Posts

Here we go again!

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At the end of last year, I decided I couldn’t wait another 5 months to discuss my latest MRI results in person. I had received a letter saying the adenomyosis was more prominent and for me that was all the confirmation I needed. I wasn’t imagining it, the pain was getting worse and I needed something to be done. I should start by saying I recognise how lucky I am. Not everyone can afford to go private for treatment, especially as a self funding patient. I knew it was going to be pricy but I was at the end of my tether and just needed help. So within a week of enquiring, I was booked in for a consultancy appointment at The Oaks hospital in Colchester knowing I was going to be £180 lighter for a 20 min conversation. Ouch. But hopefully a worthy conversation! Fortunately I was able to see my normal consultant from the NHS privately. However, I was concerned he wouldn’t recognise me or know any of my history, after all he sees hundreds of thousands of women a time, why would he remember me

A Sunday trip to hospital

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And he said, "you have endometriosis so you must know everything about it because people always do, so you know it can't be treated, so what do you want?". After a couple of days of building pain, I woke at 00.45 on Sunday morning with even worse pain and spent the next few hours trying to stop myself from being sick. I've been living with endometriosis for many years now and so I know I can define "normal" pain, and I knew this wasn't it. What was happening? Was it another cyst rupturing? Was it something entirely different? Was it my appendix? So many questions and in the middle of the night definitely no answers. It was going to be a long night. At 07.45 I rang 111 (the NHS non emergency line) and spoke to someone regarding my symptoms. She put me down as needing an immediate call back from a clinician and so I waited. It wasn't too long before I got the second call and discussed the situation. It was highlighted that due to the ongoing COVID situ

Dealing with Mental Health.... from the other side

My blogs often focus on the pain or emotion associated with living with a chronic illness. I've spoken about finding myself in the darkest parts of my mind, and the struggle of dealing with emotions that can cause you to spiral. Unfortunately, the majority of us can relate and know exactly how that feels. However, what I haven't spoken about is being on the other side of that mental health, and watching someone you care about go down that all too familiar path. A path of destruction, and into a very very dark place. At the beginning of this year, I found myself in a very surreal and scary situation. One that I wouldn't wish upon anyone. A situation that you can't possibly know how you will deal with until you are there living it. A situation you never want to find yourself in but that too many of us have had to deal with, and a situation that will quite frankly change you forever... Someone I cared very much about took an overdose and tried to end their life.  There are

Finding the courage to say…"I'm struggling"

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As many of you know, this year I embarked on a new challenge and moved from Essex in the UK to sunny Sydney, Australia. It was a huge thing for me to do being so close to my family and friends back home, but I knew it was something I wanted to do for myself. However, I didn't count on there being a global pandemic whilst I did it! A few weeks ago I was given the opportunity to have an article published at work about my experience of moving to the other side of the world during COVID. It turned into a featured piece titled 'Finding the courage to say... "I'm struggling".  I was a little wary of the article being published to the entire firm but it was open and honest. Two things I always want to be. And hey, what was the worst that was going to happen?! Turns out, I had no need to worry and I have received wonderful feedback.  The article has had over 1000 views, many likes and several comments.  I've had emails and phone calls from people I had never even hear

Freddie

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Its been 7 months since I wrote a blog. A lot has happened since then. I've got a new job. I've moved to the other side of the world to live in Australia. And perhaps most importantly, I've become an Auntie to my gorgeous little nephew Freddie. Back in December I wrote about the journey before he was born. The pregnancy announcement, the baby conversations and the general struggle that I had gone through, but I haven't written since. I had fallen out of love with writing, and I had fallen back into the all too familiar routine of dealing with things on my own and not sharing. That was until last week when I was reminded why I write. I was approached by someone who said that they had been reading my blog. They had related to some of my posts and appreciated the rollercoaster of emotions that were involved in my story. There had been more emotions since and so it was at that point, I decided I needed to pick up the pen (or keyboard) and write another post. But this time,

That Day

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It was a day I had dreaded since I was diagnosed 6 years ago. It was a day that I had tried to prepare myself for so many times before. It was a day that was going to test not only my own emotions but my relationship with one of the most important people in my life too. But that day was never going to be easy, and my goodness, it really wasn't easy. I sat on my sisters sofa and I knew instantly what she was going to say. How did I know, I was making a huge assumption after all, but I just knew what was coming. That instant pain and jealousy stirred in my tummy, that instant need to cry came over me and before she could even say it, I said "you're pregnant aren't you". For those of you that know me, you know that I'm really close to my big sis. Shes two years older than me, and we've always had a very close bond. We've lived together, worked together, and done all the normal things that sisters do with each other. Its always been a case of if you me

Post Op Update

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The Friday before last, I woke up with that all too recognisable feeling of nerves and dread, it could only mean one thing, it was operation day! This time I was going in for an urology procedure as opposed to my usual gynaecology. The purpose of the operation was to investigate any potential issues with my bladder that could be contributing to my ongoing pain. The procedure included having a camera inserted into the bladder, having some biopsies taken and finally something called hydrodistention which is checking the capacity that the bladder can hold and the stretching of the bladder if required. There was a small hope that it would delay the need for a hysterectomy quite so soon. If they found anything abnormal, this could explain the pain, and could potentially be managed via other means. And of course, I was more than happy to oblige if it meant holding off on the big op. We got to the hospital for 7.15am and made our way to the day unit. I felt sick at the thought of my previou