It was a long, tedious and cold wait at the A&E department of Liverpool’s Royal Hospital. Especially so after having eaten no food for three days.
Normally I would never have chosen to go there; some of the staff on 111 were also doubtful as to whether A&E was the right place to go. Yet the last GP I consulted refused treatment and recommended attendance at A&E. Diverticular disease is painful, life-restricting, and often unpredictable. My mother suffered with it until the age of 90. Coming for a generation that was deferential and submissive to medical professionals, she obediently attended intrusive and painful intestinal examinations into the last year of her life. Always the results were the same: inconclusive. These procedures demanded fasting and medicine that induced diarrhoea until the bowel was as empty as possible, by internal examination employing a variety of scopes.
The condition is a family trait. As well as my mother and myself, a cousin suffers too. And the suffering in my family is caused as much by medical interventions, as by an already disabling disease. The old fashioned way of treating this illness has almost disappeared from the modern health service, but it was certainly effective. After bloods, questioning, and physical checks, nurses or GPs would often prescribe a strong antibiotic. The inflamed bowel would respond well so that within a few days the patient was free to resume his or her normal life.
The “flare” I experienced began shortly after January 1st 2026. By January 5th intestinal agony was so acute that I had to miss the funeral of a most valued friend and could not even walk. In order to get myself to the local A and E, for three days I fasted from all food in order to reduce diarrhoea, internal bleeding, and the pain that prevented me from moving.
After seven hours wait at A&E bloods showed the three day fast had cured everything. A junior doctor then offered advice about high and low carb diets (which never work for me)
