The Surgeons Decision. 

The Surgeons Decision. 

If you follow my blog you may remember the impassioned email I wrote my surgeon. I was honest and brutal about the difficulties I’m facing thanks to my prolapses; basically I begged him for help. He responded. Soon after I was sat in his office and given three options to choose from, repair, permanent irrigation tube or, stoma. After a lot of research and soul searching, consultations with my GP and POTS nurse, I decided the stoma was the right decision for me. 

A few weeks ago I saw my surgeon again. I told him how my issues had worsened. Seemed to be worsening each day. He began to suggest re doing tests I’d had months earlier. A year or more earlier in fact. I took a deep breath and stopped him in his tracks. 

No more tests. No more thinking. No more suffering. I told him I had made my choice and was ready for surgery. My voice shook as I spoke of the research I had done and my reasons for choosing this route. I spoke of the impact on my life each surgery could have and how my previous ‘fix’ of one of the prolapses has already failed. Failed to the point of being worse than it was. I made it very clear that I knew the pitfalls as well as the positives of having a stoma. This is in no way the ‘easy’ option. There was no easy option to choose. All were fraught with complications and changes to my life. It is just that this path gives me more chance of change. Of no longer suffering with pain in my stomach and back all the time. Of not living my life around my bowel. 

Eventually I stopped talking. I sat there, shaking, awaiting his response. ‘Right, we will get you on the list for surgery then.’ 

HE SAID YES!!

He agreed. Immediately. No more appointments. No more tests. I would be put on the waiting list for surgery! Not only that, but he decided to do an ileostomy rather than a colostomy. This will bypass all of my large bowel, hopefully bypassing all my problems with it! He’s going to do a keyhole loop procedure for now, if that still leaves me with pain from the prolapses then he will consider a larger procedure at a later date. I can understand that decision, after all I do have a bajillion things wrong with me. Why have a huge procedure when a relatively small one could do the job? A procedure that only takes forty five minutes will hopefully change my life completely. 

He left the room to get the required paperwork and I dissolved into a puddle of tears. My friend comforted me as I sobbed. My tears weren’t sadness; they were relief, joy, fear and excitement all mingled into one cocophany of emotion. As each breath rattled through my lungs I felt a weight lifting from my shoulders. Soon, within eighteen weeks, it would all be over. I’d be through the surgery and on the road to recovery. I could hopefully start living again. 

But at the same time, I knew it would all just be starting. My recovery. Adapting to a new way of functioning. Living with a bag and evolving my life around that. It was a truly terrifying and liberating thought. 

The surgeon returned and was perplexed at my tears. ‘I thought you’d be happy?!’ ‘I am!’ I exclaimed, explaining the explosion of emotions overwhelming me. As I left I hugged him and thanked him for saving my life. Because whilst the problems with my bowel aren’t at the point of killing me, they are stopping me living. Hopefully, with this change, I’ll be able to take part in my own life again. 

NB. During the appointment my surgeon spoke of how refreshing it was to have a patient be so open and frank about their condition. He really appreciated my in depth emails. Whilst it is not always possible to write to a doctor directly, we can advocate for ourselves during our appointments. As a patient, I urge you to research your condition and your options. Take notes to appointments if needed so you can speak clearly about your problems and the way you want treatment to go. NOBODY knows more about your body and your life than you, you are the expert in that field, so be confident in yourself. If you’re not happy with treatment plans, request another opinion. This is your body, it is you that has to live with the treatment being offered. You cannot simply end a shift and walk away from things, so advocate for yourself. Always. 

N:Rem Sleep System.. Is it worth it? 

N:Rem Sleep System.. Is it worth it? 

In case you didn’t read my previous blog I’ll give you a little info on the N:Rem Sleep System and why I chose to review it. If you follow my blog, you’ll be aware that I have chosen to trial several products that I feel will be of use to us as in the disabled community. Products that offer to improve our health, or quality of life in some way. It is for that reason that I contacted the N:Rem company. 

The company claims that this sleep system is specifically designed for people who suffer pain. The mattress is integrated with foam tablets of three different densities. These tablets can be swapped around the five different zones in order to effectively create a mattress that is bespoke to your needs. Unfortunately, I was unable to try the mattress as a whole, but I have been trialling the foam tablets on my own sub par mattress at home, here’s my findings… 


It was about two months ago that the tablets arrived in my home. My husband lugged the two huge boxes upstairs and I was shocked by the depth of the foam pieces. Often mattress toppers look thick and luxurious on photographs, but what arrives is a disappointing pancake of patheticness. That certainly wasn’t the case here. The foam was thick and sturdy, you could easily feel the different densities just by giving them a squeeze. 

Alongside the tablets came a comprehensive leaflet with instructions on the best placement of them, to suit pain in various areas of your body. I get all over body pain, but I do find the worst of it centres around the base of my spine. So I planned out the mattress to suit that. (I planned, my husband placed. Not that the tablets are heavy; just a little cumbersome as we have a kingsized bed.) I have to say I was very impressed that the foam easily covered the whole mattress; many places say things are kingsized but they never quite fit. I suppose that comes with the fact these are designed to actually slot into a mattress, rather than sit on top, so they need to be snug. Each density of tablet is a different colour, making them very easy to identify. 


Initially, I was incredibly impressed with the mattress toppers. For the first time in a long time, I found laying in my bed comfortable. The main improvement was to the pain in the pressure points where my body weight hits the mattress. Usually after a nights sleep these areas are pushed and smushed into awkward positions of pain. But not with the N:Rem tablets. With these tablets I could wake up in a much more comfortable state. Making it much easier to get a start on my day. 

I also found that the sleep I did get was deeper. Much deeper. To the point I often wouldn’t move in my sleep. There have often been many nights where I would toss and turn throughout the night, waking even more exhausted than when I went to sleep. Not so anymore. It is only on the highest pain nights that I struggle to get comfortable, rather than almost every single evening. In fact, for the first time in my adult life I managed to sleep the whole night on my side. Even better, my arm wasn’t completely numb and useless when I woke up. The different zones of the mattress tablets allowed my body to sink down where needed, and have extra support in other areas. This lead to the perfect sleeping position. Sleeping on my side is something the doctor has recommended for a while, to aid my digestion, so I’m glad it’s finally an option for me. 

Top tip: If you’re going to invest in a mattress, be sure to also get the correct pillow for your needs. Pillows come in all shapes, sizes and densities and can really make a huge difference to your sleep posture. 

Unfortunately during this trial I’ve had some severe dips in my health, leaving me pretty much bed bound for long stretches of time. It was during these periods in bed that my back pain became incredibly severe. It seemed like the tablets weren’t working. 

Disappointed, I rearranged them. Then rearranged them again. Then did it a third time. Eventually, after trying out pretty much every combination mathematically possible, I gave up. Perhaps my body is just too cantankerous to help? I was dreading writing the review, not sure what I would put. But then something changed, I moved to my husbands side of the bed in order to watch some television one night. The next morning my back pain had lessened. Was it a fluke, or had switching sides really made that much of a difference? I decided I best steal his side on a more permanent basis in order to find out.. for the sake of my readers. 

It was soon clear to me that the problem wasn’t the tablets. Over on my husbands side my backpain eased and the quality of my sleep continued to improve. I do still have insomnia, but when I do drop off it is a deep and refreshing sleep. I’ve also found myself able to nap during the day as soon as I become tired; rather than tripping the light fandango for at least an hour trying to find that sweet spot before eventually giving up. When I discussed this with my husband, he wasn’t surprised. Apparently on my side of the bed there is a me sized dip in the mattress, becoming particularly deep around backside level. 

So that’s the answer, my sub par mattress was making it impossible for the tablets to do their job. 

This is exactly why N:Rem do not provide the foam tablets as a pack on their own. They used to, but realised the customers weren’t getting the improvements they needed. So now the tablets are provided alongside the 2000 pocket sprung mattress, which they slot into. They are then topped with a viscoool layer and finally zipped into a high quality cover. The cover itself can be zipped off and washed, something that really appeals to me as I know life with chronic illness can be somewhat messy. As can life with kids. The whole mattress can also be stripped back for cleaning and airing out, great for those of us with allergies. 


I do wish I had been able to try the mattress as a whole. I’d love to know just how cool the cooling layer is, and if that helps with my sleep. My health issues mean I get severe hot sweats at night, so much so I have to have a fan running all year. The pocket sprung mattress sounds pretty amazing on its own, with the whole set up it must be mind blowing! Also, having just the foam tablets on my bed can be somewhat tiresome at times. My mattress is not designed to hold them in place like the N:Rem is, often they move and spread apart. Plus, I can feel where each one meets the next due to only having a fitted sheet on top; a fitted sheet that barely makes it around my mattress due to the depth of the foam. However, even with all these little niggles I would not be without these tablets now. I can 100% say that they have improved my sleep, lessened my pain and increased my quality of life. 

The N:Rem Sleep System is definitely the top of my wish list! Particularly as there’s a FREE 100 night trial going on at the moment, during which you can test out different combinations of foam tablets to ensure you get the best for your needs. The mattress is guaranteed for TEN years with a free returns policy on it. Finally, there’s an interest free offer that works out at only £1 per night for the sleep system. (I’d probably save that in electric for the fan!) You don’t even need to pay a deposit! I definitely feel a good nights sleep is worth £1 of anyone’s money, don’t you?

To start your FREE 100 night trial click here or to order today click here. Type in THISLITTLELIFE at the checkout for a £30 discount! 

This blog post is part of a sponsored review of the N:rem sleep system. All opinions within it are my own and in no way influenced by the company. This trial is not available to the general public. It is a one off that has been organised in order to create independent feedback on the product via my blog. There may be financial reward should any profits be made as a direct result of this piece. 

The Truth Behind the Smile. 

The Truth Behind the Smile. 

I’m forever telling people, don’t judge a book by its cover because so so many disabilities are invisible. This isn’t just something I preach on my blog. It’s a mantra I live by. I often find myself vehmenantly describing how difficult things can be for people who appear perfectly fine. I’m almost as often shot down by people who will never understand and choose to believe we are all Such Scroungers but that is not the case. 

In this blog I hope to prove to you that you really cannot tell by looking at a person whether they are well or not. I hope to show you how these things can be well hidden, with the aid of this photo… 


Just looks like and other mum with her kids doesn’t it? Care free and having fun on a trip to the cinema. No sign of anything untoward. 

But that’s not true, here’s the story behind the photo… 

My health recently has been on a serious downward spiral. My days are filled with exhaustion and extreme pain. Pain I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy… well, in theory. Pain I definitely wouldn’t wish on most people anyway. My WORST enemy could possibly have a wee taste; but only because their treatment of me likely set the ball rolling to the crippled shell of a woman I am now. But I digress.. The pain is severe, severe enough to leave me biting back the tears most days. That and the exhaustion combines to pummel the wind from my sails every single day; to the point I can only stand to be up and about around four hours on your average day. To the point when the babies bedtime is also mine. To the point where my hands have been too sore to blog all the thoughts I have swimming around my tiny mind, making me feel my head will surely explode. To the point that even though I’m home all day every day, I’m missing my children. Missing them to the point my heart actually aches.. though to be fair that could just be one of my list of ever growing symptoms. 

So, with it being the school holidays, I planned a rare treat. Taking my two eldest to the cinema. Something I only get to do on the rarest of occasions. Even more special, I took them by myself. 

The outing was planned with military precision. I chose a film that was as early as I could manage, but hopefully not running too late. Tickets were booked online in the hope of avoiding a queue at the cinema, my nemesis. (Standing in line has often caused me to pass out cold thanks to a pesky little condition known as POTS.) We chose the VIP seats. Less stairs to contend with. More chance I could be at least a little comfortable. 

Before going I spent literally the entire day resting. Only climbing out of bed to have a shower with my husband. I sat as he washed my hair and body, resting my head against his bare stomach I sobbed quietly as I worried I wouldn’t be able to do it. I’d have to drag the kids home midway out of the film or perhaps wouldn’t even make it there. I sobbed because of the days of extra pain and exhaustion I knew I’d suffer just from going out on such a simple outing with my children. The unfairness and the fear mingled inside me as the salty tears washed down my face and mingled with the flow of the shower. Then I sloped back to bed and laid there as my body slowly dried. Too wrung out to dry it myself. 

Finally the time to leave arrived. I scraped myself from my bed and slung on the clothes I’d chosen. A soft and stretchy jumper dress with a pair of black leggings. Comfortable, expandable, perfect for a body that can go up four dress sizes in ten minutes when my stomach expands, which it does. Daily. You might have noticed my face is makeup free. Not because I don’t like makeup, but because makeup doesn’t like me. I have to think very carefully before wearing makeup as it not only reacts with my skin and causes swollen itchy eyes, it also flares my pain. I was already in all the pain I could handle, makeup was a no. As for my hair, I left it how it dried. Then stealed myself for the task ahead… 

I didn’t tell the kids until we arrived what we were doing. Partly to make it a fun surprise. Mostly in case I had to turn back round and head home. I didn’t want to see them try and hide their disappointment from me, so I told them we were running an errand for their dad. (In hindsight that may have been a mistake as the last time we did that we went to collect him a new car; so running an errand actually got the kids pretty excited.) When the realisation dawned on them the excitement on their face made it all worth while. I knew my efforts and all the pain it would cause was completely worth it. I hope that it is these special memories that will stick with my kids, not the countless days of seeing me worn down and in pain. 

Fast forward to the photo. Seated in the theatre and awaiting the start of the credits. We had come in really early to ensure I was seated and comfortable rather than stood in the foyer. I took some pictures with the kids for a bit of fun and to fill the time. Also, my memory is so hazy these days, pictures help me keep them in focus. 

What memories does this picture conjur? A fun trip to the cinema with my kids. But what do I actually see when I look at the image? I see myself, desperately trying to hold it together for my kids. Painting on a smile and fun to hide the difficulties I go through. I see a disabled woman doing her best to have a few hours of being just like everyone else. Is that what you saw when you looked at it? I doubt it. 

Just as you cannot look at me and see all the problems I have hidden within me, you also cannot look at anyone else. So before you start whispering about Joe Bloggs down the street, just remember; the real story may be very different to the snap shots you see. 

Mothers Day. 

Mothers Day. 

Today in Great Britain we celebrated Mothers Day. Women of all races and ages were showered with gifts and cards. Many chose to spend the day with their children, while others took it as their one day in the year to truly relax. Facebook, of course, was swamped with gushing messages to mums. Overflowing with love, support and sorrow for those mums who are no longer with us. 

My profile wasn’t. On my profile I wished my lovely Mother in Law and my husbands Gran happy Mothers Day. I looked forward to our lunch together, where my husband would eat possibly more than his body weight in roast dinner. Later I will post pictures of me and my kids enjoying our day. All smiles. 


I had a lovely day with my family. But as always, Mothers Day was tinged with sadness for me. This year perhaps more than others. 

My mother and I have always had somewhat of a rocky relationship. For years I believed it was my fault. I was lazy. Unreasonable. A trouble causer. When I chose to move away to University I ‘broke her heart’, and apparently I’ve done this time and time again since. My life with her was full of extremes. Either her best friend or enemy number one, with nothing in between. 

There have been many points where the relationship has fallen apart altogether. Whole swathes of my adult life she hasn’t been a part of. Months and years of my children’s lives. My life. Even to the point she chose not to attend my wedding. My wedding of only close family and friends. A guest list of fourteen reduced by one. The elephant in the room that nobody mentioned. The saddest part? The saddest part was that rather than broken hearted, I felt relieved. Relieved that there would be no drama. No spite. No nastieness. Nothing to spoil my special day. 

Most of our fallouts follow the same pattern. I am the black sheep. I have ‘wronged’ her in some way. I must apologise and beg forgiveness. When I don’t, I’m cast out. Except these wrongdoings don’t seem so terrible to me. To me it’s not wrong to ask someone to stop putting you down. It’s not wrong to stick up for your niece when she’s being called stupid. It’s not wrong to stick up for your values. 

Even during the times I’ve been on ‘good’ terms with my Mother, this day has been hard. Cards which gush about unconditional love and unwavering support. Where are the ones that say, ‘thanks for being the only mum I have’? Or, ‘it’s nice that we can get along’? I guess there’s not much of a market for them. It’s not quite Hallmark is it? Then there’s the expected public message. What do I write? What could I put other than ‘Happy Mothers Day’? Nothing. Nothing true at least. 

Each time I’ve finally pulled away from my Mother I’ve ended up slowly spiralling back. A voice in my head always niggles at me. ‘She’s your mum, you should be grateful. Any mother is better than no mother. You’re evil for hurting your mum this way.’  Throughout my life I’ve given chance after chance. Not just to her, but to so many people who weren’t any good for me. People who would tear me down and call it love. I wonder why that is? 

During our latest stint of reconciliation I convinced myself things were different. She was trying and things were improving. I convinced myself that in time things would become almost like a normal Mother Daughter relationship. That the barriers put up were just whilst things settled. 

Over a year later and the barriers were still there. Plans would be made with me and dropped if either of my siblings yelled jump. Hours would be spent pulling down other people, including my Dad who has loved and supported me entirely, and faces would be pulled when I didn’t join in. Old difficulties with my siblings were brought up, pointing out how I was still in the wrong. But the conversations always became too upsetting when I attempted to stick up for myself. I’d hear nothing for days, until such a time she was bored and alone. 

The final catalyst came on a visit to my dads house. My husband was helping him with some work and I was attempting to entertain the kids in the garden. My heart meds haven’t been the best recently and it was hard. So, for the umpteenth time I asked my mum if I could pop over with the kids. NO. My brother was home and he doesn’t like me. So myself and my children (all except one who he adores) aren’t welcome. She had made plans to join us at my dads, but had apparently had changed her mind. When I asked would she still be coming I was met with agitation, but begrudgingly she showed. 

Without even asking how the kids were she immediately launched into her usual rhetorick. I’m unreasonable. My brother is right. Holding onto grudges for over three years and refusing to be civil is perfectly normal and ok. Futile in my attempts to stick up for myself I ushered my toddler inside and away. Soon after she left. 

It was that night that my backbone decided to make an appearance. A long text conversation ensued. (I learned long ago texting was best. That way I cannot have my words changed. I have the proof I need right there on my phone.) The crux of it was, I felt myself and my children deserved to be treated equally to my siblings and their families. She disagreed. In wanting this I was a trouble causer. Upsetting the apple cart. Things were just fine and I should accept what I was given, the way I had for so many years. 

A few days later she text to wish me luck for an appointment. Acting as though nothing had happened. A tactic she had deployed for years. But this time I stood my ground. Treat me equally or leave me alone. (I don’t think it’s much to ask.) Her response? ‘Well Bye then!’

That was yesterday. Today was Mothers Day. I’m determined this time to be true to my word. Because I deserve a Mother who treats me equally to my siblings. My children deserve a Grandma with whom they can celebrate Christmas and Birthdays. Who’s house is a haven for them. 

So, if you’re reading this Mother, here’s my message to you today. Thank you. Thank you for teaching me I can thrive in any environment. I can learn to love myself even when those around me show me no real love. Thank you for helping me become the Mummy I am, by teaching me all about the relationship I don’t want to have with my children. I do hope you have a lovely day, because I don’t hate you. I’m just ready to believe that I’m better off with no mother in my life than one who doesn’t love me completely. The way I love my children. 

I see you. 

I see you. 

I see you. I see you as your ‘glance’ lingers over me just that little bit too long. I see you look and I see you judge. Not that you’d know. As I walk my eyes flit between the pavement and anything close by I can take hold of. As I sit I stare down at my lap. Avoiding eye contact. Avoiding conversation. The once bubbly character hidden deep down inside. Below pain. Below exhaustion. Below stammers and stutters and a noticeable tremor. 


I know what you think. As I sit here, wilting, in the doctors surgery. The weight of my thick coat weighing down at my shoulders. A woolly cap of my daughters hastily thrown on to hide the greasy mess that is my hair. Sticking up in all directions after a night of hot sweats and tossing and turning. My face crusty and falling apart. My lips splitting and bleeding. I see the assumptions in your eyes. At best I’m seen as lazy, unclean. At worst an alcoholic. Maybe a drug user. 


It doesn’t matter that I’m in a doctors waiting room. My pallid skin, the bags under my eyes, it tells them all they need to know. You may think I’m being over sensitive. Assuming the worst of people. But years of illness teaches you the difference between inquisitive, friendly and downright accusatory. When you have health problems that mean you can, and do, have to ask help if strangers; it’s a skill one has to master. 

I’ve had people yell abuse as I desperately stumbled towards home with my daughters hand in mine. Screaming that it’s ‘disgusting to be drunk at this hour’ with a child no less! Outside her school, parents who had previously chatted to me in the pick up line stepped over me without a second glance the day my symptoms got the better of me and I ended up gracing the pavement. Once again my daughters hand in mine. At four years old she eloquently stood up for me when I stood grasping like a landed fish as a rotund gentleman called me out on using a disabled bay. ‘My Mummy has a poorly heart, she’s allowed to park here!’ He looked suitably ashamed. 

I admit it. My family is my shield. Looking into the loving eyes of my children and the steady gaze of my husband saves me from looking at the prying eyes of strangers. But today, alone in the doctors waiting room, my shield isn’t here. My rescue comes only when the doctor calls my name. I wince as I try to get up too fast and escape what feels like a barrage of ever lengthening glances. 

Fast forward through the usual soul destroying back and forth with my doctor and I’m outside, desperately trying to get to my car. The doctors has no carpark so I’m forced to cling to a wall as I move in my half shuffle half stumble towards my goal. Somewhere behind me I register a friendly voice. “Are you ok?” he asks. His eyes are different. Unclouded by suspicion, he’s just friendly and concerned. I tell him I’m fine, whilst clinging to the wall as though my life depends on it. He thought I’d had a funny turn. “Oh, so this is just your normal?” Yes, unfortunately it is. With that the kind gentleman leaves me to my quest; walking off slower than he needed to, perhaps in case I changed my mind. My faith in humanity somewhat restored, I continue on  my epic quest. 

The truly unfortunate thing about this story though, it’s not my health. It’s not my struggles. It’s the fact that the friendly encounter I had today is not my normal. It’s not even close. My normal is the opposite. It saddens me how surprised I was when I was offered a helping hand. If I could have one wish it would be that people offered me that first, rather than their judgement. 

I need this. 

I need this. 

I want to work. I NEED to work. Here I am, writing blog posts, working on Facebook pages. All of it, it all boils down to the fact that inside me I have a need to work. 

Financially, we are ok. Things aren’t super amazing; but we’re ok. That’s not why I need to work. I need to do it because there’s something inside me, pulling at me, clawing at me. Begging me to do something, anything! I spend so much of my days in bed. Blood pressure too low, or pain too high, to get up and function. My husband looks after the kids. I’m here feeling like nothing. Less than nothing. I’m here feeling like a burden. 

My disability is what tethers us. What captures us in this financial bind. Mountains of paperwork arrive through the letter box. Questionnaires, forms, payment plans and deductions. A few weeks ago a woman came to our house. She sat in our living room and fired question after question at me and my husband. Prying, peering, into every nook and cranny of our lives. After all, our money comes from benefits, who are we to think we have a right to privacy?! It was agonising. It was degrading. Bad for me, who’s become numb to it over the years. Worse for my husband, who left a high paying job to look after decrepit old me. I don’t want that for him. 

Of course, I can’t work a normal job. Just getting ready for work would be me done for the day. But surely there must be something  I could do?!

Once upon a time I worked in travel. My earnings rocketed as my commission far outweighed that of my colleagues. Customers would queue out of the door just to be seated with the girl who went the extra mile. The girl who cared about their holiday. The girl who believed booking is where the holiday magic starts. I was that girl. There was barely a week went by when I wasn’t in the top ten for sales in the region, or even the country. But none of that mattered. 

I had a boss who belevied seventeen shifts in a row was no problem, especially if you had plenty of days off in the weeks that followed. My body disagreed. My body gave up on me. My body caused time off, sick pay. Disciplinaries. My body caused me to leave that job. Another in a long list of broken dreams. 

But surely if I could do that then, I can do something now?! But why this sudden need? Why now? What’s changed? 

Honestly? Nothing has changed. Nothing, and everything. I’ve always had this need inside me. When I first became ill I tried time after time to find something that would work. Time after time I failed, so I buried this feeling deeper and deeper inside. But it was still there. Still tugging at me. Now though, now it seems almost possible. That’s the change. Through my blog and the relative success it’s brought, I’ve realised that I still have plenty to give. I still have my voice. I still have my passion. 

It all boils down to one thing.During the hours my body won’t move; as my husband is bringing up our children and shaping their little lives, I lie in bed. He is doing something amazing and worthwhile. I’m laid in bed. I know there’s only so much I can push my body to do. Only so much energy I have. But I feel as though I’m wasting my life away. Here in my king size bed with the sounds of family downstairs, I almost feel as though I’m watching the clock tick by on my life. Doing nothing more than filling time until it stops. That’s so depressing. 

So there it is.. I need to work. To feel like somewhat of a provider. To fill those drawn out hours with something tangible. Maybe even stumble upon an old talent, or a new one? 

The only thing left to decide now is if it’s possible? 
Image provided by Lila Yocum

My Relationship with My Bed. 

My Relationship with My Bed. 

As someone with a whole host of chronic illnesses I have found myself in a love/hate relationship with my bed. I spend all day (for me meaning the four to six hours I’m up and about) with my body longing to crawl back into that warm, safe, restful place. Then, when I’m there, I wish I could be anywhere else. 

In recent months this relationship has skewed even more to the side of hate. If this was a marriage, I’d be seeking divorce! Why? Well, a huge part of the problem is the fact that I was duped by an unscrupulous online seller. I purchased myself a new bed and paid extra for the ‘luxury orthopaedic pocket sprung memory foam mattress’. What arrived was a flimsy, foamless thing that barely resembled a mattress let alone the words ‘luxury’ or ‘orthopaedic’. My old mattress would have been better, but seeing as it had spent a night in the garden during one of our beautiful British rainstorms, that wasn’t an option. Of course I tried to complain, but alas it was a fruitless endeavour. 

It’s only when stuck with a lemon of a mattress (after having a semi decent one) that you truly realise how important proper support in bed is. Since this change my symptoms have worsened ten fold. My back pain and issues with joints moving out of place has become so much worse. Each morning I wake in agony. The points where my body touches the bed scream at me. Begging me to do something, anything to help the immense pain they are in. Sleep should be restful. It should leave you refreshed and invigorated. With chronic illness that’s difficult enough to achieve, with a sub par mattress it’s impossible. 

That’s if I even manage to sleep. My insomnia has reared its ugly head along with the increase in my pain. All day my eyes droop and I long for my pillow. Once there, I’m awake! I toss and turn, desperately seeking a tolerable position to settle in. My body runs with rivers ov sweat as something in the mattress seems to exascerbate my already dodgy thermostat. Eventually I become still. Sweating and grimacing as the pain steadily engulfs me. Insomnia now overtaken by what we ‘in the know’ refer to as Painsomnia. When your body is exhausted, desperate and ready for sleep, but the pain curses through your being like a current of electric; forcing your body awake. Of course it’s a vicious circle. The worse you sleep the more symptomatic you become. The more symptomatic you become the more time you ultimately spend in bed. 

Snuggled up in bed with my daughter on a day I didn’t have the energy to get up.

It was as I lay awake in bed one evening, bemoaning my situation to a friend at the other side of the world, that I noticed the adverts adorning my Facebook feed. Almost all were aimed at ‘helping’ one aspect of my disability or another. Many of them were mattresses promising THE BEST NIGHTS SLEEP, EVER!! For all of a millisecond I felt somewhat perturbed that Facebook felt I didn’t deserve ‘fun’ adverts. Is this what my life had come to?? Mattresses and kitchen gadgets?! Then, as I changed position for the umpteenth time, I realised these Big Brother style adverts were actually exactly what I needed to see. I was actually ok with being spied on via my phone, because now I had access to products I otherwise wouldn’t have found. 

One particular mattress caught my eye. The N:rem Sleep System. This mattress has five different zones which you can tailor to your specific needs. Making each area as firm or soft as your body requires. I was intrigued. Even my decent mattress would cause me pain; to get the support I needed for my back it was too firm for my hips, causing them to displace and need clunking back on a morning. The idea of adapting a mattress to suit my needs was very appealing. Also, the mattress has a cool gel layer. A huge bonus for someone like myself who gets hotter than hell itself on a night in bed. Finally, the cover zips off to wash. Perfect! We all know that with disability comes gross bodily functions. A washable mattress is just what I needed! 

Immediately I contacted the company and offered to trial their product. Firstly because if I’m going to invest in something I want to know it is worth it. Secondly, because I was acutely aware these adverts were aimed at my community. Making claims of a better nights sleep and improved overall health. I wanted to see if that was true. 

It didn’t take long before I had my response. Whilst the company couldn’t send out a mattress to trial, they could provide me with the foam blocks which make up the various ‘zones’ of the N:rem sleep system. Obviously this won’t give me the entire package of benefits that come with a mattress, but I feel it will give a good insight into whether their claims are true. If these blocks can make my shonk of a mattress more comfortable, then I’m sold! So, the trial was set. The blocks were posted. They are currently adorning my inferior mattress. Initial results seem promising, but I’m going to give them another few weeks before I do my full review. I want to see if they will actually improve my overall health? If they do, you’ll be the first to know! 

In the meantime… if you decide you want to purchase this mattress for yourself, use code THISLITTLELIFE to get £30 off. 

This blog post is part of a sponsored review of the N:rem sleep system. All opinions within it are my own and in no way influenced by the company. This trial is not available to the general public. It is a one off that has been organised in order to create independent feedback on the product via my blog.