And there's more

But before the medical establishment has time to tell me what exactly is going on, this time the pain in my side that woke me up every night for almost a week has reduced me to working it out for myself. Though, problematically, I've trained myself not to look up medical weirdness on the internet, I'll only end up dead of a heart attack at the keyboard. Instead, we shall consult the bookshelves. Ah, books, calm, beautiful, always there for me books. But I was an English student, never a medic. What exactly can I look up? Where? There's a 1930's "Everything Within". Hmm, maybe not. I need a picture of the human body. How sad am I? I don't even know which bit of me is hurting, it's just somewhere inside.

Ah! Joy at last! A fabulous hardback 'Woman' by Claire Rayner (hope you're still doing alright, lovey, with that breathless voice, reassuring callers with embarrassing ailments way back when. I'll always remember 'Love and hate are two sides of the same coin, sweetie; until you stop hating him, you won't be over him'.) Sound woman, Claire, can you help me now, with your beautiful tome, carefully plastic sleeved, thanks to that glorious, if absurdly priced, first editions bookshop in Tintern.

Flick, flick, there's the female skeleton, there's muscles, there's veins, and there's organs. All on overlaying clear cellophane pages. Slightly airbrushed, coloured, as if drawn by Alex Comfort's illustrator, only this is far, far less sexy. It doesn't make sense: this healthy, curvy looking wavy-haired 70's woman seems to have a stomach, a liver, intestines, and a definite gap exactly where my pains are. How can I have a painful gap? And then it hit me, like a brick, it's a picture, in a book, you have to reverse it for it to make sense. So, whatever's on the picture's left, is on my right: it's my liver. No, no, no. Perhaps if I hold the book against my body. No, yes, it is my liver. It's been killing me for a week (pale unintended imitation of a joke - it really is killing me, isn't it?). According to the every-helpful Claire, my liver has over 500 regulatory functions. Great.

Of course it's my liver. That's what happened to my mother, and now it's happening to me. I slid slowly right, and lay along the bed, and stayed there, still, for a very, very long time. It's only a picture in a book. And yet I know it's absolutely true [Can I delete this post if it isn't? How can I apologise enough to all the friends, family, colleagues, medical establishment, everyone worrying and working on my behalf, if it turns out to be a very nasty case of indigestion?]