This illness is ruining my life…

So this week has been the worst week in a LONG time.

Only as recent as last week I was feeling the happiest and most positive I’d ever felt. I’m married, to the love of my life, I have an amazing job with absolutely wonderful colleagues and students, and I’m getting my own business off the ground.

I thought I’d finally ‘made it’.

Then, Monday morning hit.

I was in agony. The most pain I’ve been in since before my surgery (which, by the way, was nearly a year ago now!)

I struggled in to work and tried to battle on with painkillers.

Like I mentioned before, I absolutely love my job. I’ve been there just over 2 months now and it’s the most wonderful place to work. I have amazing, supportive, understanding, encouraging colleagues who are genuinely lovely human beings. The students I teach are also great – too often they are written off by society because of the area they live in/are from, but they are honestly wonderful characters and they make my job a joy and a pleasure to do! My lovely manager tried to send me home at Monday lunchtime, as I think she could see how much I was struggling. I refused. I wanted to make it through to the end of the day, as I had a horrible feeling in the pit of my stomach that this stupid pain was going to keep me off for a lot longer than an afternoon.

I was right.

I’ve been off the past couple of days in the hope that some holistic therapy, pain meds and rest would help me to feel better.

It didn’t.

I’m worse.

I went to see the doctor this morning.

She was horrible.

I don’t ever remember having an appointment with her before and I don’t ever wish to again.

She didn’t know anything about my medical history and told me to “shh” while she spent 10 minutes reading my extensive notes (surely she should’ve done that BEFORE my appointment?!)

She continued to be rude and abrupt with me and told me she was sure my symptoms weren’t down to endometriosis.

knew they were because I know my own body and I’ve been dealing with this illness for the past year (probably longer, albeit undiagnosed).

I was then prodded and poked in all of the areas on my abdomen that were in agony, for her to tell her it was probably an ‘inflamed bowel’ then an ‘inflamed appendix’ before she finally put me through the humiliation and extreme pain of an internal examination.

She then changed her mind and decided that my scar tissue was probably infected, that I’m unfit to work for at least a week and need a double dose of strong antibiotics.

Great.

Just fucking great.

Here we go again.

She still wouldn’t refer me to my consultant and at one stage told me to put my phone away after she’d told me to check when was best for an appointment next week.

I’ve never in my life complained about a GP, even though I have had so many reasons to in the past 12-18 months.

Now, after complaining, I magically have a referral letter that will be ready for collection tomorrow morning, along with a follow up appointment with the Senior Doctor next week.

Totally and utterly ridiculous.

I’m sick of the total lack of understanding for my condition and I’m sick of having to battle for help when I say I’m in pain.

I’m so scared of not being able to work when I’m finally in a job I love and in an amazing workplace with wonderful people.

I’m scared that I’m going to get worse and never be able to work again.

Just when I felt things were going well for me, and I was truly happy, my body gives up yet again.

I feel like I always complain when I come on here, and I’m sorry for that, as I’ve had a really happy few months.

Sometimes, you just really need to vent, don’t you?!

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Hope is being able to see there is light despite all of the darkness…

I’m here.

Just about.

I really really miss writing (well, blogging) so I’m tentatively poking my big toe back into the word press water.

That was a pretty good metaphor… even if I do say so myself! (Typical English teacher! Always has to analyse everything that’s written down!)

I honestly don’t know where to start… and I actually doubt anyone has really been wondering where I’ve been for the past couple of months, as the state of mind I was in when I wrote my last blog post made things very clear.

There’s not a lot I actually can talk (or write) about. It’s a long story that I will probably never be able to tell to anybody asides from the one person in the world who is closest to me (that being, Mr Mad, of course).

Speaking of Mr Mad, we are exactly 29 days away from our wedding!

That time has gone by so so quickly, I can hardly believe that in less than a month I am going to officially become Mrs Mad!!

I wish things were better at the moment.

Not with Mr Mad and I, that, thanks to him being the world’s loveliest, most supportive partner, is the only thing that’s going right in my life currently.

The endometriosis is rearing its head… or, rather, creeping back in and trying to take over my body again.

I honestly wouldn’t wish this illness on anybody.

Well, maybe the person or people who are…. I’d better stop there, for fear of repercussions, you never know who might be digging or lurking for things that don’t even exist…

Anyway, today has consisted of mostly lying on the sofa under a blanket with a hot water bottle.

Now I am in bed, for a change of scenery, propped up with a gazillion pillows,  and a hot water bottle with a half-consumed cuppa resting on it.

Some people may think that’s an awesome way to spend a day… but, for me, it isn’t.

I’m struggling with pain.

It was this time last year that I really really began to struggle with pain, which I later (6 whole months later) found out was severe, stage 3 endometriosis. I know this because an old Facebook status came up on my Timehop yesterday, where I was complaining about deferred pain.

I’m starting to realise that I may never have what I consider to be a ‘normal’ life ever again.

This illness… it’s got me… despite the fact that I constantly try to fight back, it has me in its grips and it will never fully let go…. I will never be fully rid of it.

For the past couple of weeks I have had hope…

I have had hope that things will get better.

I have had hope that all of the darkness in my life (and I say all of, because there is an awful, awful lot of darkness in my life right now) will somehow lift and things will be right again.

Today, mainly because of the endo flare up, I am mostly in agony, feeling incredibly negative and rather tearful.

I know life isn’t fair.

I get that… it’s actually something I’ve only recently started to properly understand and accept.

But what I can’t get on board with at the moment is why, when things are just starting to improve for someone and their life seems to be going okay for once, somebody comes along and tries to destroy that for them…. tell me, what kind of person would do that?

It’s taking all of my effort, currently, to not become a total recluse and never leave the house.

And I actually mean never leave the house… not just what I’ve been doing recently, which is only leaving the house to attend therapy, pain-relief clinic at the doctors and reflexology. Let’s face it, that’s not much of a life as it is, really, is it?

Gosh… I actually planned for this post to be hopeful and full of positivity, as I’m really trying to find the light at the end of the tunnel and the hope in amongst everything that is going on right now… evidently the darkness in my life is too great at the moment.

It’s very lonely being stuck in the house on your own all day everyday.

It gives you an awful lot of time to think.

To think, and to draw conclusions.

Currently, there are two big question marks over two things I need answers to and I need to draw conclusions on, but can’t seem to.

  1. What do I do if I never have the blessing of a child?
  2. What do I do if I can never teach again?

Answers on a postcard….

 

 

just kidding!

 

hope

How can you be sad over something that never existed?

chemical-pregnancy-was-actually-a-very-early-miscarriage

I don’t know where to begin.

I haven’t posted in a long, long time, as it wasn’t giving me the same cathartic feeling as it once did.

It’s hard.

So fucking hard.

I feel trapped inside my head constantly and am struggling to release any of that stress, tension and pressure.

This week has been one of the shittiest weeks of my life.

My life had been ticking over, I guess you could say, for a number of months.

Back to work, start of new school year, lead up to wedding, hen cruise (which was a bit of a disaster in itself, and seemed to matter at the time but is pale in significance after the events of this week), moved into our dream house etc etc.

Been off anti-depressants for 8 whole weeks now.

No strong painkillers.

Exercising regularly.

Eating well.

Doing. everything. I. am. supposed. to. be. doing.

BAM

Period 1 week late.

Cue excitement (stupidly) from me and a rush to take a pregnancy test.

Faint line.

It’s okay… leave a day or two, test again. Don’t get hopes up. Mustn’t get hopes up. Will only be a few weeks pregnant at most. Don’t get excited.

Do.

not.

get.

excited.

Wednesday rolls around.

Test again.

Faint line is stronger than last time.

Must be a positive.

GOT TO BE A POSITIVE!

Excited and crying happy tears.

Tell Mr Mad.

He is his usual sceptical self.

But I know, I mean, I know, I am pregnant. I can tell. Because, you just know, don’t you?

Friday, 3am.

Wake up in the most agony I’ve been in since before my surgery, when my endo was at its worse.

Go to bathroom.

Blood everywhere.

Then I knew….

even if I had been pregnant, I definitely wasn’t anymore.

I lay on my kitchen floor (my gorgeous, so-shiny-you-can-see-your-face-in-it black kitchen floor, in my dream house, our dream house, our family home) for an hour sobbing my heart out.

How could this happen?

How could life be so cruel to me, to us?

How could Mr Mad still be asleep when my entire world is crumbling underneath me?

It’s not his fault. It’s my fault. As per usual everything is my fault.

I stress too much.

I work too much.

I exercise too much.

I ate too many chocolates the other night.

I had a gin and tonic to calm myself down after a particularly stressful day at work.

I’ve taken on too many extra things.

I’m rushing around too much.

ALL MY FAULT.

Except, is it?

Everybody keeps telling me that if it’s meant to be, it will be. I understand it’s to try to comfort me, but it really doesn’t help.

Never before have I experienced such lack of compassion in a hospital. Being stuck with visibly pregnant women whose partners are cooing over them when you’re in agony and bleeding is the single worse thing in the entire universe.

To know that one day, in about 4-6 months, every other woman in that waiting room would be leaving that hospital with her baby, meanwhile mine, which never really properly existed, is gone forever.

But it wasn’t really a baby, was it? How can it be after a couple of weeks.

Chemical pregnancy they call it, don’t they?

Never would’ve been a baby.

So why does it hurt so much?

Why do I keep replaying that conversation with the doctor over and over again?

“What number pregnancy was this?”

“Three”

“How many children do you have?”

“None.”

And I suppose I should be thankful that I’m still here. A little over 24 hours ago I was being rushed to hospital thinking I had an ectopic pregnancy and they were going to remove yet more of my precious reproductive parts.

But why won’t my body work properly?

What have I done that’s so awful to deserve this?

I have no hope left.

None.

All I see is 50 years, if I am that ‘lucky’, in a big empty house.

Endless holidays.

Tonnes of cats.

But still no children.

Never

any

children.

 

 

 

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!!

 

 

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.