit weird, but everytime something happens - something you might call life-changing - it always seems to pour with rain. I'm not talking that drippy rain, that splashes in puddles, or the kind that makes your beautifully blow-dried hair go frizzy, but that drench-you-to-your-bones, so-hard-it-hurts-a-little-bit, bouncing off the rooftops kind of rain. Like a reminder to say, 'hey, something really big is happening'. This year it poured with rain a few times. It did, when Mum got cleared of cancer, when L came home from Peru and said he wanted me. It rained when we finally found out we'd got the flat in London, when I decided once and for all - I was leaving my Manchester.

I'm one of those very sentimental people, and I always have been. I used to save all my Easter eggs when I was a kid, keep them safe, unopened, until the chocolate started to go white and my Mum had to throw them out when I wasn't looking, somtime in August. On the last day before my birthday, I would go around the house announcing; 'this is the last time I will eat my breakfast when I am nine', in a theatrical way. Before I went to bed I would whisper to my Mum; 'this is my last ever sleep before I'm ten.' My parents thought I was nuts. On the eve of the Millenium, I made a little box, wrote a letter, popped in a picture, and buried it in the back garden. I've forgotten where it is now, but holding onto time was so important to me, I had made everyone come and watch.


Every Christmas, I used to get a diary from my Great Aunt - one to write stories in, not for the dates. I made promises to write my stories every day. January always started with beautiful handwriting. But by mid February I used to forget a day - sometimes two. By the time March came along, my diary was almost a write off (pardon the pun). I was rarely completely honest, for fear someone might find it. But I did love the way I could keep myself paused in a single moment, forever inked on the paper.


New Years Eve is like this for me. The fireworks boom, the people all scramble for kisses and time seems to hold still a few seconds longer for me.
In those few seconds, the world becomes still and I think of the times it has poured with rain. Of the people who have loved me, and those who have taught me about love. I shouldn't hold on to time, because things naturally change. Life doesn't stop and it can't be held tight, or controlled with my pen. The rain falls, and washes the dark away. Like a new start. A new year. Another day.