Belly blues

Me and my stomach! The wretched thing has caused me trouble for as long as I can remember, which is aged four, being whizzed through the night to Alder Hey hospital in Liverpool in an ambulance with all the bells and lights going. I had a temperature of 104F and suspected appendicitis and they prepared me for the operation then decided it wasn't appendicitis, but that they should keep me in under observation. That proved my downfall because I caught a hospital bug, a strain of dysentery that was sweeping the wards, and spent the next month, which included Christmas, in an isolation ward with my parents waving at me through the glass.

The experience is deeply etched in my memory. First, the was the 13-year-old girl in the next bed who had suffered severe burns when her nightdress had caught fire. We were briefly friends, but she suddenly died. There were cruel nurses who slapped me because I had warned them that I was going to be sick, they didn't bring me a bowl or anything, then, when I threw up on the bed, I was punished. Fancy hitting a four-year-old who had had the foresight and intelligence to warn them in advance! No wonder my mum said that, for years after, my favourite protest was, 'It's not fair!" The sense of injustice has bitten deep and remains with me to this day.

The worst thing is that my tum hasn't been the same since. All my life, I have been plagued with pain, indigestion, bouts of biliousness and the runs. In the 1970s it was diagnosed as that nebulous condition, 'irritable bowel'.

I thought I had it under control. The probiotics I have taken for the last three or four months seemed to have done the trick. Yet today I have a bad stomach again and have been awake since 5 am. Not only that but my cystitis symptoms have come back, too. It's not fair!!! That's the adult me talking now, as well as the child. Thank heavens I don't have to travel to an office every day. But I really, really don't need it. Maybe I should be blaming a chill caught in this cold house for the cystitis, and Mr Grumpy's shepherd's pie for the runs. How long had that mince lurked in his fridge? His stomach is like cast iron and he can eat almost everything, whereas all kinds of things, such as hidden peppers in tinned soup, can set off my ulcers and my IBS.

I dream of living a Mediterranean life and chomping grilled fresh sardines on a terrace overlooking the sea. I dream of cooking for myself again instead of being served up with Mr G's favourite stodge. But I haven't won the lottery yet. IT'S NOT FAIR!!!!!