Stephanie. Hull. Aged 45.
Have you every shat yourself in public? No seriously. I’m not talking about the result of too much wine and Sambuca after a wild girls’ night out. But that God awful, cold sober moment when you know you’re not going to make it home. Being bent double with stomach cramps.
When it’s raging, IBS is no fun. After what I now refer to as the incident, I sought help from my local medical centre. Luckily for me they were sympathetic and the nurse I saw there understood and suspected what could have been the cause. My stomach and bowels had never been my best or most reliable of friends as I explained to her – embarrassment was behind me now, what did I have to lose by confessing all.
I left clutching some informative literature and a diet sheet. Plus, I was advised to stop sweating the small stuff and worry less. I took up yoga too, to help me relax my core self.
I’m happy to say that my IBS is now a shadow of its former, vicious self, thanks to some discipline on my side and plenty of information about the condition. Know your enemy, that’s my advice.