Just to make things clear…

Hi world.

Just so we’re clear and things aren’t misunderstood, here’s a little bit about me.

I’m a 25 year old trapped in a mind (and body) that is much much older and definitely a lot more mature.

For the best part of ten years, all I’ve wanted is to fall in love, get married, and have a family.

For the past nearly fifteen years, all I’ve wanted to do is teach. Just teach. Inspire young minds and show them that they can be successful and they can make a difference in the world. (Yes, that same world that has fucked me over so many times I’ve lost count.)

I don’t feel my hopes, dreams and ambitions are all that great.

I don’t think it’s such a massive thing to want to be left alone to live the life I so desperately want to live.

Why is it that people always try to destroy this for me?

I don’t want much, nor do I ask for much.

I don’t want to be rich or famous or even massively successful in my field.

I don’t want to be in charge of my own school and take all of the credit for everyone else’s hard work.

I just want to be me.

I want to be ‘Miss’ when I’m at work, and be the best teacher I can possibly be, and I want to be ‘wife’ and ‘mum’ when I’m at home, and, again, be the best wife and mummy I can possibly be.

Is this really too much to ask?

Is this really too much to desire?

Apparently so.

The other day Mr Mad said to me he thinks maybe sometimes people try to destroy my happiness (or, as recent events have clearly shown, destroy my life) because they don’t know me that well. Maybe he’s right, but I feel I’ve had to put up a strong, confident front to get through everything that life has thrown at me so far. I don’t want people to see that I’m incredibly sensitive and vulnerable as I’m scared they’ll take advantage of that. Only, it appears that was a stupid tack to take, as people have tried, and are still trying, to destroy my life regardless.

So this is my message, to the universe, in the hope that someday someone will come along and actually understand and realise that I come in peace.

That I don’t want your job.

That I don’t want your family.

I don’t want your happiness or your success or your things.

I don’t want or need anything of yours and I certainly don’t need to destroy you, who you are and what you have.

All I want is to live in my little house at the bottom of the grove with my wonderful husband, my gorgeous cats and (if I’m very very lucky) two beautiful children.

That is literally all I want.

What I need is a decent job to support that, and that’s what I’ve spent the past ten years trying to achieve.

I hated school.

Hated it.

I never managed to fit in and everybody was horrible to me.

I was beaten up several times, I had lighters held to my head on the bus home, I had food thrown at me, I was spat at, called a ridiculous amount of disgusting and horrible names and was constantly told I would amount to nothing.

Throughout all of that, as an awkward, self-conscious teenager, I tried my best to stay strong.

I tried my best to keep my head down and study and come out with the best exam results I possibly could so I could start on the path to forging my own future.

In the middle of my GCSEs my Grandad, my wonderful, amazing, kind-hearted, perfect Grandad got seriously ill.

I still didn’t miss a day of school.

I still went in and I worked and worked and then I went to the hospital.

Every night.

I sat with my Grandad, while he was in his hospital bed, going over past papers and revising.

A week after I finished my last exam he was gone.

That was it.

He never even got to see me get my GCSE results (which were, as he predicted, fantastic, particularly my A in Maths that I’d struggled to get, and that he’d tutored me for for months upon months).

But I did it.

I still did it.

I stayed strong.

I learnt how to live without one of the most important men in my life.

I carried on.

I went to sixth form.

I studied for my A-Levels.

I applied to, and subsequently was accepted, into my first choice university to study English.

I still carried on.

All because I had my end goal in sight….

This image of a beautiful little family with a man I adored.

Not because I wanted to “be the best”.

Not because I wanted “what she has” or “what he has”.

No, because I just wanted my own little quiet life.

I got a job in the first year of uni so I could afford to save a little money and move out of home for a bit of freedom.

I met the love of my life there – he’s the man I marry in two and a half weeks’ time.

He’s even more than I ever dreamed of and I still count my lucky stars every day that throughout all of the crap that has been thrown at us, we have always managed to get through it together.

Yes, we have had times where we have had ‘breaks’ in our relationship, where neither of us could see another way through other than to be apart.

Yes, on the occasion where we were apart for 6 months we both had relationships with other people.

We’re not perfect, shit happens.

But we’ve never cheated.

We’ve never done anything disgustingly bad to each other, because we both have respect.

Why do so many people lack in that nowadays?

We’ve been back together for 3 years now, and when we get married in February, I know it will be forever. 

We’ve gone through losing two babies now (others may think differently and may believe they weren’t ‘real’ babies, but that’s how I feel and I won’t apologise for mourning the loss of our pregnancies).

We’ve gone through losing my amazing Nan, almost two years ago.

He, Mr Mad, has picked me up from rock bottom more times than I can count.

He’s wonderful and what we have is wonderful.

I don’t need what anybody else has because I have something amazing myself.

I also choose not to go on and on about how wonderful I think my husband-to-be is because I don’t want people to think I am bragging.

THAT IS WHY I HARDLY EVER TALK ABOUT MY RELATIONSHIP.

That’s another thing nobody seems to understand.

Just because I am an otherwise chatty person does not mean I am not private.

Nobody apart from my family and very closest friends know half of the shit I have been through, and there’s a reason for that.

Even now, even when I’m writing such a very deep and personal post, there are things I just won’t ever discuss.

I don’t understand how people have got me so wrong.

All I want, and need, in my life is my husband and my family.

That’s it.

So tell me why would anybody be so cruel as to try to ruin that for me?

What is it that I’ve done to deserve such horrible, vindictive, disgusting things being thrown at me?

I’m such a big champion of honesty and the truth, why aren’t other people?

Why do people believe lies even when it goes against everything else they’ve ever felt and known to be true?

Anyway, I’ve digressed.

I just can’t really believe or understand what is happening to my life right now.

This was supposed to be the happiest year of our lives.

We get married in two and a half weeks.

Instead of being excited and looking forward to it, we’re facing so much uncertainty and horrific times, all because of a few individuals.

We should be looking forward to our future.

We should be taking our steps that bit closer to having our longed-for child.

We should be enjoying our new house and be spending quality time together.

So, world, universe, please understand, I’m Mrs-Mad-to-be and I just want a quiet, simple life.

Nothing more, nothing less.

 

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All is quiet on the Western (Baby) Front…

I really thought we’d managed this time. I really thought we’d finally managed to make a baby.

I mean, I still won’t be convinced until I have a proper period, which doesn’t seem to have happened yet this month.

I’m a week late.

I was sure I was pregnant.

I’d convinced myself I was.

All yesterday, in particular, I felt awful.

I felt nauseous all day and almost ruined my poor mum’s trip to Harrogate with me. I ended up having to drive us home early but I felt hopeful, because I’d convinced myself I was pregnant, so the sickness and feeling like shit was worth it.

I’ve felt like crap again today, came home and took the 3rd pregnancy test in a week.

Negative.

Again.

I just don’t know how much longer I can take this.

I feel like Mr Mad doesn’t fully understand either.

I’m sure he’d say he’s trying to understand.

But can men really ever understand?

It’s awful being a woman and not being able to do the one thing you are meant to do.

I feel like I’m losing all hope.

I’m really trying to be positive. I’ve adjusted my lifestyle. I’m off all medication, I’m exercising regularly, following a strict, clean and healthy diet and limiting my alcohol intake.

I’m taking folic acid, vitamin c, vitamin d.

I’m getting at least 8 hours sleep a night and I’m trying to minimise stress in my life.

I’m following every bit of advice I possibly can…. so WHY AM I NOT PREGNANT?!!!!

This happens by accident for so many people and yet it doesn’t seem to be happening for me on purpose.

I don’t feel like blogging anymore as I feel like I’m just being a massive whinger and there’s no need for people to have to read it and deal with it!

So yeah… in case any of you were wondering where I’d been and what’s been happening…. here’s the update in a nutshell…

I’m still not pregnant!

When your past comes knocking…

…they say don’t answer, don’t they?

Only, it’s not quite that straightforward.

First thing’s first (I’m the realist! Sorry…I’ll continue…) I feel the need to add some sort of warning to this post. That warning being this post is a product of (yet again!) another few difficult days, a couple of bottles of cider and an evening basking in the sun/heat of my garden.

I’d apologise, but I really have nothing to be sorry for!

Today has been the hottest day EVER! Seriously, I reckon Britain has never ever been this hot in my entire 20-something years of existence. So with that in mind, I wanted to enjoy the 32 degree heat by sitting in my crappy little garden and supping a few bottles of my favourite cider. It is by no means the greatest cider in the world, but I associate it with one specific, wonderfully happy memory. Last year… Mr Mad and I… visiting the Thatchers factory in Somerset and subsequently sitting outside (and inside!) the adjoining pub, consuming all kinds of Thatchers cider, on tap, as well as devouring scrumptious food, for hours. This ‘trip’ was rather spontaneous, as we were on our way back from a rather cold, windy and unsuccessful trip to the beach, and happened across the Thatchers factory. Little did we know this little stumble on the scenic route back to our B&B would culminate in approximately 6 hours spent in a gorgeous pub, chatting, laughing and, arguably, doing what we do best; enjoying each other’s company!

Anyway, I digress.

I’m going to start with today…. because it’s less dramatic and I guess, in a way, may build up to the drama (which is what I always always teach my pupils to do).

For some reason this morning I happened to have a ‘craving’ or, maybe an ‘inkling’, rather, to listen to Incubus. Christ knows why, as I haven’t listened to them, or, rather, this specific album, in a very very long time.

The experience was actually less painful than I anticipated it to be, and I ended up listening to the full ‘Light Grenades’ album without too many painful memories at all.

It was actually upon exiting Spotify that I realised something… I noticed the date the album was released and I realised it’s almost been ten years since my life changed forever. That frightened (and still frightens) me immeasurably. It was only then that one specific memory came flooding back… teenage lust, hormones, feelings. I’ve changed so much since that point, yet, sometimes, I still feel like that helpless, clueless, foolish little goth girl deep down inside. I thought I loved him. I really did. It was definitely my first experience of heart break… of losing somebody for reasons beyond your control.

When I look back now, as an (almost!) fully functioning adult, I realise he used me. What 19 year old would be genuinely interested in a (just turned) 15 year old girl who had never had a boyfriend before?!

I’d be horrified if it was my daughter getting herself involved with someone like him.

Yet I did.

I am the only one to blame.

I fell, hard and fast, in that foolish way teenagers always seem to.

Only my ‘mistake’ wasn’t the easiest to scrub out.

I remember it like it was yesterday.

On 9th January 2007 I ‘fell’ pregnant. I hate that term. I also hate the term ‘accident’ and ‘mistake’, because surely if you have unprotected sex you must at least have a tiny idea you will get pregnant?! Only, teenagers don’t really think like that. Hell, didn’t think like that! And I was supposed to be one of the ‘clever’ ones, the one with her head screwed on, the one ‘most likely to be successful’!

9 weeks later I turned up at the clinic, and the ‘mistake’ was gone just as quickly as it was made, I guess. Only the emotional scars will haunt me forever. Like I said, a ‘mistake’ not so easily scrubbed out.

I often find myself wondering what my life would be like now if I had actually given birth to my child and brought him/her up. I know their dad wouldn’t have been involved – he never even knew I was pregnant, but even if he had known, he wouldn’t have been bothered, he’d moved on to a 14 year old by that point. Fresh meat. Someone knew to manipulate and control until he had gotten what he wanted and moved on to the next ‘victim’. I know he’s married with kids now…. I wonder how he’d feel if his 15 year old daughter (when she eventually reaches that age!) brought home a 19 year old apprentice gas engineer with a penchant for ballet and an obsessively religious family?!!

I’d have a 9 year old… that’s very strange to think about.

I definitely wouldn’t have met Mr Mad.

Then again, I definitely wouldn’t have met the crazy psycho ex either.

Which actually, conveniently, brings me onto my whole “when the past comes knocking” thing…

As per usual, my tale begins with a “I thought I was doing the right thing” claim. Which I did… and I still do, despite the fact it has majorly backfired on me.

So this time last week I received a whatsapp message off some random guy.

He thought I was a girl called Amy as he’d been talking to ‘her’ on a dating site and ‘she’ had given him ‘her’ number.

This appears to be happening a lot at the moment, and I’m 99.9% sure it’s the crazy ex.

However, usually it’s just disgusting guys sending me disgusting pictures and it’s very easy for me to block them.

But this time this guy seemed genuinely nice, and I felt really sorry for him.

I’d also, to coin a phrase, had enough of this shit.

So I did a little ‘catfish’ research and reverse image searched the picture.

I found the girl on Facebook and messaged her, explaining what had happened and basically making her aware of who I thought was taking and using her pictures etc.

She thanked me and subsequently blocked crazy psycho ex… allegedly…

Only she didn’t.

She bullshitted me and then messaged him.

How do I know all of this?

Because I then received a barrage of abusive emails over the course of the next few days. The first email contained a screenshot of my original Facebook message to this girl, and then each one got progressively more abusive and personal after that point. Here are some excerpts…

You must really be deluded if you think that I actually think about you or even have the time or energy to do anything like harass you online. I’ve never made a single account to do any of those things that you continue to do to me and others around me. Nobody believes that this is even happening to you, its like the boy who cried wolf. I’m very happy and I moved on a long time ago when I experienced just how cruel and twisted you could be but I only accepted it because of how sick you really was at the time. You are not the centre of our lives so get over yourself and stop contacting random girls online to tell them that I have this obsession with you and that I am using their details to create fake accounts to harass you. It sounds stupid and you look stupid for suggesting it. 

I have always left you alone and changing your number because of me will do nothing as I have never tried to contact you anyway. I have changed my number twice because you have never stopped stalking me and my friends and now you claim I am doing this to you lol! This is all boredom on your behalf (as you’re supposedly house bound after such a trivial operation that my friend also had) and claiming that your handy work is in fact my doing is not fooling anybody. You seriously don’t know how much damage, stress and alarm you’ve caused to those that you have targeted directly or through your other friends helping you. This is very serious but you continue to think this is some game but nobody is impressed. Everybody just wishes that you would just move on from all this and stop putting so much energy into fake FaceBook and Okcupid accounts. How do you find the time to create so many identities and to trawl the Internet for suitable profiles to copy pictures, interests and everything else?? She said that it was you a while back so please stop denying it and just promise to move on and leave me and others alone. 

Its become such as running joke with all my girl mates about who will get the next crazy message now but some have taken the constant harassment very seriously and I’ve had to intervene a number of times to stop some of them going after you. You’ve crossed the line a number of times and I have simply advised you not to continue but if you want to take that as a threatening message (as you always choose to do) then don’t go complaining when you’ve pushed those people to their limit and you end up escalating the situation that you’ve created. Nobody can take your relentless barrage of abuse forever and so pack it in. A lot of them have gone to the police and others are threatening to do more and I don’t want this escalating or you getting hurt. I don’t hate you and I don;t want any harm to come to you but girls can be stupid when they are angry and emotional and its hard to calm them all down when they are receiving the type of messages that you have been sending to them. Please help me keep this under control and stop the stalking. I’m so tired of all this drama that is pushed on me and I’m tired of others coming to me telling me about their  unpleasant messages and then threatening to sort it themselves if I don’t.  

You really need to stop this and let me and partner move on without you trying to ruin things for us. You really need to let me go and concentrate on your own wedding and future. Me, my partner and little Esmé are doing fine lol so I  have no idea why you keep on  
saying that I’m lonely and alone. You paint this picture to others of me being this sad and lonely guy that can’t get over you and to be honest with you 
this is viewed by others as you needing to continuously put me down in order to make yourself feel great. I really do believe that you think
too highly of yourself and that you can’t imagine how anybody could be over you haha. I think you’re a joke, nothing more.
I am with a lot girl who earns more that your entire family and is lovely too so I have no worries or fears about your pathetic childless life haha. Our baby is a girl and even at this early stage we have decided to call her esmé . Please realise that your crazy ways ended us.  Normal , you’re not. I’m not bothered about what you do because youre barren and psycho. He has settled for you because he is obese and pretty desperate 
Man enough not to talk to you? Are you kidding me?! My neighbours heard and know what kind of psycho you are. They look after my house. One of them did a PNC check on you and they all look out for me. You are a nutter. They know about your rapist bf and your mum who fucks young colleagues. Your family is a lie. An about joke.

You are so vile. Short story is I have a family and you are jealous. Do you want me to show up and talk to your rapist boyfriend? You better fucking stop harassing my family right now you sad bitch.

I never wanted or needed you. I hate my friend for introducing me to a girl who was  some lonely, desperate but good looking dodgy girl. Honestly, please leave us alone. I’m happy and have a girl on the way. You are a nutter. Don’t bring trouble to me door.

You are shallow and you need to stop bullying me and my mates. Anymore and you’ll regret it when the others go for you. Please just stop being a weirdo. No more fake accounts or threats ok.

 

You know what hurts and angers me the most?

He pretended he was a ‘champion’ for women with fertility problems.

In the short time we were together he convinced me to try for a baby with him. Nothing ever came of it because he had a low sperm count and we weren’t ‘trying’ (if you could call it that) for all that long… a month, tops, before he held a knife to my throat and I, understandably, left, because I couldn’t take his shit anymore.

His ex, so called ‘crazy ex’ (although I’m now beginning to think this is a term he coins for every girl who has ever dumped him) had polycystic ovaries and they apparently had all sorts of issues conceiving during the six years they were together. She allegedly managed to get pregnant once, then was apparently forced into a termination at 19 weeks as their baby had some serious genetic complications. I have no idea if any of this was true or not, and judging by the way he treated me when I didn’t get pregnant after 2 weeks and the barrage of abusive emails I have received recently, it clearly isn’t true.

Infertility is, as we all know, an absolutely horrific issue, not to be taken lightly. I feel so pissed off at people throwing around words like ‘barren’ and calling a serious operation ‘trivial’. I know he’s done that to hurt me, but, really, more people than him have said similar things. It’s disgusting, really.

I guess because I have such a serious moral compass, I get ridiculously angry when others don’t follow suite. I’d never dream of calling somebody barren or belittling things they’ve been through. It’s disgusting. I’d also never dream of making up a pregnancy… which he has clearly done… because, while I don’t know whether he genuinely has a partner or not, I do know he’s been telling people for the best part of a year that his ‘partner’ is in the ‘early stages of pregnancy’… which, as we all know, is impossible. By the way – we always talked about our potential child being called Esme, as we both liked the name, so he’s clearly done that on purpose too.

Anyway, it’s like they say, if the past comes knocking, don’t answer….

Or, alternatively, contact the police and block yet another email address and change yet another phone number.

Stop the world please, I want to get off!!

 

 

Moving on and letting go…

For reasons that can’t (or, rather, shouldn’t) be discussed on here, just in case, I have had a lot of thinking time the past few days. Furthermore, I’ve had a lot of time to realise sometimes (most of the time, actually) it’s good to move on and let go.

Elsa-Singing-Let-It-Go

I’m going to go off on a bit of a tangent now (what’s new?!) because while I was downloading that image it sparked an amusing image of me at work… I often wear my hair in a side plait for work as I don’t really have all that much time to get ready in the mornings (I’d sooner choose sleep, then going in early to get my printing and photocopying done before the mad rush!). Several times this year my kids (not my kids, rather, the kids I teach, but all teachers call their classes “my kids”… it’s both a blessing and a curse of the job!!) have mentioned I look like Elsa when I wear my hair like that. It’s cute! I like the idea of being both beautiful and deadly at the same time! I often tell them I am embodying Elsa and that if they ‘cross’ me I will freeze them! (Please note, sarcasm only tends to work with older children/teenagers, year 7s in particular get very frightened when you talk about freezing them!!)

Anyway… yes…

My last blog post was very negative, but I won’t apologise, as I was feeling very negative at the time. I was feeling let down and hurt. I needed somewhere to vent and release my emotions and writing has always always provided that outlet for me. Nobody can take that away from me, especially now I have found my little corner of the internet with people who relate to me and understand me (thank you, lovely people, for sticking with me throughout this horrific, emotionally draining journey!!).

I’ve had time to reflect, because I am not back at work until Thursday (hooray, finally! I can have social interaction again!!).

This evening I went through all of the old backups of my old computers (I have a habit of keeping everything, even if it brings back bad memories) and I deleted every single trace of my crazy ex. Several years have passed since I lived with this moronic demon, and I literally have no reason to keep any ties to him whatsoever. The restraining order has lapsed, granted, but I doubt he will ever attempt to come near me again. For some reason (maybe sentiment, who knows?!) I was keeping hold of photos, little mementos, copies of messages/emails etc. This evening I permanently deleted them all. I need to let go of so many things in my past that have been holding me back, and for no good reason either. I am finally in a place in my life where I can say that most things are good. I need to remind myself of that, too. For a start, I have Mr Mad, and he is absolutely wonderful. Yesterday I also realised that I am incredibly lucky to still have my parents. My parents are wonderful. No matter what, they back me up and support me. After losing both my grandparents at a relatively young age (Grandad at 16 and Nan last year at 23) I have a new found appreciation for my parents, as I realise they will not be around forever (although I really really wish they could be!) Take yesterday, for example, I made the 50 minute drive to my parents’ house (also my childhood home) and I spent the day sitting in the garden with my mum, dad and brother, chatting, reminiscing, helping my brother set up his new iPhone (which was a birthday present from me, because he’s still a student and deserved a) bringing into the 21st century and b) a treat because he’s had a rough few years with his health). I spent so long with them in the garden that I didn’t even realise I was getting sunburnt! But I did realise something… no matter what, I will always always have unconditional love from my family, and that isn’t something to ever take for granted. I have wonderful parents and a wonderful brother. They have always supported me, despite the thousands millions of mistakes I have made, and they are always there when I need love and comfort.

This brings me on to my next ‘epiphany’…

This evening, I sat soaking in the bath (with my horrifically sunburnt shoulders well and truly out of the hot water!) and, for the first time ever, thought “What if teaching isn’t actually for me?” Don’t get me wrong, I love my job… well…. I love the in the classroom bit… making children’s lives better, introducing them to a world of literature and language and showing them everything you can do when you have a proper grasp of the English language, showing them that they can succeed, no matter what background they’re from and no matter what challenges they face in life. However, the British education system is gradually being torn apart and ruined. There are so many politics involved in teaching now, I don’t even know where to begin to explain to my international followers (so I won’t even try!!) It’s also a very very intense job. You have to commit at least 60 hours a week to it. Your work doesn’t stop when you get home – it carries on. I am concerned, majorly concerned, in fact, that when I eventually get my little miracle, I won’t be able to spend enough time with them, and they will grow up so quickly and I will miss out on so much. I don’t want that. I want to be a mummy. I want to be there. I want to witness all of the important moments. I want to pick them up from school and ask them about their day. I want to spend evenings with them and have a proper bedtime routine, bathing them and reading them a bed time story, without constantly having “I hope this doesn’t take long as I have a shit load of marking to do and resources to  prepare for tomorrow” in the back of my mind. I want to be. 

I obviously haven’t made a concrete decision yet, as it was literally an hour ago that I opened my mind to the possibility that I could do something else. I always felt like I was born to teach, but what if that isn’t actually the case? What if I am actually meant to do something else, but I’ve never taken the time to explore other options, as I was so hell bent on becoming an educator?

It’s a lot to think about.

But something I do know for certain…

I am determined to be happy.

I am determined to make the most of whatever precious time I have on this earth.

I am determined to get to the end of my life with few regrets, and I hope those regrets are “I wish I’d done xyz” rather than “I wish I hadn’t done xyz.”

As a teenager, I was a geeky, weird, strange goth girl who nobody liked. As a (relatively) young adult, I am still that geeky, weird, strange goth girl who nobody likes… but, y’know what, I’m actually beginning to be okay with that. I like who I am, I am happy with who I am, and it’s people’s quirks that make them individuals and make them interesting. I will never be a sheep, and I will probably never fit in. But that’s okay.

I have decided, particularly as a middle finger to those who have tried to bring me down, both recently and in my past, that my mantra for life is going to be this…

don't let anyone dull your sparkle

I sparkle in my own way. And I like it. If you don’t like it, that’s your problem.

Chapter 1…

chapter 1 edit

These past few days have been days of “firsts”…

The most important “first” was my first period…

Obviously not my first period EVER (I wish!!) but my first period since surgery.

I was warned by multiple people who have had the same (or similar) surgery to me, that the first period after surgery would be hell on earth, and they certainly weren’t lying!!

Yesterday I woke up in absolutely agony, thinking, “oh god, my uterus is trying to kill me, AGAIN!”

It got progressively worse throughout the day, despite painkillers and another first (the first bath since before my surgery!)

However, I am really trying to be positive.

It’s difficult because I really thought surgery would help go a long way to solving my pain, and at the moment it is really feeling like it hasn’t.

But… having read countless stories like mine, this doesn’t seem to be unusual so soon after surgery, and I’m hoping next month (well, firstly, that it well actually be next month and not two weeks like it has been for the past year) I won’t be in as much pain.

As a result of aforementioned first period, I am not really feeling much better. I am also incredibly bored, trying to rest and relax at home, it’s much more difficult than I ever imagined.

Anyway… let’s loop back, because this post is getting both boring and tedious, rather like my day to day life at the moment!

Another first… I’ve just ordered a pair of maternity jeans off eBay.

Yes, you read that right… maternity jeans!

Currently I am still HUGE, or rather, my stomach is still HUGE.

I am supposed to be visiting beautiful Paris with my best friend and her family at the end of July, and I am concerned I will still be huge when I travel. I currently can’t fit into any of my normal clothes and am slobbing around in pjs for most of the day. The only times I have been dressed in relatively ‘normal’ clothes have been the handful of times I’ve left the house, and even then I’ve been wearing a maxi dress or loose joggers. I am really trying to not feel negative about the fact that I look like I have a pregnancy bump when it’s the absolute opposite, and rather try to embrace the fact I am slowly getting better and this is part of the healing process. That being said, I am so uncomfortable and so nervous about looking awful in Paris, that I’ve succumbed to maternity jeans in a bit to be comfortable and look relatively nice too. Any other suggestions would be much appreciated, as we have a charity event to go to on the first evening as well, and I have no idea what I will wear to that!

I guess the fact I am focusing on these kinds of things means I am getting better, as I’m not in complete and total agony all day everyday like I have been.

Now, time to watch some more White Collar and wish Matt Bomer was A) Not gay and B) My future husband!!

Neal_Caffrey's_moto

“Oh my darling, you are nowhere near ready to go back to work…”

So today I saw the lady who is covering for my normal GP while she is on holiday. While I wouldn’t say I’m the world’s biggest fan of my GP after the battle I had to fight for a diagnosis, I do like her, and there is something remotely comforting about the familiarity of seeing the same person every time you go in to talk about your “female problems” (which, for me, has probably been on at least a bi-monthly basis for the past 12 months).

This “cover doctor” (is that what you call them?! I’m not sure what you call them! You can tell I’m a teacher!! ‘If there’s somebody doing someone else’s job while they’re absent they must be a cover blah blah because the lady teaching my classes while I’m off is a cover teacher.’) Anyway, the queen of digressions has digressed again!

Where were we?

Ah, yes.

Cover doctor.

A petite, white-haired woman at least in her early 60s, who turned out to be the bolshiest (is that even a word?! Well, it is now, I’ve decided!) Swedish woman I’d ever met (and, believe it or not, I have met quite a few Swedish women in my time!)

I sat down, a little petrified, and also sweating from the crazy hot flushes that seem to be plaguing my otherwise “young” body at the moment (that’s what everybody keeps saying to me, y’know, “Oh you’re young, you’ll get through this no problem!” Like that isn’t annoying in the slightest…). I was worried for the following reasons

  1. It wasn’t my normal doctor and I really didn’t want to explain everything all over again.
  2. I was worried about being told to take more time off work when I want to be there, and I miss it, and I miss my colleagues, and I miss my kids (and the list goes on and on and on….despite the fact I tell aforementioned kids to never ever use ‘and’ more than once in the same sentence!)
  3. I have severe social anxiety anyway (yeah, I know, hilarious for a teacher!!) and am always incredibly self-critical and conscious of what people are thinking about me… or, rather, what I think people are thinking about me, because, contrary to what my brain tells me a lot, I am not a mind reader! Funnily enough, this anxiety only kicks in when I’m around adults… never children!

With these things in mind, I take you back to little old me, with my huge tummy, sitting, sweating profusely, on a little red plastic chair, in front of Swedish-cover-doctor-lady.

I opened my mouth and uttered the words, “12 days ago I had a laparoscopy with excision of endometriosis, as well as a…”

She stopped me there.

Not so much as interrupted me, but stopped my speil.

“Oh my darling, you are nowhere near ready to go back to work yet… 12 days…. zis is serious surgery my dear. Let me look at ze notes.”

(I am aware here that in typing her accent I could be seen to be partaking in a little cultural appropriation, but I am not, this is exactly how she sounded, and it was unexpectedly comforting for me!)

Cover doctor studied the letter sent by Dr Busby (remember, my amazing, wonderful, brilliant, miracle-worker of a gynaecologist?!) (That sounded sarcastic… it’s not meant to be, I do literally worship this woman!).

She then asked me to lay down on the bed.

“I vill examine at your tummy.”

As it turns out, she didn’t really need to…. the moment I pulled my dress up there was a sharp intake of breath and cover doctor said,

“Oh my goodness, my poor darling, no you are not healed, you must rest, you must sleep, you must get better.”

It would have been comical if it wasn’t so disturbingly true.

She did examine me. I just wanted to clarify that – so you all know Swedish cover doctor is doing her job properly!

She also took my temperature and was really not impressed! Apparently it was “borderline” and I have to monitor it very closely as I could be developing an infection.

Oh the joys!

She explained to me that while my external wounds may look small, my internal wounds are not and that I had had major surgery and should not take that lightly.

Suitably dressed down and actually also feeling a little relieved, I left with a sick note for a further two weeks.

I’m still not entirely sure how I feel about this, but I know I must take the doctor’s advice. I can’t afford to make myself worse by not recovering and healing properly, as I most certainly don’t want more surgery and more time off work (especially when I’m in a job I love so much!)

So, my lovely, ever-growing list of followers… Please promise me something…

Promise me you will make sure I rest properly and take time to heal?

I am rubbish at sitting around, sleeping, resting, doing pretty much nothing, but that is what I need to do. If I am to get better, I need to listen to my body rather than my mind for once.

Now… how do I go about relaxing?!

The Biggest Wobble Yet…

Today I feel awful.

I honestly feel like I can’t go on anymore.

All my positivity has completely vanished out of me and I feel completely broken.

My body isn’t happy – I know this because I know my own body.

I am in agony.

I have tried to get back to normal and, every time, my body tells me “no” “You’re absolutely not ready yet, stop trying to push yourself. Go home, sleep and rest.”

Nobody told me recovery would be the hard part.

I thought I would have my surgery and I would get better.

Alright, I knew there would be a bit of time while my wounds healed.

But then I’d be back to normal – surely?

Well, not even normal, the normal I was before this goddamn illness stole who I was.

That’s the thing with endometriosis, and I’m honestly starting to wonder…

Do you ever go back to the way you were?

Do you ever have a ‘normal’ life again?

Does it ever truly go away?

I know there’s no cure.

But the consultant made it seem like I stood a chance of being okay again.

“There’s a 30% chance it will come back.”

That’s a statistic I thought I could live with.

I foresaw me getting my life back. I saw me being pain free and having a future.

Right now, currently, in this moment, my pain is worse than before I had surgery.

My superficial wounds seem to be healing okay, but my internal ones don’t feel like they’re healing at all.

My hormones are all over the place – worse than ever before.

My pain is worse than it was and I’m still dosed up on cocodamol (which was supposed to be a short term solution, and I’ve now been on it for 3 months).

Today I’ve completed the tiniest of tasks and this has resulted in me drenched in sweat, sitting on my sofa, unable to move, sobbing my eyes out.

This is what I’ve done today:

  • Got up
  • Had a shower
  • Made my breakfast
  • Ate my breakfast
  • Watched Jeremy Kyle, This Morning, Loose Women and Judge Rinder
  • Looked at some school work then realised my brain fog wouldn’t let me do anything productive
  • Nipped out to the garden centre to buy some compost

Surely those don’t constitute strenuous tasks?

And it’s the same each time – I’m no better – there’s no marked improvement.

Since coming out of hospital a week last Friday I have left the house 3 times. One of those times was to be driven 5 minutes around the corner to my in laws house, where I ate lovely home cooked food and sat propped up on their sofa for 3 hours. Again, hardly strenuous tasks.

I’m petrified.

I am due back at work on Monday, and I literally have no idea how I’m going to teach for 5 hours a day when my body is like this.

I feel like I’m letting everyone down.

I’m part of a team and I haven’t been there to contribute for weeks.

I haven’t even been able to help them mark the piles of exam papers they undoubtedly have.

I feel like an awful, awful person. I am literally no use to anyone right now.

Everybody who has had this procedure span things in such a positive light. So much so, I thought I knew what was coming. I didn’t even hesitate signing that consent form. I thought I would be fine. In fact, I thought I would be more than fine, I thought I would be better. Now I’m wishing I’d just carried on dealing with the pain, because at least I was at work. At least I was doing something, instead of just being a huge pointless potato consuming ridiculous amounts of daytime TV and crying on my wonderful fiancé every time he gets home from work.