At 1.30am this morning, I thought I was being stabbed by a rather sharp set of chopsticks through my navel. Appendicitis?
I staggered to the bathroom, falling over a very surprised and sleepy cat as I groped my way to the ensuite door.
As I have been nauseous for three days and have had back pain (I claim it was the decorating that finished me off), I thought I’d better get checked out with the doctor. He has run blood tests for a whole range of nasties, but suspects a kidney infection.
So, a kitty is my hot water bottle substitute, and I have taken to the sofa. Notes of sympathy very gratefully received. I feel terrible. I now feel totally justified at not attempting the second coat of paint in the kitchen.
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