Because you see, I am one of the many sufferers of IBS. I’m not going to go into details. Look it up yourself if you don’t know.
The short story is that whenever I get stressed, I get sick. I don’t consciously do this. Half the time, I don’t even realise that something is stressing me until I get start spewing out both ends (there’s the overshare I was threatening). I start a new job, I get sick. I get overwhelmed at work, I get sick. Boyfriend and I have been doing long distance for a few years now, and in the past I haven’t even been able to stand up straight when time came to get him to the airport. I hate airports. They’re emotional and they stress me out.
I don’t even have to be saying goodbye to anyone. I can just be at an airport WATCHING total strangers tearing away from each other’s arms at departures and I get emotional. It certainly doesn’t help when I’m premenstrual.
So take premenstrual, emotional and stressed and then time it with Boyfriend’s departure for The Hague. Disaster in the making. That was until I discovered… *drum roll please*… tranquilisers.
Not catatonic ‘one flew over my cuckoo’s nest’ tranquilisers, but rather gentle ‘take a fekking chill pill, chick’ tranquilisers.
Consider this a public service announcement to all IBS sufferers out there. It works.
By 4pm yesterday, when Boyfriend still hadn’t even started packing and was due to leave for the airport in less than two hours, when on any other occasion I would’ve been hysterically sobbing, hyperventilating into a paper bag, hanging over a toilet or all three, I was calmly pointing out what still needed to be done before he departed.
Such was my out of character serenity that Boyfriend was even starting to become nervous about me driving his car back from the airport.
Even at the airport, when Boyfriend was told that his hand luggage was too heavy for the flight (8kg as opposed to the regulation 7kg), I didn’t get stressed.
I can tell you exactly what was in his hand luggage – because I packed it:
- A pair of work shoes;
- a pair of black pants;
- a white shirt;
- a blue tie;
- a black belt;
- one set of boxers;
- a pair of black socks;
- a thick top;
- two magazines and two thin books
His hand luggage was half full and certainly a lot lighter than what my hand luggage would’ve been, which usually consists of:
- A hairdryer;
- a hair straightener;
- two brushes and a comb;
- more hair accessories;
- a set of pajamas;
- spare underwear;
- a change of clothes;
- a change of shoes;
- all toiletries (usually jumbo-sized shampoo and conditioner);
- almost complete medicine cabinet;
- all my jewelry;
- a few CDs;
- my MP3 player;
- my camera;
- a few books (generally finishing one and starting another);
- PLUS: my handbag and all it’s womanly contents.
Boyfriend had a change of clothes as he was heading straight into the office, and something to read. How much less could he possibly take on the plane?
Even as I was shouting across the crowded check-in area to Boyfriend to, “Show them! Just show them what you have in your bag… how much more can you possibly take out?” (this is me ON tranqs), I still did not panic. These things really work.
So we took his winter top, the magazines and the books out, they weighed his luggage again, gave him the all clear, he checked in… and then we put all the stuff back in his hand luggage again. What a joke.
In fact, now that I think about it, it all went very smoothly. The closest I came to a panic attack was trying to find my way out of the parking lot as I couldn’t find the effing exit.
Today I started my new job in Randburg. So far I’ve been offered chocolate cake on two separate occasions. I think I’m going to like this job.