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. 

The Appointment Arrived… 

If you’re a regular reader of my blog you may have read my Desperate Plea; an email I wrote impeaching a surgeon I’d seen months previously to help me. Basically I have prolapses galore since the birth of my son. That combined with years of bowel problems and slow transit has left me with severe difficulty when defacating, or even passing wind. To the point my bowel becomes incredibly sore and bloated, resembling that of a pregnant woman. This issue is really taking over my life, to the point I literally begged for the doctors help. 

Normal stomach and bloated stomach. This happens daily and you can see my tummy swelling.

Miraculously the surgeon actually read my letter and even responded within a few hours, promising to get me in his clinic. A promise he indeed kept. 

Yesterday was that appointment. The one I’d been simultaneously hoping for and dreading all at once. The one which is been mentally and emotionally preparing for. I’d steeled myself for the very real fact that he may tell me I couldn’t be helped surgically. I also looked into options I thought may be of help. Options which my friends and family believed would never happen. Never even be on the list. They were wrong. 

Yesterday, as I laid everything on the line to the surgeon he looked me dead in the eye and told me I had three options. 

1 – have a tube as small as a biro formed from my skin into my bowel which I would then flush through with saline every day forever. 

2 – have the prolapse repaired and then have the tube inserted if I’m still having problems. (Which I enevitably will have as my issues began as a small child)

3 – a colostomy bag. The option everyone but me thought would never happen.

I asked his advice. What do I do? He couldn’t tell me. Ultimately, this is my decision. It’s my body, my life, my choice to make. 

Whilst I understand that; a huge part of me wishes he had been able to promote one option above the rest. To take the responsibility from my shoulders and ive me someone to blame should it all go wrong. Or even if it goes right and I just have a tough day. 

Right now I’m in shock. I don’t know what to think and my emotions are all over the place. I’ve burst out crying and made many many inappropriate jokes since stepping out of that appointment. I’ve researched, and worried, and researched some more. There’s not been a walking minute where this huge decision hasn’t been nibbiling away at the corner of my psyche. 

People have said to forget about it. To put it to the back of my mind for now. My surgeon is going to discuss my case at the Multi Disciplinary Team Meeting. I will be having a Marker Study on my bowel to see which bits are pulling their weight. Then, in six to eight weeeks I will be back in to see him. Possibly signing up for surgery. It’s not that long to wait, but right now it feels like forever. 

I’ve asked around for people’s opinions. Many think have the prolapse repaired and just see how I go. Or just have the small tube. But, having lived with my problems, I know that neither of those will work without having both done. They cannot be done at the same time. So I’d need at least two operations. My surgeon couldn’t tell me if the flush outs would be painful. Only that they take at least one, maybe two hours and must be performed daily. Or every other day if you’re lucky. So even on days I cannot see straight, I’d have to get my ass on the loo, and stay put. If it’s anything like when movicol explodes through me.. it will be painful. I don’t know if that’s a sustainable option for me. 

So I come to the bag. A huge operation to form a (possibly irreversible) massive change to my body. Scary to say the least. The thought of never having to go through the ordeal of passing a motion through the traditional exit ever again though? That leaves me wanting to cry tears of joy. It’s not that simple though. I know I get a lot of mucous build up. So, if they don’t take my colon I’d still be having to go and evacuate that. If they remove my colon then the op becomes irreversible for life. Which would be the best option? Would I still be able to eat steak?  My body is super sensitive, could I cope with the adhesive of bags on me permanently? Would I still be able to eat steak? Would it be possible to stay hydrated so as to keep my POTS in check? Serously, steak? How would my EDS impact healing? Would it put my husband off me? (Regardless of the fact he claims it won’t.) Could I still sleep on my tummy? For the love of god, could someone just tell me if I could still eat steak???!! 

I have a lot of questions. New ones are popping into my mind by the second. But I’m trying not to focus on this too much. I’ve been called brave. But I’m not. I’m scared. I’m terrified. I’m frightened of having another operation. I’m scared of adjusting to a tube or a bag. Mostly though, I’m scared of having to continue as I have been for the rest of my life. I’m scared of missing out on my kids growing up. It’s that fear that pushes me forward. That stops me hiding in a corner and refusing surgery. I have a family to fight for. A family that needs me present, not locked away in pain. For them, I will do anything. 

** NB. The surgeon said my frank openness has been a great help in treating me. He wishes more patients would leave their modesty at the door and just tell him like it is. That’s perhaps something to consider at future appointments. 

The Gupta Programme… Cure or Cronk? 

The Gupta Programme… Cure or Cronk? 

I have been given this Gupta Programme trial as part of a product review through the Chronic Illness Bloggers network. Although the product was a gift, all opinions in this review remain my own and I was in no way influenced by the company.

As you may be aware, since my blog has taken off I’ve decided to use my opportunity to trial some products that market themselves as being useful for the disabled community. This is because I often read reviews and wonder if they’re really true? Or if our community is just being used as an easy target audience for various companies. Knowing we are desperate for an improvement are they just taking our money with no real benefit? 

Recently I had the chance to trial The Gupta Programme. I partook in a three month programme which included live weekly seminars, DVD materials, workbooks and a gigantic infographic (the use of which would become clear on taking the course.) This particular course aims itself at people with Fibromyalgia, ME/CFS and Chemical Sensitivities. I cannot comment on if it helps with Chemical Sensitivities, but having a diagnosis of Fibromialgia and Chronic Fatigue, I can let you in on how it has (or has not) affected those. 

Firstly, a bit of the theory behind the course. Basically it is my understanding that Ashok believes research proves the Amygdala (a part of the brain) is the root cause of these illnesses. The theory goes that this part of the brain, which controls the bodies ‘fight or flight’ response is in a state of hyper arousal. The aim of the course is to re train this part of the brain, essentially calming it down and improving/curing these conditions. Apparently Ashok himself had CFS/ME and is now 100% cured! Something I’m sceptical of, but honestly I’m a sceptical kind of person! 

Image of the brain found on the Gupta Programme website.

Initially I was very sceptical of the course on a whole. It was only a state of complete desperation at my situation that lead me to join in with this trial at all really. In fact I even told Ashok about my reservations. He assured me it didn’t matter. As long as I followed the principles of the course I would still see improvements. I can’t deny, he did start to win me around as I fully took in the seminars. Things sounded much less crazy to me as many of the principals Ashok believes in are echoed by the several medical establishments I’m treated by here in the UK. He just takes them one step further and offers what I feel to be a ‘multidisciplinary’ approach. Where at hospital you would see a dietician, psychologist, pain managements team and sleep clinic all separately. This course addresses all those issues and more under one umbrella. Meaning, if nothing else, it’s definitely a very unified approach. 

Obviously I cannot go into too much detail about the course, it was three months long and included a whole range of information. But I can tell you that for me, it was the seminars that were the most useful part. Particularly when I was able to catch them live as it meant I could ask questions and give feedback. Seminars were at 6pm each week, the link being sent in advance. Though ideally you’d see them all live, you are able to watch at a later date. This can be to refresh, take notes or if you’re too tired to catch the original. Ashok is a huge promoter of pacing, so it’s important not to push yourself to join a seminar if you’ve already pushed yourself to the limit that day. 

Ashok articulating his point during a seminar.

The seminars were both interesting and enjoyable to watch. I certainly didn’t feel bored or zone out throughout any of them. He doesn’t advise taking notes during the original sessions as it’s important to listen and take in what’s being said. So sometimes it’s worth re watching if you think there’s things you want to note down. I even had a few lightbulb moments during the seminars. One being very early on in the course. I asked a question in which I referred to myself as ‘unable to be fixed’. Somewhere along the way I had lost the belief that I would ever get any better. Without that belief I had huge barriers up to improving my health. 

Along with the seminars was the workbooks and little homework tasks. It does sound overwhelming but on the whole it was doable. There’s nobody checking whether you’ve done these things, no qualification at the end. So no pressure. Basically you get out what you put in with this course. If you don’t bother following the principals then you’re not going to see any improvement. However if you give it a fair try, then who knows? 

Personally, I do think I’ve been helped by this course. Have I been cured? No. But I have other illnesses on top of those listed. So I would always have had those. Genuinely though, I do feel I’ve improved. I don’t know if my pain has reduced, or if I’m just coping better with it. But I do feel less burdened by the pain I’m in. Also, I have been managing to get out and about and do more. I took to heart the idea that an idle mind has more time to dwell on pain. So I have taken on some new challenges in my life. Things that I perhaps wouldn’t have done without this course. 

So, is it worth the money? Though it hasn’t been curative for me (at least not yet) I have found this course beneficial enough that I do feel it would be worth the investment. It does need to be understood that it’s not just a financial investment. As I said before, you really do get out what you put in with this Programme. If you’re not willing to work at it, then you won’t see the benefits. Also, it’s not a quick fix. You have to make life long changes. I myself started slipping back into old habits recently, and soon saw a decline in my progress. 

I’m glad I took this opportunity to trial The Gupta Programme. I’ve even recommended it to a few friends. Mentally and emotionally I feel it’s placed me on a much stronger footing to deal with any health trials I may have to deal with in the future. I’ve even recommended it to friends and family! Particularly as there’s a money back guarantee, so even if they don’t have the progress I have had they don’t lose anything. 

So while I cannot personally profess to being cured by this course, I can say it’s been of benefit to my life. I will continue to follow the principals in the future and am hopeful those benefits will continue for my future. 

This is not ok… 

This is not ok… 

*WARNING!! This blog post contains a graphic image of violence and racism which is likely to be upsetting to see. But I have had to include it for the integrity of the piece. 

Today I have been very ill, struck down with a serious bout of vomiting that has left me incredibly dehydrated and flaring in every sense of the word. Writing a blog post was hands down THE last thing I thought I would be doing tonight. But sometimes, life has other ideas.. 

Recently I’ve been paying a lot of attention to the goings on in America. As someone who has a lot of American, and Jewish, friends it’s a subject I feel to be of great importance. To be honest, even if I knew nobody from the US I’d still feel the same. Why? Because in this day of social media, internet stardom and cameras recording everything, no one country stands alone anymore. Everything that happens in America filters across to us in Europe. It affects us. It influences us. 

If people in America are able to get away with racism and hate speech, then suddenly it becomes ok in the eyes of our children. It is my belief, that thanks to the vast and intricate social network we’ve created, that all the ugliness spilling out onto the streets of America will soon be occurring here in the UK. 

A huge part of that social network is Facebook. I defy anyone in the modern world not to have at least heard of Facebook. Even my elderly Father knows about it, whilst not partaking himself. Mark Zuckerberg has become one of the richest and most powerful men in the world, all because of his premise of bringing people closer. But with that power comes responsibility. A responsibility to ensure that people aren’t using Facebook to promote hate and violence. In particular I’m referring to racial violence. 

That’s where the community standards came about… 



This brings me to the main point of my blog. Now, I consider myself as a fairly open minded type of gal. My ethos is very much ‘live and let live’. As such, it takes a lot for me to report something to Facebook for a review. 

But today, I saw something which prompted me to do just that. The image was posted in a group where videos of spots being popped are shared. (Yes I’m one of THOSE people). It graphically shows a white Neo Nazi (complete with swastika emblazoned on his chest) about to violently stomp on the head of a black person. Possibly a child. Along with this is the words ‘You’ve been popping blackheads all wrong’ and laughing emojis. It truly is a violent and disgusting image, and I’m only sharing it now to prove I’m not making this up. 


Obviously I was shocked and appalled. So I immediately reported the image to Facebook, rather than commenting and giving the original poster the attention they had hoped for. Then I tried to put this putrid piece of diatribe out of my mind as I spent the remainder of the evening drifting in and out of sleep and attempting not to vomit. 

Some hours later I received the notification that my report had been reviewed. Intrigued I clicked on the banner… 


‘It (the picture) doesn’t go against any of our community standards’. Seriously??!! How doesn’t it??!! Have I read the wrong ones?? Clearly this image is glorifying violence, racist violence. That’s a direct violation of not one but TWO Facebook community standards!! 

Now, I could have taken the easy option and simply blocked the original poster, as Facebook so kindly suggests. But what will that achieve? How will that help the situation?? By standing by and doing nothing we make these actions acceptable. Now is the time to take each and every opportunity we have to stand up and say NO! This new world full of hatred we live in is not ‘just one of those things’. These posts are not just ‘harmless talk’. THIS IS NOT OK!! 

So, in response to the lack of action from Facebook I chose to write this blog. I chose to push myself to use whatever voice I have online, and shout from the rooftops. I shout to you Mark Zuckerberg! I ask you, what is the point in having community standards if they are not upheld? What kind of world do you want your children to grow up in?? And just who is checking these standards??? 

I know for a fact that the people employed to check these reports do not have to submit anything more than what you would for a general job position. My source tells me that you don’t have to give any kind of background check whatsoever. So, what’s to stop the people ‘policing’ Facebook allowing it to become a racist and hateful place?? Nothing it seems. 

I will not stand back and watch as these images cross my path, doing nothing to try to change things. To ignore the situation our whole world, not just America, is in right now is to be as bad as those perpetuating things. So Mark Zuckerberg, if you see this… what are you going to do about it??? 

A desperate plea… 

Below is an email I sent this morning to a specialist I saw last year. It’s not professional. It’s not the right way to go about things. But it’s real. It’s my life. It’s the level of desperate I’m now at. I’m not sharing this for sympathy. I’m sharing it to highlight the thousands of people out there who are just like me, living  with these problems. Sharing this isn’t easy. It’s hard not to be embarrassed and disgusted with myself. These are issues often kept behind closed doors. But I’m opening them. I refused to be ashamed. It’s not my fault I have to live like this. 

If someone told you they had a prolapse, would you think it a big deal? Would you expect it to seep into every aspect of their lives? Would you realise that it could be on their mind of every second of every minute of every day? Probably not. Well… maybe this may open your eyes to what it’s really like…

Hello Dr ##1##, 


I’m sorry to contact you directly, but I’m unsure what to do. I feel I have to take things into my own hands. 


I have had my surgery in October with Dr ##2##. She addressed the cystocele and prolapsed uterus by performing a vaginal hysterectomy and anterior prolapse repair. No mesh. 


However she refused to touch my rectocele, which continues to get worse and worse. I now cannot pass wind without pressing on my perineum, or bulge within my vagina. The only time I pass any stool is when my laxatives cause me to have violent and painful loose stool. However some of this always collects in the pockets of bowel and quickly hardens and blocks it. Mostly I have to manually remove my stool. This involves putting a thumb inside my vagina and two fingers in a v around my anus (which when I need a motion bulges out to varying degrees). 


I manipulate the whole area in order to push the stool out, as my lower section of bowel doesn’t push at all. Often times I then have to insert a digit into my back passage to try and help the process along. Inside is a large cavern. It feels almost flying saucer shaped. (Sorry that’s all I could think of to describe it) I have to sweep my finger around to collect stool and mucus. Above this area it seems to become tighter again, but still won’t push, though the muscles around do clench. Since my surgery however there also seems to be a large grissly bulge protruding into that upper area. 


Unless the laxatives cause me to have severe cramping I very rarely can tell if I need to pass a motion anymore. The only things that alert me are bloating, a heavy feeling, and being unable to urinate. This also happens with the large amounts of trapped wind I get. You don’t realise how much you must naturally pass throughout the day until you can’t do it anymore and it’s all stuck. Let me tell you, there’s a lot! I could power a wind farm. The only way I can tell which it is is to feel whether my bulge is full of gas or stool. Then get it out. 


Every single time I go to the toilet is an ordeal. I’m left feeling in pain, bruised and without any dignity. Because of my POTS and EDS the positions I get myself in often cause my joints to hurt and sublux. My legs go completely numb and my heart fluctuates. I also get hot sweats and dizziness. All this combined means my husband often has no choice but to supervise me on the toilet and help me back to bed. I can be on there an hour or more at a time, and bed is always where I end up. It takes so much out of me. Plus, I never go just once. Often there’s at least three trips to actually get the entire stool out. 


I have ended up in tears, wishing for an ostomy over this life. How crazy is that? I know it’s crazy. But I just cannot go on like this. 


The only thing that Dr ##3## can think of is regular irrigation. Possibly even weekly, from now until kingdom come, to get my bowel cleared and hope that in between I feel ok. He said he doesn’t believe I have crohns. There’s no sign of it on any recent test. But he told me, if it’s IBS it’s the strangest and most aggressive type he’s ever seen. 


Please will you help me. Dr ##2## was lovely. But you are the best in colorectal surgery. I know I’m a complicated case. I followed your instructions. I saw a different doctor. I did everything you told me to. Now, months down the line, the problem I came in with is just getting worse and worse. You wrote to me saying if I was still having problems to get back in touch. Whilst writing this letter I got a call back from a Secratary. She told me my GP must write in and I have to wait all over again. I feel like I’ve been waiting forever. I feel like the main issue I need help with was pushed aside and I’m just left here to suffer. Now to hear I’m starting from scratch is devastating. 


My in laws have booked to take us to Disney in early 2018. They’ve already put it back two years because of my health. They can’t move it again. How do I tell my kids I can’t go because I can’t go to the toilet like a human being and it’s ruining my life? I struggle to even wear clothes due to the extreme bloating. How do I tell them that after all the waiting and the surgery I am right to the back of the pack again? 


I know I’m just another face in a sea of patients begging for your help. But I took your advice. Please, now will you try to help me? I’m not too proud to beg. 


If you got to the end of this letter I appreciate it. Most doctors would bin it immediately. I really am sorry for contacting you directly. But desperate times and all that. Also, Dr ##2## really was lovely and treat me very well. She just hasn’t fixed the thing that most impacts my life. 


Any advice you have would be greatly appreciated. 

Regards,

J

Please. If you know of anyone with these problems, don’t make fun or make light. Be aware of the fact that these issues can make you feel sub human and worthless. If, like me, you are going through this. Don’t just sit back and wait in line. Dig your heels in and kick up a fuss. Push hard for the treatment you need!! 

If by some miracle any Doctors happen to read this blog. Well, to you I ask this. Please try to understand that prolapse can impact a persons entire life. Many people in support groups Im in are teetering on the edge of a complete breakdown. Treat us with respect and care. But also with a sense of urgency. The longer we live like this, the less human we feel. 

Remembering New Year.  

This time three years ago was my last New Years out on the town. A teeny size eight I slipped on my favourite dress and sky scraper heels. My eyes were smoky and my hair was done with a swoosh of product through the funky style I was rocking at the time. Looking at photos I can honestly say I don’t recognise myself. I looked a million dollars, and a million miles from the way I look today. 


I remember that night so clearly. I remember people complimenting me. Women liked my dress, my hair, my heels. Men buoyed with drink liked the way my dress sat just below the crease of my ass, showing off the only pair of tights I had on hand at short notice of a night out. You know the type? They look like stockings… I remember the smiles, the selfies and the shots. Kissing a stranger at midnight. Singing along to the music. 


Fast forward to tonight and my New Year was spent very differently. Tonight I had a take out for my tea. I showered and then I watched a film in bed. Sounds boring right?? Wrong. For me, it was absolutely perfect. 

To understand why, you might need to look a little deeper into my New Year three years ago. My night out was last minute because a friend convinced me to leave my doldrums and head to town. She was worried about me being alone. When I say alone, I don’t just mean for New Year. I mean totally and utterly. I was estranged from my entire biological family. The person who had been stringing me along for the entire year had also chosen this time to cut me loose. My daughter was staying at her dads and I had little in the way of close friendships. Well, except for one. One who convinced me to get out and feel better. My body was a size eight because the intense stress I was under had caused a flare up of a condition which makes my body completely unable to process food. Weight was dropping off me at an alarming rate. My funky hair? I had that done after a close family member passed away. I don’t know why. I just needed to do something, and chopping all my hair off was it. 

So I went. I slapped on the makeup, painted on my smile and toddled off up to town. 

I remember that night so clearly because I was in a place I’d been frequenting for over ten years. Surrounded by faces I recognised and many I knew well. I was smiling and singing and playing along. But I had never ever felt more alone and miserable in my life. Never.

Just after midnight I had a lift pick me up and fetch me home. I took one last ‘happy’ picture before bed, then I cried myself to sleep. My makeup staining the pillow with a blurry reminder of my pathetic (to me) existence. 


The next day, as I languished in bed watching the hours tick by, I decided I had to make some changes. 2013, and the years leading up to it, had seriously brought me to my knees. Now was time to get back up. 

I decided to start putting myself first, and saying no to people. If they only wanted me around because of what I could do for them then why did I want them in my life? The same went for men. No more men who thought they were doing me a favour by spending time with me. No more men who treat me badly. No more being used. I would rather be single and happy than in love with the wrong person. 

For the first time ever, I stuck to my New Years resolutions. I fought hard for myself. I put myself first. I ‘found’ myself, and my smile, again. Not long after I found my husband. The man who had been right under my nose all along. I always knew he’d treat me well, and that we had a connection; but I pushed him away. I see now that it was because I was afraid. Afraid of falling too hard and getting hurt. Afraid that he’d realise he deserved better. Afraid of losing him before we even tried. 

But try we did, in late February of 2014 we started dating. At Easter we were engaged. Our wedding was September first. Some thought it was too fast, but we knew it was right. I knew it was right. Why wait? 

So here I am. In my bed. Writing this blog. On one of the biggest party nights of the year. Gone is the size eight body and funky hairdo. Gone are the sky high heels and skimpy dresses. The makeup very rarely adorns my face. But what I have instead is so much better. 

I have peace, in my life and in myself. I have a daughter with a step daddy who adores her. A step son whom I feel lucky to have in my life every single day.  My sweet baby boy, who lights up the room with his smile. I have my husband, my partner, my best friend and my soulmate all rolled into one. We get on each other’s nerves, we argue and we grump. But we tell each other we love each other more times than I can count in a day. We are there for each other through thick and thin. We love each other. I have a love in my life. The love of my life. I have made and kept a select few real friends who treat me well and I endeavour to do the same for them. Finally, possibly most surprising of all to the me of 2013, I have worked hard on rebuilding a relationship with someone very important to me. They have worked hard too and we seem to be doing great. That too makes me happy. 

So you can keep your parties, your nights out, your drink and dance. That’s not what matters. It might entertain a person, but ultimately happiness isn’t what you find in a bar. Happiness is being content in your own skin. Happiness is love. Be it for yourself, or for others. Happiness always starts with love. 

So, if you have one New Years resolution that you plan on keeping, let it be to love yourself. Because if you love yourself, others really will follow. The right ones will remain even during the times that love for yourself is a little bit lost, and they’ll love you that little bit extra. 
HAPPY NEW YEAR EVERYONE!!