wendy house

Jumping onto a crowded rush hour Paddington train I slump into the one remaining isle seat.  Resting my brow against the seat infront. Breathing slowly, eyes shut, shut-out the crowded world.

Boy in window seat (BIWS):  are you alright?

Wendy:  yes, I’m alright, thankyou for asking, you have a kind heart

BIWS: bad day at work?

Wendy:  time of the month, normal pain, nothing to worry about I’ll just close my eyes and drift away

I surf the pain to some other consciousness, completely missing the train journey…. ….and almost missing my stop… 

At 16yrs, the first time the pain stole my consciousness was from a chemist queue. I clutched a packet of unpurchased pain killers.  My unconsciousnes chose to examine the shop floor.  A  kindly woman carried me to the local Health Centre.  I woke in her arms and gifted her the contents of my stomach. 

At the health centre I begged the Doctor for pain killers.  He said pain killers were not warranted because I’d just puke them up. That the pain was natural.  He prescribed lying on my back until I felt able to walk.  Then I should go home. 

With his words the pain merged perfectly with incredulity.  Not offered a glass of water to swill the bile from my mouth.  I could taste the incredulity.  Stung by the indifference of professional caring staff.  As soon as I could I slid from the trolley and stumbled out of the Health Centre.  To the chemist shop.  The kind lady who’d carried me had gone.  No-one knew her name.  No-one to thank. 

Thank you kind lady.

Since that day I’ve learned to accept, immerse, and surf the experience to unanticipated, inarticulable ways and places.  PMT and Cheese. Mmmmmmmm…