by ChronicWriter

I like big PANTS & I cannot lie

When you’re 24 and shopping for new underwear, ideally you should be looking in the ‘lingerie’ section in shops like Boux Avenue or Victoria Secret or even Ann Summers if you’re feeling abit frisky. You never think “I need some hot new underwear, I’ll hit up M&S” – not to be confused with S&M, it’s a completely different crowd in there!

I’ll admit- I used to frown on Marks & Spencers. I used to think I was too cool for M&S. On the few occasions I ventured in, usually on shopping trips with my nan, I was immediately surrounded by older (old) women. I used to think it had nothing to offer a hip, young woman such as myself.

Well, I soon found out I was wrong. I was spending some time at my nans recuperating after one of many Endo flares & hospital visit, when she bought me some pants. 100% cotton. White. Apple catchers. The kind that come in packs of 4 or 5. They were huge (still are- I still have them and “they wash like a dream!”). As I was just mooching around the house and there was no way my boyfriend (now-husband) was ever gonna catch an eyeful of these babies- I slipped em on.

My eyes were instantly opened and it was like someone slapped me in the face for ever thinking I was too cool for massive bloomers! They were the comfiest, like a cloud hugging my bot! They fit perfectly and didn’t pinch in all the wrong places. I didn’t get a wedgie all weekend and my tum was lovely and warm as they reached just below my belly button. I could even tuck my hot water bottle in!

What was I thinking?Too cool for M&S?! These pants are amazing- I don’t have 2 bums as the pants have great coverage. My bum has never been more cosy!

You may think it can get a little monotonous wearing white cotton pants everyday- but being the genius that I am I soon came up with a plan to stir things up! Operation: Tie-dye was a go. I now have some one-of-a-kind pink ones! Now who’s too cool?
Why didn’t someone tell me about this sooner? Why have I been buying overpriced shreds of fabric which don’t cover anything? The world needs bigger pants. Women need big pants for all their adventures. When I bend down to pick my shopping up, I don’t wanna be showing my ass off! When I rush to save a man choking on his false teeth, I don’t wanna be sat hoping my thong doesn’t ride up! When I lead an important business meeting I don’t wanna be fidgeting in my seat cos my lace frenchies are chafing!
BIG PANTS!

I did get a little worried about what my husband might think and if this would affect our libido. So I asked him. And he responded in the most beautiful way that only a doting husband can. He said:
“I’m more interested in what’s in your big pants & they’re gonna end up on the floor anyway…”
Love (or lust) lives on!

A xo

by ChronicWriter

Addicted

Somebody stop me! How have I turned a lovely outing into a feeding frenzy for my biggest addiction?

I have got to stop buying books. My shelves are full and yet I find new and ridiculous places to stack them? I cannot stop collecting stories! Charity shops are my favourite hunting ground- I’m not a book snob & can easily fill my book bag for £10! It is amazing. I even try to placate myself by thinking ‘I’ll bring in some of the ones I’ve already read’- yeah right! As if I’d ever get rid of them?!
The ones I’ve read are some of my favourites, it isn’t unrealistic of me to re-read them 4 or 5 times. I like knowing the ending, I like knowing what comes next, it feeds my impatient personality.
And if I stumble upon an author that I learn to like, god help my local bookshop- as I simple have to have all that she ever wrote! I am insatiable.
Reading is my favourite thing to do ever, along with stuffing my face and writing. And I won’t give it up for anyone! It’s one of my quirks and you’ll learn to love it. This is why I am so thankful I met my husband, he will willingly let me satisfy my need to find ‘pokey little bookshops’ on our holidays. He never frowns in a “not another book?” manner when a book-shaped parcel falls through the letter box- much to my delight. 💙 And he also matches my attachment to books, word for word, cover to cover.

Nothing makes me happier than a new book for my shelf, it’s the little things eh?
It probably also doesn’t help that my best friend is also an enthusiastic little bookworm. We can swap reviews and chat about books til the cows come home; she’s another one I can blame for this affliction ! 💜

These are a few of my most recent purchases:
*Caitlin Moran’s How to be a Woman and How to Build a Girl
*Alexis Jones’ I am that Girl
*G D Falksen’s The Ouroboros Cycle; 1, 2 & 3 (have a look at my reviews!)

What books have you fallen for lately? Let me know in the comments.

Go on, go get lost in binding.

A xo

by ChronicWriter

Career over babies? Not in politics!

For years, women have been pressured by this ideation of what a normal family should be. Husband goes to work as the breadwinner, wife stays at home to cook, clean and to fill her days with ‘nesting’. The 2.5 children go to school, perform above average and return to a harmonious home life.

I don’t know a single family in my area that conforms to this ‘normality’. Most have step-parents, adopted siblings, 2 Dads, an absent parent and so on. Some of the girls I went to school with are doting mothers, some are ambitious career women; the difference doesn’t make either any less of a woman.

Following Helen Goodman’s support of Yvette Cooper- “as a working mum, she understands the pressures on modern family life.”

Implying that women in politics aren’t as likely to succeed if they don’t have children or even a boyfriend. What?  Does she mean that a woman who doesn’t choose to have children (or who can’t) are less likely to understand the public’s hectic family lives, demanding schedules and so how can they decide what is best for the majority? If they can’t manage a relationship how can they manage a country? What?

As if finding someone to share your life with is that easy? Psst! It might be easier to run the country!

If a man chose to go into politics and chose his career over starting a family, no one would bat an eye. But because it is the woman’s ‘job’ to procreate and she neglects or is unable to fulfill this role, she should be overlooked for a job she does well? No.

As if we care that the future Miss Prime Minister doesn’t have a boyfriend? As long as she runs the country with passion, honesty and fairness, I couldn’t give a hoot if she shags half of Parliament and Pippa Middleton! Who cares? David Cameron has a wife and 3 kids and look at the state we’re in. Having the support of loved ones at home doesn’t seem to improve his politics!

A xo

by ChronicWriter

This is the face of Chronic Illness…

Do I look sick? This is the face of an invisible chronic illness. 

Inspired by indisposedandundiagnosed

I got married!!!!!

20th December 2015, my wedding day – 1 week out of hospital

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January 17th – 1 day post-laparoscopy

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May 2015, surviving on heavy pain meds

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End of May 15 – Pain umanageable, triggers SVT

In half of the photos in the post, you wouldn’t even know that I was in severe pain- taking drugs such as Tramadol or Oromorph just to be able to stand upright. In the other half, it is plainly obvious that something is not right. When I hear: “But you don’t look sick”, something inside me shrivels up, like I have to prove that I’m ill, as if I don’t struggle enough each day…

Let’s see your picture; what is the face of chronic illness?

A xo

by ChronicWriter

It’s OK to ask for a 2nd opinion

I have been struggling with extraordinary abdominal pain, fatigue and heavy bloodloss which eventually led to being diagnosed with Endometriosis.

I had my Laparoscopy on my birthday in January 2015. Since then I have still had constant pain. Everyday. It has been an exhausting journey. I have been told to try for babies sooner rather than later, I have been told my illness is chronic and I will have to live with it for the rest of my life.

Now, in my personal circumstances, we always knew it wouldn’t be straight forward for me to conceive, my husband and I had planned to save up and go for a clinic where he would undergo surgery. This would be in a private clinic as it isn’t available on the NHS. My diagnosis then put a time-sensitive pressure on us to conceive, which has not helped my recovery or state of mind at all! How am I going to save £3000? I have left full-time work as I can’t manage my pain during a 40hr work schedule! It’s impossible. Hence, my mood deteriorated.

I have been in constant pain, having to take very strong pain killers; called analgesics. The side effects include: drowsiness, nausea, headaches, itching, insomnia, changes in mood and they are just a few. When on these sorts of tablets, I would lose hours, days at a time, not being able to function, falling asleep, being emotional, it was a nightmare. And what’s more, I got tired of visiting my Dr and being met with a blank expression and the ‘trial & error’ merry-go-round; “try this?”

I ultimately reached rock bottom. I was crying all the time, I was scared I would lose my job, my family were all worried about me getting addicted to these tablets.

THEN… 

A good friend & relative of mine did some investigating and told me to register with a different Doctor’s surgery. At this new surgery, I was to ask for Dr D (confidentiality!!) and that he specialised in symptoms like mine, women’s health etc. What? Why hasn’t my Dr mentioned this before? So I went and registered, filled the forms out, spoke with a lovely receptionist who listened intently to my story and signed me up with Dr D as my named GP. Yes.

In 10 minutes, Dr D was able to give me more reassurance and information that in the 18 months previously. He told me that my endometriosis was not under control. He told me that the next stage would be a chemical menopause like Lupron injections (ermm…No Spank you!) and then it would be surgery; hysterectomy. He said that if I was suffering like this at 25, it wouldn’t be much better at 35, and we would be looking at surgery definitely. He gave me other options about our fertility problem and when I researched this at home, it seemed more practical and much more achievable! He understood my need for pain medication, reassured me that I was using them correctly, and when I asked for slow-release Tramadol (thanks to my Twitter sister @BattleWithEndo!) he didn’t hesitate to sign the prescription.

Dr D has given me a plan, a path to walk and a destination. After so many months of working around lost in my own pain and hating myself and the health system, it feels so good to have some clarification.

By no means am I pain-free but it’s manageable. I am only part way through my journey, but at least now I’ve got a map and things have started to show improvement. My bleeding seems to be settling, I have a little more energy (thanks to vitamins!) and I don’t have as many as the nasty side effects. I’m only taking FOUR tablets a day now.

I feel like me. At last.

There is hope. Don’t feel bad for going to a different Dr. Your health is important and you are entitled to expect and ask for what’s best for you.

A xo

by ChronicWriter

William Goldman’s The Princess Bride

If you have seen this film, you will already know that this fairy tale is one of legend. It has everything; fencing, damsels, giants and torture! It is a favourite of mine anyway, so when I saw this book in Waterstone’s, I leaped at the chance to buy it.

It did not disappoint.

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William Goldman has adapted Morgenstern’s story tremendously, he has captured all the ‘juicy bits’ from the story and bejeweled them to make them extraordinary. The characters are classically heroic and all have great dynamics.

Buttercup is our damsel, common but beyond beautiful and full of goodness, captures the attention of high-roller Prince Humperdink. After losing her only love, Westley; Buttercup insists she’ll never love again and so decides to find a compromise and decides to reach for a better life. Before the wedding, Buttercup gets kidnapped by a Sicilian, a Spaniard and a Giant.

But the three fugitives and the victim are quickly under siege by the Man in Black. And so begins the quest to save Buttercup; through the cliffs of despair, the fire swamp, and the pit of despair. The Man in Black fights for Buttercup and for his life, through all these obstacles and doing us hopeless romantics proud!

I give this story a 5 out of 5 stars!!

Caption from the book

my favourite paragraph ever written

A xo

If you read this and you’re a fan: try watching the film!

by ChronicWriter

A Tale of Two Cities. Part 1: Cambridge

When you hear the words road trip, you automatically think route 66, exciting places, camper van, awesome people.

When you hear the words bus tour, you automatically think old people, England, drizzly weather, service stops, boring get-away.

NOT TRUE.

I have just returned home from a fab weekend away on a bus tour. I went with my cousin who is the same age as me and my grandparents who are over 70. It was great value for money and we all had a great time. Plus! because it was a bus trip, meaning we had a chauffeur the entire weekend, that meant we could nurse a hangover Sunday morning whilst still managing to see all the sights!

Saturday, we stopped off at Cambridge for a few hours; city number one. As we arrived at the outskirts of Cambridge on the coach, the houses were awesome, great mansions. The kind only rockstars can afford! There wasn’t that much traffic, i think when you start to go down south, your initial thought is it’s going to be manic. It wasn’t. But there were lots of bicycles. Lots. Whizzing through the streets like Harry Potter on his broomstick!

I have never been to Cambridge and expected a bunch of snotty nose snobby students, looking down their noses at our slightly northern accents and common tongue. It was lovely. King’s college looked amazing in the sunshine as we got off the bus and set off on our first adventure. The architecture, distinctly Gothic and I had no trouble romanticizing it at all!

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King’s College

The streets were crawling with tourists and there were people busking and selling punting excursions. It was great to get away from the hum-drum of everyday familiarity and meet the bustling streets with eyes wide open. Exciting! There was a great market on, offering fresh foot and vegetables, pashminas, scarves, handbags, antiques, and butchered meats! Making my way through the crowds it was obvious that the weather was only going to get warmer too!

We had a lovely afternoon tea in Marks & Spencers (my nan’s favourite) we had chocolate fudge cake and lattes, giving us just enough energy to continue our expedition. We decided to pay the extra cost to go on a punting tour; the young lad who was selling the tickets was clearly unprepared for my nan’s brazen ways. We all laughed as she made him write ‘Paid in full’ on the receipt. He shrewd perception and wit making it impossible for her to take this fellow on face value. The very popular punting tour would give us an opportunity to see all the colleges in their splendor without having to walk there! My feet were starting to hurt! Our punter guide was extremely knowledgeable and made the tour fun by adding in his little jokes about the feud between Cambridge and Oxford and how the architects were mostly drunk when designing the buildings years ago. My nan only made the journey more humorous by answering every question our guide asked, directly. Ha! The lovely young couple seated next to us taken aback by our northern charm! The sun was shining and the heat was amazing, it was like being on an excursion abroad! It was lovely and well worth booking!

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King’s Chapel

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Punting outside the College dorms

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St John’s College

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Mathematical bridge, Queen’s college – built 1902. Students have dismantled this bridge a number of times in a prank!

St John’s College was supposed to have a clock on the tower so that the students would always be on time for lectures, however the architect didn’t want to interrupt the symmetry of the building- it is also believed that he ran out of money! Whether that is a joke, I don’t know! However, when trinity college started doing very well, the architect decided he wouldn’t have the eagle facing the rival college and he turned its head left – breaking the symmetry!

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St John’s

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The Bridge of Sigh

The Bridge of Sigh

After the punt jaunt we had another walk around the city, stopped to get our bearing just outside a lovely Arts and Crafts market. Whilst i was wandering aimlessly, I started to hear drums and chanting. Confused I made my way back to where my little group were perched. I then witnessed a perfectly amicable protest, people chanting about getting the ‘tories out and ‘get rid of the scum!’ waving banners and flags. It was great to see that people are able to express their opinions and fight for what they believe in -without violence.

By this time, our feet were hurting but the sun was shining. The only thing that was difficult about Cambridge, was finding the high street shops. Everything was spread out. But we found a great shopping center with a massive New Look with lots of sales- so I can’t complain too much! I managed to get some lovely cut-out sandals for, black leather ones for £10! Anyway, I’m digressing…

We then fought through a sea of tourists, large groups of ethnic varieties; all angling their cameras at the Gothic splendor, and made our way back to the coach. As we began our short journey to our lodgings for the night; The Hilton Hotel at Milton Keynes, there were a few things that stuck in my mind about Cambridge. I could see why directors wanted to film Harry Potter there, I was never posh (or clever) enough to go to Cambridge university and I have never seen so many bicycles!

Please keep your eyes open for A Tale of Two Cities. Part 2: Oxford – where I’ll be telling you all about our night at the Hilton and our adventure in Oxford!

TTFN.

A xo

by ChronicWriter

Small taster…

The road was quiet. It was the quietest she’d ever known it. As the clouds rolled in casting a dark shadow across the asphalt surface, the wind began to pick up. Fall leaves whirled in the wind, her hair wild around her face and in her eyes. She stood alone at the end of the street, waiting. But she knew not what for.

Carla was alone. She was always alone now. Carla’s family had moved on without her, she only being a far off thought in their busy lives. She stood gazing up at the darkened sky. She hadn’t felt this way in a long time. Dread, the feeling beating at her like the waves crashing on the rocks, wearing away the stone bit by bit. Carla hadn’t felt dread since that night in the dark, that night after the arguments with her parents. She’d walked out of their lives, forever.

Carla was a normal teenage girl. She was clever, popular in school, the apple of her parents’ eye, the oldest sibling. She had a plan for her life and her parents made sure she stuck to it. That Monday morning she dressed for school as usual. Her uniform laid out on her bed by her mother, pressed and ready. Carla showered thinking of the mundane drivel which would be the highlight of her friends’ day; who’s dating who? Who was seen with whom at the cinema? Who was in detention for smoking behind the bicycle shed? She knew she would have to listen to all of this and pretend to care, all day long, passing comments and faking a smile. She lathered her thick brunette mane and rinsed as she considered her essays due in that day. Carla knew absolutely that they were all perfect. She’d spent weeks on them, re-reading them over and over, spell-checking and editing every day. Her school work was her prize. All her friends didn’t believe that she did it alone, without help; she was destined for greatness her teachers said. Carla knew she was. It was all in the plan.

Carla dressed making sure her striped tie was knotted exactly right and her blazer had all her favourite pens in the inside pocket, ready for when she needs them. She buckled her shoes and straightened her socks, heading for the stairs. She met her mum, dad and young sister eating breakfast in the kitchen, her dad was hidden behind a large newspaper, her mum bustling around the coffee machine and her sister doodling in her school book. None of them much noticed that Carla had entered the room. She sat at the breakfast bar and studied them inquisitively over her mug of steaming black coffee, savouring its addictive aroma, she laughed inwardly.

Susan and her husband, David, were the typical husband and wife. He went out to work whilst the housewife stayed home ensuring all was ready for the breadwinner’s return. Susan was a member of the PTA and women’s church group and always wore pearls. David was quiet and liked to play golf on the weekends with his corporate team; he was a banker, or an investor, or something; Carla wasn’t really sure, only it was to do with money, lots of money. They didn’t really talk about his work. At the dining table her mum would tell them about her day, grocery shopping, the ladies’ lunch and all that, they would ask Carla about school and her classes, they would chat with her little sister about her music lessons and how she liked school; things of no consequence, nothing intimate. Susan and David had no idea what was happening in Carla’s life and Carla liked it that way. After all, she was 16, she was allowed to have some secrets.

by ChronicWriter

No diagnosis? Misdiagnosis!

Can someone just sling a spanner in the works? Please?!

Below I have drawn a pretty (or not!) picture of what having endometriosis entails and how each things affects the next. It literally effects every aspect of my life. As you can see, it’s a viscious cycle.

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I’m unsure what can trigger the pain as I can have it through the night, when I open my eyes in the morning, at work, after the gym, anytime. I have read up online and through reference books, I have spoken to hundreds of women in online forums and support groups and don’t seem to be any wiser on how I can help myself!

Before all my symptoms became too much to bear, I had a positive outlook on my life, positive opinions of the healthcare systems and believed I was in good health.

How naive was I? For the past 15 months I have been greeted by blank faces, questioning looks, even expressions of doubt, when seeking help from the healthcare service. I am very much treated on a ‘try this’ trial and error basis, I seem to come out of the Dr’s room feeling more confused than when I went in and have yet another prescription in my hand. I have seen on the news that Doctors are sometimes over-prescribing and overdiagnosing their patients, which is bad. But I must be on the other end of the scale as I have been underdiagnosed. I have recently had a hospital admission where the on-call gynae actually looked surprised at seeing my surgical scars even after I had told her my sad tale. As if I’d lied about it?!

I have reached an all time low in my life and have been crying in Dr’s rooms for months asking for help. I have expressed my desire to have an hysterectomy at 24. I just want it to go away at this point. I have told them I find no joy in my life anymore. Their response? Anti-depressants. More meds.

I don’t like using pain killers so how am I supposed to react to this? It scares me. I am constantly being reminded that ‘these drugs are addictive’ and ‘be careful how many you take’ and so I try to avoid taking them if I can. I can’t always manage it. If I don’t take the pain medication when I need it, I’m literally in the foetal position for hours. I am now at the point post-diagnosis where I have accepted that this is how I am, which is depressing in itself much less without the pain.

Anti-depressants were the last straw. I cannot start that medication. I have decided to try and take control of my life. Hoping to.

I have been to the gym this morning, taking it slowly, I have gotten home and my stomach has inflated to the size of a beach ball, my back hurts, my pelvis feels too wide for my body and I am so tired. All of the time. Tired of my body fighting itself. Pretending to be ok, everyday, is exhausting. I just want to be as normal as I can.

I’m just about done with this shit.

A xo

by ChronicWriter

“Just rip it off!”

There is nothing more horrifying for a young girl than going shopping with friends, sisters, boyfriends, whoever! And realising that not only are you a size bigger (or smaller!) than you once were. Standing in the changing rooms, breathing in, sucking everything in until passing out is an actual possibility. I have never been one for worrying what size I am, as long as I feel healthy, and to be honest it’s been a long time since I’ve felt normal nevermind healthy! So off we go- clothes shopping.

There were two traumas during this shopping trip; I have misplaced some boobs somewhere, dropping 2 cup sizes. I also got stuck in a dress!

STUCK IN A DRESS.

I have repeated myself because I just want that statement to sink in for a moment… picture it.

Wandering around the shops, grabbing a dress or two, heading over to the changing rooms, I’m full of smiles. Loving the dress I’d found, I dragged my little sister into the changing room. The size 12 I picked up was so skin tight my sister had to push parts of me in just to pull it down!

Not worrying too much I attempted to get it off. “Eh?! So what if I have to get the next size up? I love this dress” 

I couldn’t get it off. I was literally stuck in this dress. I’m giggling and laughing, saying pull and push, this way and that way and it still wouldn’t budge. My sister is yelling at me without shouting (it’s kind of a yelling voice but in hush tones for those that have never done this!) telling me to try and bend over so she can pull it over my head, I’m thinking if I bend, the seam of this dress is going to go and my ass is gonna be out of the thing! I then got really hot all of a sudden as a feeling of extreme claustrophobia overcomes me, panicking “just rip it off, get it off me!”

Finally, using the “PIVOT!” method, I was out of the friggin’ thing.

I was hysterical. Hysterically laughing. We were laughing so much.

Standing in my underwear I then wait for my sister to bring me the next size up. A quick knock and she comes strolling in, with this leading statement: “The 12 was way too small, so I got a 16.” My jaw hit the floor, tongue rolled out, eyes wide. 16?! The size 16 wasn’t much better, giggling to each other and giving up, my sister and I decided to look at shoes. I’m always the same size in shoes!

To jump from a size 12 to a size 16 in 10 minutes is every woman’s nightmare. Or so I thought?

Recently, I have found it hard to laugh. I have found it hard to be positive- especially about my body. Not so much body image but resentful that my body hates itself and gives me chronic pain. And so, this ‘stuck in a dress-gate’ was just what I needed! I needed to laugh. Not only were me and my sister laughing, but apparently the rest of the ladies in the other changing cubicles had a good chuckle about it as well.

The design of the dress, the fabric it’s made out of obviously doesn’t suit curvy women; and I’m sticking to that statement.

So traumatic it could have been, but at least I made myself and other ladies smile for 5 minutes.
I hope this made you smile, just a little.

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Little 16

A xo