by ChronicWriter

What a nurse.

As I laid on the nurse’s couch, my mum stood beside me holding my hand tightly, I was engulfed by a deep wave of sadness and defeat. My nurse approached, gently explaining her actions, looking away I felt her cool hands on my stomach. I tried to steal myself against the sharp pain of the needle, a puncture wound, the solution that would render my remaining ovary useless and chemically induce menopause, again, at 26.

Thankful that the pain from the needle, unlike my Endo-pain, is sharp but over quickly.

I squeezed my eyes shut, feeling them water and almost let go of my emotion, but instinctively, I knew that wouldn’t be fair on my mum, or this calm and compassionate woman who was trying to help me manage the endless pain.

I am devastated that I have had to go back on Zoladex injections. This is my 6th week of relentless abdo pain. I am now unemployed and spend most of my time indoors, either in bed or taking things slowly, drugged up. I can count the number of times I’ve ventured out of my house on one hand and the amount of times I went alone are even less.

I don’t know how long it will take for the injection to change my body, for the side effects to take hold and plunge me into a storm of yo-yo body temperatures and mood swings. This time this treatment has punctuated the end of an unsuccessful year, a year spent trying to conceive. At the front of my mind, the single harrowing thought; well, there definitely won’t be a baby now.

I have failed to conceive in 13 months and I can no longer tolerate the relentless pain caused by my Stage IV Endometriosis and my time has run out. For now, we must pause our dream and wait for the professionals and doctors, who will fail to fill me with hope and solutions, to help me. I must wait until the next step can be shown to me by someone who should have all the answers.

Can you blame me for being sceptical? The last time I visited a doctor, he dismissed my severe pain and my sadness and pushed a prescription into my hand. A green piece of paper which I could trade for pain relief. The biggest bottle of liquid morphine I’ve ever seen. Three times the amount of Oramorph that I’ve ever been given before. Is this the answer? Flood me full of strong drugs, to block out my pain, which will leave me immobile, comatose, restrained and incoherent. The drugs he gave me are designed to give relief, but are also effective in keeping me pliant and silent. It’s all too much and I need a break.

But by going back on the zoladex treatment, I am hoping the pain will disappear and the active endometriosis should settle down. This will also cut my ties to the stronger pain killers and allow me to live my life, like a normal person.

I was brought out of this reverie by my nurse’s slight pressure as she applied a dressing and gently touched my shoulder, our eyes locking, and a smile. I sat up and zipped up my shorts, gingerly sitting up and testing my aches and pains. I sat across from the nurse as she scanned the computer screen looking to book my next appointment in a month’s time. Yes, this is a monthly ‘torture’ regime.

“Now, I won’t be here when your next one is due…” she said quietly.

“Ah, are you going on holiday?”

She laughed nervously, and softly said “No, I’m actually leaving the practice…”

With that final sentence, the emotion that had been brewing inside me roared in my ears and I lost control for a small moment, my resolve crumbling, tears in my eyes. I do not know this lovely lady personally, I only met her when I joined the surgery and started my first course of injections last year and I have never seen her out of her nurse’s uniform. She is an amazing nurse and a good person, who made me feel at ease and make this small but awful moment, once a month, that bit easier.

You see, I don’t want to have these injections. I didn’t a year ago and I don’t today. I want to be normal. I want a period that doesn’t leave me incapacitated. I don’t want pain every day. I want to conceive, naturally. I want to have a baby.

But I found I could be ok with it, with having these injections. As long as I could have that 10 minutes’ interaction with someone who understood what I was going through, who showed me compassion. I could cope with this rebound, if I had someone who knew me. I am full of gratitude for all she has done for me, for understanding, from one woman to another, for being a friend as well as an excellent Nurse.

I have no doubt that she has broken hearts with breaking the news of her resignation. But, short of demanding that she stays, throwing a tantrum and locking her in her nurse’s room, there is nothing I can do but wish her all the best in her new adventure.

So, there’s nothing else to do but pull up my big girl britches and get on with it. Life has given me these sour lemons which I will turn into the best damn Lemonade we (and Beyoncé) have ever tasted.

I hope you read this and know you will be missed. Good Luck Nurse P. Go with love and my very best wishes.

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by ChronicWriter

“But you’re ‘just a receptionist’ what do you know?”

16 gems from the life of a Receptionist…

  1. I eye-roll 3,496 times a day and Facepalm 1,569 times also. facepalm
  2. I make frequent use of the ‘hold’ button.
  3. I get excited over new stationery.                   LOL
  4. When you’re shouting down the phone at me, it doesn’t make me want to help you more.
  5. I’m an all-day grazer. My desk is covered in snacks. cream-cake.jpg
  6. I’m more embarrassed by your ‘embarrassing story’ than you are. smiley
  7. We’re not all 1 person. As much as I’d love to I can’t physically, emotionally, willingly- answer the phone, sit at the front desk, be the Dr’s secretary, filing and do admin.
  8. There are times when I release a string of profanity as soon as you hang up.
  9. I don’t have a magic wand, and no one is more gutted about that than I am. I can’t magic appointments out of thin air.    IMG_0209
  10. It’s exhausting being smiley and upbeat all day long. Most days I manage to leave my shit at the door. Most days…
  11. This is my job, my career. I am a professional receptionist. This isn’t a stop-gap while I’m home at uni.
  12. Saying the words: “Just-a-receptionist” is a sure-fire way of pissing me off and it will earn you either an eye-roll or “WTF” face.
  13. A sense of humour is VITAL in this job. bow
  14. It will be very tense prior to the annual CQC visit. IMG_0291
  15. Nothing makes me feel more like I’m exactly in the right place more than hearing a “Thank-you for you help” or seeing someone’s bad day ease just by providing a caring, compassionate response to a person’s bad time. IMG_0150
  16. TGIF                                              img_0218.jpg
by ChronicWriter

Tramadol vs Fentanyl (vlog #1)

I’m doing something a little different today-

Because it’s taking so much out of me to get words down, I decided I would do my first ever video entry, my first VLOG!!!

 

Be kind- 

pain

click here to watch

 

*Update: less than 12 hours after this post/vlog went live, my period started. The patch is back on, I’m in pain and I’m not pregnant. Oh- and my favourite comfy pants are ruined. 

This is what it means to be an Endo Warrior. 

by ChronicWriter

my Fentanyl Muse

HAPPY EASTER KIDS!

I woke up on Wednesday morning with this poem in my head and when I put pen to paper the words just flew across the page. This came out of nowhere! Children’s poetry isn’t usually my thing and the only explanation I can come up with is; it must be drug-induced creativity.

I have recently been given Fentanyl patches as a form of pain relief for my severe and soul-crushing Endometriosis pain. This is the 2nd cycle using this patch and both times something freaky has happened. And it’s not even Friday!

After doing some online research, I found out that Fentanyl is 50-100x stronger than Morphine. So it’s no wonder I’m going bat-shit crazy! It’s been a struggle to hit the right keys, to form sentences and to even get out of bed, but I felt compelled to share this ray of sunshine with you! How could I not?

easter bunny poem

by ChronicWriter

20s & Lost?

So you’ve graduated university with great grades and even greater prospects.

Five years later, you find out it’s not all as simple as your younger self thought.

If life’s not happening for you and you’re feeling a lil’ lost, you’re not alone.

You NEED this…

“All experiences add texture to being; sometimes a career path (and life) isn’t linear, but the wisdom you gain along the way is always invaluable.”

-Bianca Venerayan

Read the full article HERE at Girlboss.com –  Massive THANKS to Bianca at Girlboss, you have made me feel so much happier/calmer about my life in my 20’s!

 

breakfast club

 

life WILL happen, in time

by ChronicWriter

D e f e a t e d ?

I haven’t slept for 3 nights. Tossing and turning, uncomfortable and exhausted. It’s been a few days now since I’ve slept all the way through. Maybe that’s why I feel so drained?

On Tuesday I visited my GP. This is the first time I’ve seen him in 2017. My pain killers don’t work as well anymore and I’m having to use every trick up my sleeve to get some relief. I’ve tried other things; medicated menthol patches from Amazon, a new TENS machine, all sorts. None of it seems to be doing any good.

tens

Try this TENS here

The doctor only told me what I already knew. I know there’s no cure. I know things were pretty awful inside me during, and still following, my surgery in September. I know at some point I’m going to have to make that final decision. His question was: “How much longer are you going to continue trying to conceive? How much longer can you stand it?”

If you’d asked me this last night, my response would’ve been; no more. I can’t see myself getting pregnant, I can only see pain. I’m only just managing to pull myself out of my pit after a week’s flare, I’m not sure I’d be able to cope emotionally if something bad was to happen after I conceive. I already know my tube, the wanton singleton, isn’t healthy. The risk of having an ectopic pregnancy is high; if that occurs not only will I love this last fallopian tube, but also a baby I have wished for, for so long.

Today, however, I’m still profoundly pessimistic about things but I’m not sure I’m ready to throw the towel in just yet.

Surely there is another option? Anything!

list

The list of stuff I’ve tried and that failed is getting longer…

If anybody has tried anything that has provided some relief, or aided them in conceiving or in making such an impossible, difficult decision, please contact me.

I’m almost there…almost ready to admit defeat, but- not quite.

by ChronicWriter

Love‌ (n.‌) ‌A deep, tender, ineffable feeling of affection and solicitude toward a person, such as that arising from kinship, recognition of attractive qualities, or a sense of underlying oneness.

Some loves are true and fast; known as love at first sight. The sudden impact of this love can alter a person forever.

A mother’s love should be like a lioness. Tender but forever lasting. She is fiercely protective of her children and grandchildren. God help those who harm or wrong any of them.

 Young love is sweet and all consuming. Unable to stop thinking about each other, powerful but sensitive. A puppy love is endearing, like when a man’s eyes soften as he looks at the person he loves or the way a woman melts in her lover’s embrace.

 We all want a relationship that is full of passion, that brings out the best of both halves of the couple. But passion is like fire, it must be kindled and maintained or it becomes out of control; burning everything that it touches.

 A love can grow old along with you and as it ages, it changes into a love that is strong, familiar and evergreen. Two souls that share a lifetime of memories must surely know each other inside and out; steadfast, accepting of flaws and bracing against the harshness in life.

love-7

by ChronicWriter

Food Widow

At 17 years old, I remember describing my ideal man at a sleepover with my girlfriends. Dark, mysterious, face fur, perhaps a bit older than myself. I rounded up this description by adding: “He’ll cook too! Or a chef! I love food!” My friends responded with enthusiastic nods and approval.

Two years later, I met my (now) husband. 15 years my senior, he was mysterious, mature and I think I fell for him pretty much straight away. After becoming friends, I then found out he was a qualified chef. He ticked every box.

Now, 2 years into our marriage, 7 years into our relationship, I know my husband very well. I have come to terms with the late nights, unsociable hours, his absence on Christmas Day and New Year’s Eve. I understand what comes with being a chef.

Even now, when I meet people who don’t know my husband, and I let slip that he’s a chef. I get looks of approval, that twinkle in a woman’s eye, the silent (and sometimes not) look that says it all; “I bet you get some good meals, I bet it’s lovely being married to a chef!”

Of course it is, I love my husband.

chef

Chef by day, Pirate by night

 

But his job has its moments!

  • I always make alternative plans for Christmas Dinner or I’d be spending the day alone.
  • “like ships in the night” the hours are long and days off are few
  • When he says, he’s leaving in the next 10 minutes, he really means after an hour
  • Meals will go cold, so I don’t bother cooking a meal for him until he’s 20 minutes away.
  • Eating out is a whole new experience – “I coulda made that better myself” I hear this a lot.
  • Cooking at home isn’t as fun. I used to enjoy cooking but when I cook for my husband (and he’s at home) he stands near me watching, or asking me questions. It’s better for my state of mind and his physical wellbeing for him to just do the cooking.
  • He buys meat no one would normally buy! Pig’s heart. I felt like I’d walked in Dr Lecter’s kitchen.
heart

Pig’s Heart – Cianti anyone?

  • Twice a week there is a mountain of aprons that need to go on a boil wash and always end up knotted together by their ties! It’s like when you get a necklace knotted, only more infuriating!
  • My husband smells like food, all the time. Which sounds great; you’re thinking pies, pizza, cake. No- more like onions, garlic, salmon, steak/smokehouse.

 

But….

  • He feeds me.
  • I realised food is exciting, like foreplay.
  • He knows all the good places to eat.
  • I have learned to try new things! Since being with him I have tried: Sushi, black pudding, scallops, saffron, steak cooked blue.
  • Steak, sausage and stilton wraps – I questioned it too, but it’s a taste sensation!
  • There are perks – I have played Taste Tester for items on new menus
  • I have been able to order (slightly) off menu, when he’s cooking
  • When he tells me about his day, I can drool on cue.
  • I know how to make a Roux and a Béchamel sauce.
  • Our dog eats really well.

 

Now I think about it… I’m thankful I’m a Chef’s wife.

 

 

Hubs works incredibly hard, and makes some amazing food. He’s currently running the kitchen at a Steakhouse in Caistor. Here, binge on some Food Porn…

10oz Steak Philly Burger
Trio of Burgers (venison, beef&chorizo, breaded chicken)
Smoked Haddock Chowder
Mulled Wine poached Pear
Braised Pork with crackling & Black Pudding Bon Bons
Trio of Fish (tempura prawn, smoked haddock fishcake, smoked salmon pate)
32oz Ribeye

 

 

 

 

by ChronicWriter

Things I wish I’d said Vol.1

safety-pin-lips-things-i-nver-said

Things I wanted to say but never did:

  1. There are more important things in life than making sure your eyebrows are symmetrical. I’m sure the feller running late for work, or the overworked carer just finished from a night shift, or the mother juggling a lunchbox, book-bag, P.E. kit and a whiney child on the school run- have all failed to notice your wobbly brows. Relax. 
  2. Don’t think I didn’t catch that, you’re not subtle. -Responding to every person and their facial expression after they hear the age difference between my husband and I (FYI, it’s 16 years and IDGAF – he’s a GOD). We neither want nor need your approval.
  3. No I don’t like drinking and if that makes me boring, I’m fine with that. But good for you and your 6th glass of JD- crack on. I’m happy being out, with my Coke- I don’t feel sad and you don’t have to pity me or pressure me into a vodka shot. Thanks though, and good luck with your hangover.
  4. I don’t have my life figured out yet and I don’t have a 5 Year plan. Does this make me anxious? Sometimes, yes. But you’re not making it any easier by mentioning it or looking at me with “poor you” eyes.
  5. Did you forget we all went to the same school? Yes I was there, witnessing your Tango years and seeing you bully others less confident than yourself. Remember that before you look down your nose at me from the top of your ridiculously high heels.
  6. “Have you tried…? What about…? That tablet is crap…” – Yes, please tell me how you’re going to cure my chronic illness, and please list all the things I’ve already tried while I smile and nod with my mouth tight shut (I know you mean well)
  7. I am 26 years old. I know to look both ways before crossing a road, I know not to talk to strangers and I always take care (thank you Grandad, ILY). You don’t need to remind me to drive safe or eat plenty of vegetables, I have managed to live this long without (too much) mishap.
  8. I should not be labelled a hermit, shut-in, shy or introverted just because I spend all day inside, in my room, reading a book. I like spending time by myself. This is not a cue for intervention, I do not need to get out, be forced into social gatherings or be dragged on a brisk walk for fresh air. I’m fine.
  9. And whilst I’m about books- Yes, I am reading a ‘saucy’ book and it’s bloody fantastic. As my husband calls it: “Porn without Pictures.” Allow me to lend you a copy so you can remove that stick from your butt and join the rest of womankind who are also on the Fifty Shades Train (Most of us have been riding for a while, and we shouldn’t be ashamed of it anymore!)
  10. Don’t ask me to explain how I got that bruise. I don’t need a safe word. I am just clumsy. I can laugh at myself, please laugh with me- not at me!
  11. “You don’t want more than 1 baby?” As if it’s an easy thing to do?! It’s basically making a person! Unfortunately, for some women it isn’t as easy as A, B, C. Please be more considerate.
  12. Don’t pass judgement on my diet. Yes, I like chicken nuggets and smiley faces and ketchup. I know this sounds like the diet of a toddler, but I also like spinach and Brussels sprouts too. Just not as much as I loooooove cake.
  13. “It’s been a nightmare, are you sure you want kids?” Of course I’m sure, this decision wasn’t made after hearing that baby-making is super fun and motherhood is a breeze! Neither will it be swayed by an awful afternoon of tantrums and smelly nappies.
  14. “You can have mine!” Don’t say this, because next time I’ll show up at your front door with adoption papers and a bottle of fizz.
  15. It was not my intention to offend with this list. I have to right to Freedom of Speech. A fact I must remember the next time someone offends me with their ignorance, arrogance or lack of consideration.

“If you are always trying to be NORMAL you will never know how AMAZING you can be.” -Maya Angelou

 

by ChronicWriter

Got that Festive Feeling?

Today is the last day of November!

Children under the age of 14 everywhere are unwrapping their advent calendars and hanging them up excitedly, ready for tomorrow. Even the kids that are over 14, who are too cool for advent calendars but have accepted the one their parents have bought them, delusional in hiding their happiness.

At 9pm, 30th November, I have just realised that tomorrow will signal the official Countdown to Christmas– the opening of the advent calendar. An advent calendar I forgot to buy myself. I know- what?! How has this even happened? I’ve been spying cool advent calendars for over a month now; choccy ones, beauty product ones and calendars with Yankee Candles in (but who’s going to spend £40 on an advent calendar? Not me, clearly). And the ones with your favourite characters on; Frozen or Mickey or The Snowman, you know the ones! Them with the fake tasting chocolate in that all the 3 year olds love!

I have been out of the nest for 7 years now, that’s 7 Christmases. And yet I still can’t remember that my mum won’t be buying me my advent calendar for the countdown to Christmas. Maybe because for the first few years, she forgot I’d moved and still bought me one? Or maybe I’m just not ready to let go of childhood traditions? I still get excited for Christmas. I still get a rush for decking out the house, doing the tree, going to the Lights Switch On (which I know will be disappointing but I still go every year) and getting up at 6am to open my presents. I have yet to outgrow these magical moments.

I look back fondly on many Christmas memories. Begging my Dad to build the trampoline, jumping all morning and ending up in A&E Boxing Day due to a twisted ankle. Watching my brother race around the garden on his new dirt bike, grinning as my Mum took photos. Having to wake my little sister up and wrapping her up in a dressing gown early Christmas morning, sleepy face looking at mine, not quite believing there would be presents and fun waiting downstairs. And when I got older, watching my mum & dad, sister & brothers open the gifts I’d bought them, their faces light up, eating dinner together as a family, all 6 of us; my mum still shakes her head when I insist on a Prawn Cocktail starter. I will bound out of bed if my husband tells me it’s snowed- nothing will get me out of bed faster!

734480_10152133880653140_482744811_n

Growing up only meant a growing appreciation for this holiday. It is my favourite.

I’m excited. Like, 8-year-old excited when she hears her brothers and sister whisper “he’s been…” and running downstairs, eyes wide at the presents under the tree. Trying to open them slowly so the moment lasts, because somewhere in the back of my mind I know I’m getting older and this magic will only start to dissipate.

Well, like that 8-year-old, I’m still desperately clinging to that tingly, Christmas morning feeling. I long for it. Christmas is my favourite time of year and I refuse to outgrow this. I refuse to turn into one of those grouchy grown ups who moan about trimmings and Christmas shopping and whinge about hearing Fairytale of New York on repeat.

Am I gutted about forgetting an Advent Calendar? You bet Rudolf’s red nose I am!

Quick dash to ASDA anyone?

Update: 1st December & the crisis has been averted. I can always count on mum!! Xx