Okay. Where to begin with this one, I haven't ever had a blog before, I thought I would start one up as a few people I know have one, and the way they talk about it sounds quite sophisticated and a good talking point. I have always wanted to do one, but I never thought anyone would read it.. to be honest, I don't still don't think people would.. therefore it's nothing more than for me to air my thoughts, and if someone does find this; then hopefully it will make nice reading.
Let me begin by telling you a little bit about myself.My name is Declan, I am 21 years old, and am a Paramedic Student living, and working, in the centre of London. I have a mother and father, Bonita and Paul. I also fall nothing short of a large family, with 8 siblings; and over 80 cousins. Irish Catholic; you guessed it! Family holidays are a blast! I moved to London 3 years ago to help with my studies, I'm just coming to the end of them now and should qualify within four months. You missed out on all the juicy fun stuff, but I'm sure I will be reflecting upon those moments at various times.So that's me, quite your average lad... just out of the office.
So I guess you're wondering then why my blog is done from the bog.. well. I've had to take some explosive like laxatives in aid for my Colonoscopy procedure tomorrow. Back in April this year, i was out clubbing with my boyfriend, i was a delegated driver so I was just drinking water. We were in the Club and i was overcome by this unforgettable abdominal pain in my epigastrium, radiating to just above my naval. I told my oh-so fantastic partner, who turned and said "Oh, you probably just need a big ol' fart!" .... now, as a paramedic in London, I would say 70% of my attendance is to the typical abdo pain, and with my very little, but often experience of abdo pain sufferers, I would say my pain was certainly not a little bit of trapped wind.
I went to the toilet, and projectile vomited my stomach contents into this shiny cold metal toilet, that for once, unlike normal public loo's was clean!... not for long. The Nandos Chicken I had consumed at Westfields Shopping Centre was soon staring me back in the face, half digested.After a few chundering sessions, I managed to give my face a dab with water and walk back to where my boyfriend was stood. Let me just get the picture right in your head, he wasn't stood there in the club with a pint, in a shirt and nice jeans. No... that's not Greg. He was stood in a vest, with a denim vest/waistcoat over the top. A pair of sunglasses on, one single glove on his left hand, and shorts; whilst sipping on a Bicardi and coke. I don't care too much, if he wants to make statements, let him rock on! ha ha.
So there I was, and the next thing I knew, the pain was back in at 100mph. BANG! I was keeling over in agony, I said to Greg we needed to go, and I needed to go to Hospital. He looked at me and said "Really? is it necessary though?" well.... I started to get dyspnoeic (difficulty in breathing) and the pain was getting worse.We were outside and he called an ambulance for me... after asking if it was 911... he's so very American.
From then, I was in hospital for a while, with fecal loading in my colon, free fluid in my pelvis, and no free air under my diaphragm: hence the dyspnoea.So they want to follow up, and hence the laxatives. I've been sat here for 30 minutes now and the storm is still going strong! Hopefully Greg will realise that this hasn't all been in aid of getting him on television; he thought he was being Punk'd as I knew the Ambulance and Hospital staff. People don't generally fake projectile vomiting.
Bottoms up!
Go Steady.
Dec
