I looked down into the toilet bowl. Everyone looks down don't they? I'm not weird or anything am I? Anyway what I saw was disturbing. As well as the normal toilet stuff that you'd find there was blood. Clearly visible blood on the porcelain. And not just a little bit.
Activate full hypochondriac mode. I had to be dying. My best guess was cancer. That annoying discomfort that I often get in the evening can't have been my super-sized uterus like my GP and the gynaecologist assured me. It was probably intestinal cancer. And it had probably eroded through to the blood supply and that's why I was currently haemorrhaging into the toilet bowl.
Funny though that I felt okay for having a terminal case of self-diagnosed intestinal cancer.
A little voice in my head told me that I could be wrong (although I'm rarely wrong when it comes to hysterical self-diagnoses). That there may be other causes for the blood. Like a giant haemorrhoid that had ruptured. Like a fibroid that had degenerated and rotted to its blood supply - yeah I'd need a hysterectomy for that one but it's better than cancer. Like it wasn't my blood at all and might be the result of all the beetroot that Sam likes to eat.
But honestly I couldn't shake the thought that it was the big C. Surgery, chemo, baldness. Probably only had months left.
So what did I do? Climb back into bed and ring the doctor for an emergency appointment? Of course not. I got into the car and went to speed session. One does not have to contemplate ones own painful demise when one is running.
I did think about it once I got back into the car. And all the way home. And until Iven turned up home from work even before it had started. Because he was peeing blood. Urinary tract infection as it turns out. Antibiotics, lots of fluids, a bit of rest and he'll be fine.
So I guess I'll be around for a little bit longer.