It is the middle of the night.

I cannot sleep.

In six hours I get up with the children.

This is becoming a pattern.

I sit, watch TV, try to eat; come to bed; wash; try to read; end up on computer reading about more and more theories surrounding IC.

Lately I think there must, must, must be some occult/lurking/hiding bacteria in my bladder causing these terrible symptoms, particularly due to the way the whole thing started, with cryptosporidium and with ecoli found initially.

I talk to people on forums; I research doctors and ways of culturing bacteria; I know far more than my own GP now, and perhaps more than my own consultant urologist.

This probably is dangerous.

It seems to me tonight that I shall need to travel to Staffordshire, to visit a Dr there who does something called 'Broth culture', searching for fastidious organisms. It is quite possible that the good old NHS have simply failed to culture what is there; that the bugs have hidden themselves in the lining and muscle of my bladder; and it will take a fine tooth comb to find them , metaphorically speaking that is...

Meanwhile I continue the Elmiron poison. Day whatever. Week 3. I feel like a ghost of myself. But I make myself get through the days, go through the motions, eat, be with the children, give out what I can to my few friends who do seem to be needing me still.... I miss those people whom this illness has removed from my life by whatever means. I miss them so much. But most of all, I miss my health. I am too young for this. I am not ready to be told that my bladder may eventually have to be removed as it will shrink and be covered with scar tissue. I am not ready to consider a 'bladder pacemaker'. These things were raised last week at the hospital. I have to believe there is an answer; we just haven't found it yet.

However much I might wish that I didn't have to fight this fight anymore, I'm not ready to give in.