IBS Tales

So, I managed to cope with my friend’s big wedding extravaganza – hurrah and hurray. It was actually an almost ridiculously perfect occasion, perfect summer’s day, everyone looked beautiful or handsome as required and the reception was in a quite insanely lovely private school with acres of green lawn.

And then of course there was me and my stomach. I don’t know about you but there’s nothing quite like a big party to make me feel like I’m on another planet. Everyone else is getting drunk and telling stories and enjoying themselves, and I’m sat there pondering the fact that there are only two cubicles in the ladies’ loo, both of that lovely “open” variety that have great big gaps between the door and the floor, Lord knows why.

So an IBS attack would have been mortifying to say the least, but I was never really in danger thank goodness, and I managed to have a very nice time. It sounds terrible but I’m glad it’s over though. I was very happy to see my friends happy, and I wish them a long and blissful life together, but the fact is that for an IBS person it’s always a bit of a nightmare to know that you’re gonna have to spend 10 hours trapped somewhere with limited toilets, food that you haven’t chosen, and a whole bunch of people who don’t know that you’re sick.

And then, you also end up feeling a bit of a fraud. I didn’t go to my friend’s hen weekend because I was worried about getting ill, but then from everyone else’s point of view I’ve turned up quite happily to her wedding and eaten the food and drunk the drink and even danced the dance – and this is supposed to be the ill girl? Which bit of you exactly is ill, my petal, and why can you just make it better when you feel like it?

I don’t know. I’ve known the bride since school so I hope she knows me well enough to realise that I don’t just use my IBS as an excuse, that I would have gone to the hen weekend if I thought I could manage it, and that even a giant party is a bit of a nightmare for a person of limited intestinal fortitude.