Company in my lonely battle.

Reading my records from the GP had never been so heart wrenching… “infertile”. One word. One word that brought so much hurt, as it finalised my thoughts. But, despite this and my fears that resulted, I knew it wasn’t impossible. My parents had me despite doctors telling my mum there was absolutely no way she would ever have another baby after my sister. I brought it up in conversation a couple of times about how hurt I was about it. But everyone was quick to tell me about their neighbours cousin who had PCOS and had a baby. Sounds comforting, but actually isn’t. They meant well, but it just hurt more.

When you get bad news, you are initially in denial and then you come to accept it, which is when you attempt to talk about it with people. But acceptance is a long process, so for someone to dismiss everything you’ve tried to accept, it’s as though they’ve come across with a huuuuge novelty rubber and erased all of your hard work. Back to square 1.

Anyway, I downloaded cycle tracking apps, I read a ridiculous amount of information and advice, I knew everything there was to know. My GP rang me one morning and said she had looked over all my scans and blood tests, and that she wanted to refer us to the fertility clinic. Oh. My. God. I was so excited! I thought we would have to really push and fight for that referral. But first, my OH needed a certain test so that the clinic would agree to see us.

The appointment was booked but we weren’t worried, I mean the chances of us both being screwed were slim. OH bought a home test, possibly through nerves, and the results were bang on, everything was fine. Any worries we had at all went out the window then.

We found out OH’s results were back so went to collect them, and purely out of interest I thought I’d read them on the drive home, mostly to see if I even understood them. OH was anxiously looking at me trying to read my expression and I was desperately trying so hard to keep my poker face, or resting bitch face, long enough for him to not be driving.

How could this be happening? The chances were so slim! He had always been so strong for me through all my illnesses and struggles, but now I actually had to tell him about this. The results weren’t the worst they could have been, but they were far below the requirements. I knew that between my hormones and ovaries, and his situation, we were totally screwed. And I actually had to tell him this. I had to tell the guy who wanted kids before I even knew I did, that this wasn’t gonna happen.

Honestly, I can’t even remember what I said. All I remember is sending an extremely brief message to my mum telling her the results were bad and then having a shower, because that meant alone time to be weak. I needed that brief moment of weakness to just cry because I knew it was my turn to be strong. Except, this news didn’t touch him, not for weeks. I was researching everything I could, mostly IVF and ways to improve our fertility. But, he was still pointing out I was really tired, so I might be pregnant. Spoiler alert: I wasn’t pregnant.

By the time the news touched him, I had well and truly gone over the edge. It was all I could think about, talk about, anything. In my head I wanted a baby and I wanted one now. But our families were great. They reminded me of all the things I needed to focus on. Eventually we came to the conclusion that I needed a new focus, a cat. He wasn’t keen at first, he had only ever had dogs, but eventually I talked him round. Weeks later from that point brings us to now: lying in bed unable to sleep, but being surrounded by my family. Nope, I’m still not pregnant. But I do have an amazing fiancé that would do anything for me, and my kitten Jessie who I adore with all my heart.

Maybe one day we will have a baby, but one thing is for sure, this house isn’t empty anymore, it’s a real home.

All in all, a part of my heart will be empty until the day comes where I lay in bed cuddling my baby bump, but it isn’t my sole focus anymore. I have my furbaby, and my OH, and they’re pretty amazing.


Manchester is beautiful. 

Although this isn’t along the same lines as my usual posts, I feel it needs to be said. 

Last night, a terrorist tried to destroy us, to divide us and to completely knock us down. But, despite his bomb working, and killing/injuring/traumatising many, his aims were not successful. Everything I’ve seen today from the people of Manchester and surrounding areas, is just truly beautiful. 

People have given so much; their homes, money, time, blood, food, cars, clothes. The emergency staff have put in so much. Some rushed straight in on their days off, others were only home for an hour after a 12 hour shift before the news broke and they were straight back. This is just so purely beautiful. No matter what people have had going on in their lives, they have come together, one way or another. 



One size does not fit all! 

Recently, I’ve come to realise exactly why I kept it private that I suffer with fibromyalgia. Although it did get to a point where I just had to tell people around me because I had deteriorated so much. But, I’ve got people coming up to me who are aged 50 upwards telling me they have it too and that they completely understand my frustrations. The problem I have with this is, yes I sympathise because it’s a horrible illness, but they’ve only had it a couple of years at most. I’ve already had it for 7 years, at least, and I’m 23.

A few weeks ago I ended up in a 2 hour group meeting about self help with fibromyalgia. The main point that they were stressing is that you have to say “goodbye” to your old life because it isn’t coming back. Well, I’m afraid that I just can’t accept that. If I did, I may as well retire and go to collect my pension cause I would be giving up on so much. My friends are all going out drinking, ice skating, shopping days, girly holidays, etc. But I can’t do any of that. How do I just accept that? It may sound like I’m in denial, but in very few cases, people with fibromyalgia get better. I need to be one of those few! I’m determined to be part of the positive rare or uncommon figures for once. 



I am in a constant state of denial. Sometimes it can just take one second to make me realise it. 

I lost my amazing grandparents 10 months apart from each other 4 years ago, to cancer. They both really suffered but we were always there with them, so we suffered along with them in a different way. I’ve had councilling over it because I couldn’t cope with the images it left me with, and the constant pain I was suffering with mentally. I’m not sure how it helped but it did in some ways. I can talk about it now, that’s a big step. 

Anyway, constantly living in denial has left me with something that’s difficult to describe. But, I’ll try. 

I feel like I’ve got 2 lives. There’s the first one, that’s my childhood and everything up until my Grandma getting diagnosed with a brain tumour. The first life ends somewhere around a year after that when we had lost both her and my Grandad, their house was emptied and sold, we saw the real version of my uncle and his family, and we cut ties with them after trying to fix things for so long. Something’s can’t be fixed, it’s heartbreaking that we couldn’t fix it, cutting ties wasn’t done without extremely deep thought and consideration. 

Then, there’s my second life. That one starts around my illnesses getting much worse and I had to take sick leave at work for 6 months. I was going through so many tests, appointments, potential diagnosises, and hospital visits/stays. That’s when my emphysema was discovered and diagnosed. But somewhere in all of that horrible time, I met the love of my life and by just having him in my life I stopped giving up, I refused to accept that my deteriorating health would ruin the rest of my life. Thankfully, my workplace agreed to making some adjustments for me so that I could return to work. My second life is still ongoing but it feels like a ghost life. There are things in this life that are truly perfect and amazing, things that I never could have imagined could happen to me. Don’t get me wrong, there are bad parts, but that’s the way things are. The shadow over this life is that I have these amazing things, and I can’t share them with my grandparents. I can’t ring them to tell them that I just signed the contracts to our first home of our own, I can’t call them to tell them I’ve just found out I’ve got next week off work so I can spend more time with them, and I want these things so badly. I want to take my nephew to see them. I want to see him with them and be able to see the unconditional love that they would have for him. It is so heartbreaking because my Grandad died 6 weeks before he was born and he was so excited to have his first great grandchild. 

I know I’m rambling now but there are so many things I want to share with them. I’d give anything to see them again, to see them fit and well. Cancer is cruel. Cancer tainted my memories of them for so long that I thought I’d never remember all those years before they got sick. I try so hard to focus on those happy memories when I think of them. But sometimes all I can remember is that frightened look in my Grandma’s eyes when the tumour made her so confused that she didn’t know she was sick, so didn’t understand why she couldn’t walk anymore. Or the night that took place 2 days before my Grandad passed away, when all of his bones just broke/crumbled and he instantly lost his mind and just begged for my Grandma to come take him away. I remember silently screaming when my Grandma spoke her last words to me as she asked me to lay next to her because she couldn’t get up due to none stop seizures all over her body, and she told me she loved me, and that she was just gonna take a nap because she was so tired.
Cancer is fucking cruel and is a constant ghost in my life. 


Today, thinking back, I had a bad day. I worked alone on a department that requires a minimum of 4 people to function properly, I had to deal with awkward people and a colleague was taken ill. However, I didn’t leave in a bad mood, and that is what is weird! 

I think that by knowing what I was walking into, I didn’t expect any more than what I got, so I wasn’t disappointed when no one came to help and I just dealt with it. Sometimes I think it’s worse when you don’t know what to expect from your day. 

Also, there were a few occasions were I helped people with things that are so small, but they meant so much. I love that feeling when you help someone and you can see that they genuinely appreciate what you’ve done. So many times I go above and beyond, only to be repaid with ignorance and arrogance. 

It kinda helps that it’s my day off tomorrow too! 😝


Day three. 

Not much to say..

I’ve woken up feeling quite ill today and bad with my chest. However, I don’t think this has anything to do with the cbd oil because I’ve been feeling this coming on for over a week really. 

I tried to have some this morning but it made my coughing worse so I gave it up as a bad job. Hopefully I’ll be feeling a bit better in the morning and can get back onto it.