Day 28: The One Where My Gut Betrayed Me (Again)

Woke up at 5 a.m. for absolutely no reason other than my body enjoys torment.

My nose was blocked, my throat was sore, my mouth was so dry it felt like a sandpit, and I was partially blind from sheer exhaustion.

I stumbled into the kitchen like a hungover raccoon and made the strongest coffee legally possible - thick enough to strip paint off a fence - just to convince my eyes to stay open.

Thanks to yesterday’s positive (read: sarcastically positive) Covid test, I’m officially working from home for the rest of the week.

The only shocking twist? The cats were quiet all night.

No fighting.

No 3 a.m. meowing concerts.

No cat-butt diplomacy at dawn. Only one attempt before I got up.

I’m now slightly suspicious they’re plotting something bigger.

Dragged myself to the desk, opened my laptop, and was instantly assaulted by an email so complex it felt like reading IKEA instructions in ancient Greek.

My brain just… refused.

It packed its little suitcase and said, “No thanks, we’ll be back Monday.”

Then - miracle of miracles - I actually felt hungry in the morning.

And like an absolute fool, I ignored the many flashing hazard lights of my digestive past and went full goblin: one whole grain seeded bagel with ham and two boiled eggs.

Oh.

How.

I.

Paid.

For. It.

My gut basically wrote a resignation letter.

Why can’t I listen to my body? It’s been right every single time!

Several bathroom trips, litres of water, and enough herbal tea to drown a small hedgehog later, my stomach forgave me.

My throat, however, still felt like I’d swallowed sandpaper, and muscles I didn’t even know existed decided to ache in solidarity.

Lunch was a thrilling beige experience: chicken, vegetable, and grain soup, with bonus chicken and peas thrown in for excitement.

I ate half.

The other half… well, let’s just say my bathroom and I are now on a first-name basis.

Honestly, I should have just relocated my office in there for the day.

I’d promised myself I’d finish early, but the universe laughed.

Work got busier and busier until I looked up and realised it was nearly 7 p.m. - having started at 6:30 a.m.

Either I’m deeply dedicated to my job or deeply unwell in the head. Possibly both. Still, I got everything done, so that’s something.

Tonight’s plan: collapse on the sofa, then collapse into bed as soon as my other half gets home.

The idea of watching TV feels as ambitious as climbing Everest right now.

Tomorrow is a big day - Week 4 weigh-in, a fresh estrogen patch, and my fifth jab, moving up to 5 mg.

I’m equal parts excited and mildly terrified.

Will the side effects get worse?

Will my appetite somehow disappear even more?

Will I gain the ability to smell colours?

We’ll find out.

I don’t think I’ve lost much on the scales this week, but I can definitely see my body changing.

The mirror’s telling one story, the scale might tell another.

Night, fellow jabbers.

May your guts be trustworthy, your cats be quiet, and your coffee strong.

With Love,

JABatha Christie