Me: Hello stomach, thanks for agreeing to talk to me
Stomach: erm Hi…so what’s this all about?
Me: well, after many happy years of working together, you’ve developed a bit of an attitude problem recently.
St: go on…
Me: you are getting less and less tolerant of my choices and are just grumpy all of the time and I’m not standing for it.
St: I see what you are saying but let me explain from my point of view. I’ve tolerated your weird food and drink choices for years, and agreed to your ridiculous unidirectional digestive tract rule, but you haven’t been keeping up your end of our bargain. Don’t get me started on those anxiety fits you keep promising you won’t have…then, you infected me with some godawful bacterium…
Me: we both know I didn’t do that on purpose..
St: fine, but it made me feel crap and yet you still insisted on feeding me black coffee and rum so is it any big shock that I got moody?
Me: hey, I felt crappy too..
St: ha! Good! Anyway then you bombard me with antibiotics that you know I don’t like…
Me: there wasn’t really another way…
St: You would say that, and what about those proton pump inhibitors then? What kind of sick punishment was that? I was busy trying to get through the antibiotics when you damned well inhibit my acid producing ability…that’s just not cricket! How was I supposed to do my job?
Me: sorry but that was a necessary evil
St: oh yeah, I bet it was…it took me weeks to upregulate my proton pumps so that I could make enough acid.
Me: that’s why I had to increase the dose
Me: but you adapted again didn’t you?
St: I certainly did. I rose to the challenge, it was all under control until you removed the proton pump inhibitors.
Me: I did taper
St: ok then I’ll taper the floods of excessive acid I now have.
St: I was being sarcastic. gimme the damned drugs again, I think I might be dying without them.
Me: I’m afraid I can’t do that, it’s for your own good..though it does feel like you are trying to dissolve my whole body from the inside out.
St: on your head be it. You’ll have to wait for me to adapt again and don’t you so much as look at a pint of cider or so help me, I’ll show you exactly how grumpy I can be. Let’s see of we can’t involve oesophagus in the party…
Me: right…so…would you like a cup of tea?
St: make it chamomile and then get out of my sight, I’m busy trying to deal with all that cheese you insist on swallowing….not that it’s any of my business but you are aware what lactose intolerance means, right?
That didn’t quite go as planned. I guess I should give my stomach a break.
Quite a fiery fellow though eh?