Bad Times, Peeps. Bad Times.

If you’ve been a reader for a while, you’ll probably have noticed that I seem to be suffering with some kind of debilitating bowel condition, usually leaving me with either vomiting, diarrhoea, strange gut noises, excess gas, odd smells, you name it. Except apparently, I’m not suffering with some kind of debilitating bowel condition. I’m making it all up. That’s what the Doctors think – it’s all in my head.

Bestie had a stomach bug last week. We actually thought he had norovirus (sp?) – a virus that is apparently doing the rounds over here, crippling one person at a time with dodgy guts and flu-like symptoms. Then I got it. Or so we thought. Six days later, when I was still vomiting at least once a day, and still getting a very bad stomach even though there was nothing left inside it, I made myself a doctors appointment. I’d already called in sick at work once and had my head well and truly bitten off by my boss who has turned out to be a real dick about all of this. If I hear the words “following procedures” one more time come out of his mouth, I’m going to ram my fucking fist down it. I know what the fucking procedures are you little cunt. I’m well-fucking-aware.

The Doc told me that although there are lots of little problems discovered throughout the investigations into why my insides are trying to kill me, there was nothing serious to give a real reason behind it. My anxiety is getting out of control, however, so she’s referred me to yet another shrink, and given me a prescription for a course of antidepressants / anti-anxiety pills that I should be on for about six months, starting off on the lowest dose and working my way up from there.

Sorry, how is this possible? I’ve already thrown up in the garbage can in my bedroom once this morning, and my stomach has had me doubled over in pain and running to the bathroom three times. I’ve been belching up air that tastes and smells like egg, even though I haven’t actually eaten eggs for a good couple of months, and I feel as if I have been hit by a truck. How is there seriously nothing wrong with me? How can they seriously not find anything wrong with me??

The doc asked if I had allergy tests yet. Nope. I have been promised a dietician for months but nothing has materialised. She’s sent me off for more blood tests, given me a pamphlet for a new shrink, a thirty quid prescription for drugs I really didn’t want in the first place, and still no answer to my questions. There are still no results from my endoscopy biopsy from back at the beginning of April. The endoscopy itself only showed a small patch of erosion in my stomach, and some GERD. Whatever GERD is. Again, none of this has been explained to me. I have no idea what GERD is, or I didn’t until I researched it myself with the help of Google. And we all know what Google does. It takes a headache and convinces you you’re suffering with lung cancer.

Now, don’t get me wrong. I know what a blessing the NHS is. I’ve lived on the other side of the world where you need to pay for your healthcare unless you have some pretty good benefits. I’m not complaining about it per se. Well, actually I am. Don’t I pay for this NHS? Why isn’t it doing me any favours right now?

For a while I thought they might have been right. Maybe this was all in my head? Maybe I was doing this to myself each and every morning I woke up, my skin wracked with goosebumps because I was in so much pain on the toilet? But how can I be? I know the mind is a powerful thing, but surely even the mind can’t give me chronic diarrhoea for three days in a row, when there is literally nothing left inside my body to produce as waste?

This is starting to have a very real and very negative impact on my life yet the Doctor’s can’t find anything wrong. Apart from the polyp up my ass which didn’t end up being bowel cancer, but still put me at high risk, plus the diverticula (or diverticulitis – we aren’t sure which, and each doctor calls it something different) which apparently, isn’t a real condition and shouldn’t be giving me any symptoms at all, and the GERD plus minor erosion they found when they sent a camera down my throat, apparently there is nothing wrong with me.

There is nothing inside me that would give an exact reason as to why I get diarrhoea most days, and vomiting on the very worst of them. They can’t explain why my stomach makes so much noise, that I no longer feel comfortable eating in public. They can’t explain why it feels as if I have marbles rolling around inside me, causing some very real discomfort. They can’t explain why I projectile-vomited in the kitchen sink at a party of four held just for me because I keep blowing them out when there is a massive group of people are around, while they were trying to dish up dinner. They can’t explain why I had the worst pain underneath my sternum the other night, to the point where I almost took myself off to the hospital. They can’t explain why I have spent the entirety of today burping up what tastes and smells just like egg, even though I’ve not eaten egg in months. None of these very real symptoms can be explained by anything. They keep telling me there is nothing wrong with me. Surely that’s not right?

None of my doctors know how to communicate with each other. I have never seen the same doctor two times in a row. Nobody knows about ALL of my symptoms. They haven’t listened to the recordings I made on my phone when my stomach-noise was at it’s worst and loudest. They haven’t heard the cries when I’m in crippling pain because it feels as if my intestines are being twisted around by giant hands. They aren’t understanding how I’m down to barely one meal a day, and even then I can’t guarantee whether it will stay down… Or up. They don’t listen to how EXHAUSTED I feel for most of the day. I wake up more tired than when I went to bed, and I have zero energy left by the time I’ve made it TO work, let alone HOME from work.

Speaking of work. I’ve quit my job. I’ve handed in my 30-day notice. I seem to have skipped an ‘action plan’ for my sickness, and gone straight to a written warning disciplinary, and my boss is making this really hard for me. I’m not sure whether or not he’s trying to, but I’m already well aware of how much I’m letting them down. I’m trying so hard to make it to work every day. I really am trying. But with my anxiety apparently getting worse, it would seem like I’m not doing a very good job of keeping it together. This was the last straw for him, this final week I’ve been signed off by my Doctor. He’s having me moved to another store. That’s what he messaged me back. This doesn’t work for him or me. Blah blah blah.

Fuck it. I quit. I’ll be a writer and hope and pray everything works out. If it doesn’t, I’ll go looking for another job. I guess?

See, I’ve been putting off becoming a full-time writer for about three years. I’m so scared that I won’t pull myself together. I’ll be self-employed. I’ll need to kick my own ass into actually doing the work I need to do. And if we go by the last three months I had signed off work, where I did the bare minimum (although I was having the HARDEST time and was VERY sick), it’s not going to go well at all.

But I’m a different person now, aren’t I? Although my insides might not agree with me, aren’t I meant to be a ‘stronger’ person these days? Surely, with all the time I’ll have, and the knowledge that my ‘day job’ won’t pay my rent if I don’t finish that writing project, I’ll be able to make it work? Well, I don’t have a choice now. Because I’ve done it. My response to him was “I’ll hand my letter of notice in tomorrow. I can’t do this anymore”

I’ve written it out. I just need to email it to him. But I’m putting it off. I don’t know why. Not that it matters because he’s already told at least one other work colleague. It’s not like I can just back out now, is it? I can’t believe he did that. I can’t believe he told my work colleague I was quitting before I’d even handed my notice to him. What a cunt.

There has got to be an end to this never-ending story of shit soon, surely? Oh, did I throw into the mix that I still seem to be bleeding for a week or so after every time I have sex with Someone New? Yes, that’s right – I didn’t even mention my pre-cancerous cells on the cervix situation I have going on at the same time as all that shit. Well, after my LLETZ procedure, I am bleeding far too fucking regularly for my liking. And that awful traumatic experience was months ago now. I cannot seem to get a fucking break. At all!

Plus, all this vomiting… And the bleeding? I’ve only just gone back on the pill… Tomorrow I think I’ll do a test. Just in case. You know, what with all the bad luck I seem to have had recently, I wouldn’t past it past fate to throw a fucking badly-timed pregnancy into the mix. Oh please God, don’t let it be that. I’ve never really prayed before but I will be praying like anything that it’s not that. For once, the boyfriend situation is the only part of my life going quite nicely. I’d be so pissed if that got all screwed up just like the rest of my life.

Bad times, peeps. Bad times.

Rant over. 

I HATE Condoms.

Right, I’m a 20-something girl who has had her fair share of sex and has racked up a certain amount of sexual partners over the years. I’m not a complete twat, I know how important safe sex is. I know how important condoms are. But seriously – I fucking hate them.

They ruin the mood for a start. Now don’t get me wrong, nothing ruins the mood even more than an STI, but they seriously ruin the mood. There is nothing attractive about a guy putting on a condom, and let’s be honest about this, there aren’t that many attractive ways that a girl can put one on her guy either. What am I meant to do when these guys are putting on their rubbers? Am I meant to look at them, look away, amuse myself, flick dust bits off the duvet…? It’s an awkward, uncomfortable moment, especially when the lights are on or it’s daylight, and I hate it.

Oh, and what about buying them? I have the HARDEST time buying condoms. Just take a read at this:

Why Is Buying Condoms In Your Twenties So Difficult?

Once again, I fucking HATE them.

Oh and what about those times when you forget the condoms? Those are the fucking absolute worst times. That was like my third date with Someone New – both of us forgot them, even though we had even discussed having them ready and which ones we should buy, and it was the most frustrating, pissed-off date of my entire life. Either that or one of you has to do the mad, desperate dash to the local petrol station, chemist, shop, or pub toilet machine wearing jeans and no underwear, and no t-shirt under that hoody that you hastily threw on.

Then there’s the whole plastic-bag-in-between-you-during-sex thing. I don’t care how thin they make these fuckers, or how much like skin they manage to make them feel, they don’t feel like fucking skin. They don’t feel natural. They don’t feel non-existent. They are there, they squelch, they make noise, and most of the time, I can feel them.

Plus, have you ever given head to a guy wearing a rubber? Strawberry-flavoured my ass. It doesn’t matter what kind, brand, or flavour of condom that you buy, they always taste like rubbery, lubricated shit. End of conversation.

The position-changes are the worst though. He’s desperately trying to keep the rubber on his cock while you contort around the bed trying to breathe in, push your tits out, make your butt look firmer, and in reality, he’s not paying attention to any of your hard work. He’s just praying that his dick stays hard while it’s raincoat-covered self is desperately waiting for you to get comfy so he can merrily thrust into you again.

If he decides to just cum all over you, there’s that awkward moment when you’re lying there on your back, hands caressing your own breasts, and he’s there pinging the condom off his cock with gusto – like he’s just won a prize and is eagerly unwrapping it. What the fuck guys? Why are you doing that? Just take the condom off like a normal person. There’s no need to be a dick.

If he doesn’t decided to cum all over you and prefers to blurt his load in said condom, there’s none of the lazy post-coital moments where you let him go soft inside you and he slides out with a plop as the two of you doze off. Nope, you can’t do that. Not that most of us would want to. But if he stays in there just a moment too long, there’s the risk that the condom can come off as his dick shrinks in it’s porridgy grave it’s entombed within. Plus then he needs to actually hold his own manhood as he slides out of you in a most undignified fashion, to again ensure that the said condom won’t just slide off and spill his baby-batter everywhere.

Of course, you could be massively super unlucky like me last night. You could be merrily grinding and humping your way on top of him, the position that drives him crazy and makes him ‘cum so hard, I get dizzy’ (his words, not mine), let him blurt his load inside you, and then realise that the condom is nowhere to be fucking seen.

He goes to hold the bottom of the rubber while you ‘hop off’, but there was no rubber there to hold. Was it inside me? Embarrassed, I quickly have a feel before realising it’s not easily accessible wherever it is, and scampering to the bathroom. I pop two fingers up and have a feel around… I can’t feel the condom. Oh my god has it actually gone inside of me? No, surely not. That can’t be the case. There’s nowhere for it to go… Or is there? I recently had that LLETZ procedure to remove precancerous cells. Could it be lost somewhere in that? Holy shit. What the fucking fuck am I going to do?

I clean myself and his juices out of me and run back to the bedroom. He’s found it, thankfully. It must have become dislodged somewhere between me being on my back and me humping away on top of him. Breathe a sigh of relief – condom is not lost somewhere inside the inner depths of my body.

Later that night, I realised something. Six weeks ago, I underwent a very invasive and uncomfortable procedure to remove precancerous cells caused by essentially what is an STI passed to me during sexual contact, probably by my husband. He was a skank and he caught at least two disease in the time that I knew him. Yes, let’s blame him, the fucking skank. Despite my hatred for him and the complete disregard he had of my sexual health to go sleeping with hookers without using protection (apparently – that’s what he told me), just hours earlier I basically had unprotected sex with a man I’d known for just a couple of months. Oh and I’m not on the pill anymore and haven’t been for months.

I asked him to go and get himself tested and his response lead me to believe he hadn’t ever been tested before, or if he had, hadn’t been for years. He didn’t deny it when I asked him later on. I have pestered, badgered, and bugged him into finding the number for the local clinic and promising to call them up tomorrow to make himself an appointment. I don’t give a fuck how uncomfortable it makes him. He’s doing it or he doesn’t get inside me anymore. I’m going back on the pill and I’ve been recently tested for everything with the all-clear, it’s his time to stand up and take responsibility for something in our relationship. If he wants me, this is what he needs to do to get me. I don’t actually think that’s too unreasonable. Do you?

Plus, I’m not on the pill. I’m due on my period in the next couple of days, although we don’t know what the LLETZ will have done to my already pretty fucked cycle. I am considering getting myself the morning after pill but I will wait another 12 hours to see if my period comes. If it doesn’t, I’ll run to the pharmacy. The last thing I want to do right is get myself pregnant. Fuck that. Fuck all of that.

So yeah, I fucking hate condoms. I would go through every uncomfortable sexual health test in the world if it meant not needing to wear those awful, rubbery things. I’d forget about my needle phobia and have every vaccination known to man if I meant I could have sex without a condom.

I hate them. I fucking hate them. And now I’m hoping I don’t get fucking pregnant.

Life After LLETZ – What They Don’t Tell You

Right men, you might not want to read this one. This post isn’t going to be pretty. It isn’t going to be attractive. It is going to make you squirm. In fact, it’s probably going to make a few girls squirm too. This is what happens once you have been diagnosed with High Grade Dyskaryosis, have a colposcopy and end up having LLETZ treatment – Large Loop Excision of the Transformation Zone. Also known as LOOP, it is invasive and pretty painful even though they say it won’t be. You can read more about the actual procedure here:

• #SmearForSmear: From Normal Girl to High Grade Dyskaryosis & Potential Cancer Scare No.2!

After LLETZ or LOOP treatment for those abnormal cells, life doesn’t go back to normal for a while. In fact, it can take up to four to six weeks for life to go back to complete normality. You can’t use tampons for four weeks, partake in any heavy lifting, have sex, go swimming, etc. You are likely to have some mild bleeding. It might make your next period heavier. It might also put you at an increased risk of miscarriage and will also increase the chances of you not being able to carry a pregnancy full term. It’s funny how those things weren’t explained to me before I had that procedure done. It wouldn’t have affected my answer any way – of course I would need to have it done. They have found precancerous cells on my cervix. Those bad-boys have gotta go. It would have been nice if they had told me that though, you know?

The sanitary towels are the worst. If, like me, you’ve never used a sanitary towel in your life, not only will you not have a clue which ones to buy, but you won’t really know how to use them. I don’t know how much red stuff there is meant to be before you change them. I also don’t know how come it doesn’t matter how big the towels are, red stuff always manages to end up on my underwear somewhere. Not being able to use tampons is killing me. I’m not a big pant kinda gal. Nor am I a sanitary towel one either. There’s no way you can’t see the outline of the towel if you take a closer look at my ass. I’m sure of it.

For the first few days after having the LLETZ treatment, I had no bleeding at all. I had some clear, slippery discharge tinged with a bit of brown (*sorry for the TMI – girls SHOULD talk about this stuff more!) but no blood. The next day I had a vomiting fit (caused by the bowel problems) dislodged something, a small scab appeared to fall out, and I had the tiniest bit of blood. I panicked, of course, but it soon stopped. At that point, because nothing else was happening (no discharge), I figured I could go without sanitary towels as they are very uncomfortable to wear and seem to agitate my bits. A LOT! 

Then, four days after the treatment, I figured I would test the waters with a cheeky little play with myself. Don’t do this. I’m not sure if it was the contracting or the orgasm or whatever, but something happened up there and within ten minutes, I started bleeding. Now, I’m not sure if it was the orgasm that caused it, or my period (which would have arrived four days early – not due until Thursday), but I haven’t stopped bleeding and so far it’s been over 48 hours. Fresh, bright red blood. It doesn’t look like time of the month stuff, you know?

See, no one told me that. No one told me how long I would need to go before I could masturbate. I didn’t use a toy or anything because I’m not allowed to insert anything into my vagina for at least four weeks, but I thought it might be OK to ‘double click the mouse’, so to speak. I would advise against this ladies. Maybe leave it a week before you test the waters. For fucks sake.

See, I know what you’re asking. Why is she telling us all this stuff? I’m telling you this stuff because it’s all stuff I didn’t know. I thought I knew what was going to happen but in reality, I had no clue what was about to unfold in front of me, or the magnitude of it. Surely the fact that you can’t touch your nether regions for four weeks would tell you how serious this was? This is an actual operation to remove precancerous cells from the parts of you that are meant to give life, not take it. I won’t apologise for talking about the crap coming out of my nether regions because I don’t mean it. I wish someone would have told me these things before I went in and had that awful LLETZ procedure done. My foof is ruined. Bits have been taken out of it. It was fine before. I always liked my foof. I’m sad for my foof right now.

The thing that annoys me the most is that this whole scenario has been caused by that HPV virus. It’s a sexually transmitted infection. They don’t talk about how you’re going to feel once you find out you had that godawful virus in your body. From what I can work out, because medical professionals seem to be very reluctant to talk about it with me, all precancerous cells are caused by a strain of the HPV virus which many of us have without any symptoms. Some strains cause genital warts and herpes and some cause cancer. I think those are strains 16 and 18.

I don’t know if I have tested positive for HPV. That’s the scariest thing. I don’t know if it is something I can pass on to the man I sleep with. How long have I had HPV for, if I have tested positive for it? How many of the men in my past would I need to contact? Do I even need to contact them at all? When I asked the female doctor over the phone whether or not I had tested positive for it, she said if I had have been, it would be noted on the letter that told me about the high grade dyskaryosis. It didn’t, so she was sure I didn’t have it. She didn’t know though. She couldn’t answer the question.

When I went in for the colposcopy and LLETZ treatment, I asked the gynaecologist whether or not I would be HPV positive and he couldn’t answer the question either. I would be tested for it at my next smear and colposcopy examination in six months. So what does that mean for me now? I’m in a new relationship with my Someone New – is HPV something I can pass on to him? If I can, is it really worth me embarking on a new relationship all the time I’m going through this? It’s hardly fair on him, is it? Or myself for that matter. But that aside, why can’t anyone answer my questions? Do I have it? What does that mean for my sex life? Why is everyone being so vague? What’s going on here that I don’t know about? Am I being paranoid?

So for now (6 days after the LLETZ procedure), I’ve been bleeding heavily, solidly for over 48 hours although that could be down to an early period. I feel very under the weather, exhausted in fact. I have period pain like cramps that are so much worse than period pain cramps, and only strong, prescribed painkillers is getting rid of the pain and even then, only briefly.

Only three more weeks to go (hopefully) and life will be back to normal – no more bleeding, no more sex ban, no more weird pains. Maybe I’ll be lucky and it’ll mostly be over well before then? Oh and hope no bad biopsy results come back.

My body hates me right now. 

#SmearForSmear: From Normal Girl to High Grade Dyskaryosis & Potential Cancer Scare No. 2!

So, it’s taken me a little while to write about this, mostly because it’s actually a pretty terrifying thing for any woman to need to go through. After already broaching the topic of cervical cancer and some pretty suspect symptoms along the way with a doctor and being laughed out of the surgery, I had put the thought of it all to the back of my mind. I went for my routine three-yearly smear and within six days I’d received a letter – “High grade dsykaryosis”. (See previous blog post)

I was referred for a colposcopy which I had yesterday. The gynaecologist, possibly the funniest Indian chap I’ve ever met in my life, informed me that they had found the severest grade of abnormal cells and he would definitely be offering me treatment at the same time – a LOOP procedure which involved him basically burning craters out of my cervix. Stupidly, (or not so) I had watched a couple of YouTube videos so although I was completely terrified out of my wits, I at least knew what I should expect and before I knew it, my mother was ridiculously crying to the side of me, my legs were in stirrups and the guy had jabbed a local anaesthetic needle into my insides FOUR times before cutting / burning out a section approximately the size of a chocolate mini-egg.

I was told there would be some ‘mild discomfort’ as they injected my cervix with the anaesthetic. Mild discomfort my ass. Apparently there are no nerve endings in the cervix itself so the pain I was feeling is the flesh being stretched, but the pain I felt was sharp, stabbing and felt like it had gone right up to my rib cage. To be fair, the second, third and fourth stabbing I barely felt but that first one was enough to put me off forever. Legs up in those awful stirrups, there was not only me and my mother watching him stab stuff inside me, but the gynaecologist himself and THREE nurses. There was literally a party happening in my va-jay-jay. The only thing that was missing was wine and music!

It wasn’t long before he was wiping a cotton bud with some sort of acid over my cervix. Nothing really painful about that but you could definitely feel someone moving around inside of you. I noticed the area had gone from pink to white, examining the TV screen myself, and he agreed with me – they were the abnormal cells, and he would need to take them out. He told me not to look at what he did next because of how uncomfortable I felt about the blood that appeared from the injections, and from what I can gather from the smell, the loop-wire contraption burnt and cauterised stuff away from me. It smelt like burning flesh and the noise the device was giving off was enough to make me cry. I’ll be honest with you, it was probably the worst procedure I’ve ever had done. It was an invasive, scary, unknown, frightening experience that completely stripped me of my dignity. I wouldn’t wish this on the nastiest bitches I know.

It lasted, in total, probably about twenty minutes. Maybe even half an hour. I went in, spoke to the gynaecologist, stripped from the waist down, positioned myself, and was sanitary-towelled up and walking out the hospital in no time at all. Oh yeah, you don’t realise how shitty things are going to be afterwards though. Quick it was, painless – nope!

I managed to walk the 15 or so minutes home afterwards and to be honest, the cool rain on my face helped me to compose my thoughts. I was a mess before, during and after that procedure, and it really knocked me for six. I needed some time, just me, to think about what had happened, and to consider what could happen next. It’s 20th Feb right now and if I haven’t heard from the team by the end of March, I’m to call them but to assume everything is just fine. I will have a follow-up smear and colposcopy in six months and see what happens from there.

If I do hear from them before that, it’s probably going to be bad news. If the letter comes quickly, it’s definitely bad news. There are a couple of worst-case scenarios – the margin of the bad cells isn’t within the biopsy they took and I’ll need to have a repeat procedure. Or the pre-cancerous cells they’ve found will show signs of actual cancer and I may need further treatment…. such as a hysterectomy. That’s probably my worst-ever case scenario. I don’t want to talk about that right now.

So now, I’m just kinda hoping I don’t ever hear form the team I saw again. Well, maybe in like a couple of months time to say that all is OK, they got all the pre-cancerous cells out, and I will just be called back again in about six months time to get checked out again. I don’t want to think about the alternatives – the worst case scenarios. I’ve pushed the symptoms I had to the back of my mind, I’m just going to breathe and take it easy. I can’t worry about having cancer again, despite how much of my cervix appeared to turn white under that acid, and how much of my body he actually removed. After only getting the all-clear from bowel cancer just a month or so ago, I feel that life has dealt me a very cruel hand right now. But I’m hopeful and positive that in just a couple of months time, I can laugh about this one too.

Going back to the colposcopy and I was told that I would experience bleeding on and off for around three to four weeks. 24 hours later, I’ve had no bleeding at all. There’s the tiniest bit of weird browny, jelly-like, almost clear stuff coming out (sorry for the TMI but I really need to talk about this!) but he put some antibiotic gel up there so I assumed it would squelch out of me at some point. You’re not allowed to wear tampons for four weeks, however, which is a big fucking deal for me. I have never used sanitary towels before in my life. I didn’t know which ones to buy and needed to go on a shopping trip with my (useless) mother (because she doesn’t use them either) and ended up taking the advice of my younger sister (embarrassing) to buy the longest, ugliest things I’ve ever seen in my life. Big pants are in these days, it would seem. Oh yeah, I never wear big pants either. I’m a thong / g-string kinda girl during the day because I hate a VPL.

So after waddling home with what feels like a whole role of toilet roll in my massive underwear, I chill out for half an hour and discuss my ordeal with Bestie and in a split second, I go from slightly sombre, scared chick, to screaming in pain, crazy-eyed freak. I was in so much pain I literally couldn’t sit still. I’ve never had kids so I don’t know but that’s totally how I imagine labour to feel like, with wave after wave of pain coming from somewhere right in the middle of me. I couldn’t sit still, I couldn’t stand up, it was so painful that wriggling my toes seemed the only logical option. I took two paracetamol and then half an hour later when the pain still hadn’t subsided, I took one more. I can’t take anything stronger because of the diverticulitis. I had a hot water bottle, and then I lost all hope, gave in and smoked a spliff. I couldn’t cope with those cramps and that pain. Mild discomfort my ass. There was nothing mild about that.

I’m starting to feel like I’m fighting a losing battle here. I have invasive procedure after invasive procedure with no real end in sight. I have no holes left to poke and prod, no orifice left alone by the godamn NHS. I have no dignity left. I have no faith left either. I came out of the bowel cancer a much stronger (or getting there) woman and I started to feel like I was getting somewhere. That rug has been well and truly ripped out from under me now. Cervical cancer scares apparently aren’t that much fun either. I don’t really understand why life keeps spectacularly falling to pieces around me like this.

I don’t really know what I’ve done to deserve all of this bullshit. 

#SmearForSmear

So, keeping in line with the whole #SmearForSmear thing, I went and had mine done. I should wait two weeks for the results and if I’d not been sent a letter, it should be fine but to give my doctor a call.

Less than seven working days after I had my smear, I got a letter. “There were some changes to some of the cells in your cervix called high grade dyskaryosis. It is unlikely that you have cancer but these changes need investigation and the appropriate treatment.”

That’s right, less than a month and a half after I got the all-clear from what we believed could have been bowel cancer, I’ve been told there’s a chance I might have cervical cancer instead. I find that pretty fucking ironic seeing as I had Googled all of my symptoms and came up with cervical cancer by myself right at the beginning of what I had started to call my “Poo Problems”, almost six months ago. I even asked the doctor if there was a chance that I could book a smear because of my concerns, and I had also read of a blood test that you could have done, but he dismissed it entirely telling me that I probably had IBS and shoo-ed me out of his office.

Six months later I finally get the smear I had asked for, and now I’m told the thing I had suspected all along – there was something wrong – I have high grade CIN3 dyskaryosis. What does this mean? I have no clue. I called the Doc’s and spoke to an actual female doctor and she just told me what the letter had said. They had found high grade, severe abnormal cells and therefore needed to be sent for a colposcopy and treatment.

Now, I must present to you the symptoms I’ve had over the last few years. I’m going to say three years. As soon as I came home from the other side of the world after leaving Big Love, my periods were all over the place. I have been keeping track of them on an app on my phone for over a year now and my cycles are never the same. Sometimes it will be 43 days, sometimes it will be 22 days, and most of the time it’s a completely random number anywhere between the two. I had pain during sex and occasionally bleeding but I put that down to just being rough and ready (and normally drunk), uncomfortable lower abdominal pains, chronic backache, itchy and uncomfortable legs… Plus there’s the poo problems too. Apparently they could all have been linked from the start.

For someone that never really wanted to have kids, the thought of not having the option to choose literally fills me with dread. I can’t bear the thought of not being able to make that decision for myself. The thought of it makes me cry. Proper cry. Painful cry. The kinda cry where your lip wobbles uncontrollably, and you can’t stop the tears from falling onto your Mac as you type out the words. I know we’re talking about the worst case scenario here but it’s kinda hard not to when you’re faced with the thought of having cancer for the second time in six months. I also think it’s kinda ironic that the Hubby has a kid that he doesn’t want or see, while I’m faced with the possibility of not having kids at all. And let’s face it, with the diseases that he bought home, there’s a fucking good chance that it was him that gave me the sodding HPV virus in the first place. Oh yeah, I never told you that I found out he had a kid while he was on the other side of the world, did I? Lol, I can’t wait to get into that story.

I’m positive on the outside, not letting it phase me and just getting on with life, having a laugh and being the cool, bubbly person people know me as. Inwardly though, I’m a wreck. It’s not even 11:30am right now and I’ve already smoked a herbal little beauty and to be honest, I couldn’t care less if you judge me for it. Two cancer scares in less than six months. I reckon it’s the perfect time to live a little dangerously, don’t you?

On the plus side, I think tonight might be date number four with my Someone New. Maybe tonight I’ll get laid? I’d better get laid. After the treatment on Thursday, I’m not going to be able to have sex for four weeks, or so the pamphlet says. I can’t wait another four weeks to fuck him. It needs to happen tonight. He doesn’t know it yet (I blew him out last night) but he will be getting a little visitor when he finishes work in the form of a very nervous, very frustrated, very playful little Smurf. That’s his nickname for me, by the way. He said this was me: (which I kinda liked)

I need a night of frivolous cuddles with Someone New. I need to feel desired and pretty, like I’m not just one health concern after another. I want him to prove that he will be there to hold my hand through this like Jock couldn’t. That’s not bad, is it? Plus, I really don’t want to wait another four weeks. I’m scared he’ll lose interest and worse than that, I’m scared I’ll lose interest. You know how that seems to happen.

So yeah, that’s what going on in my life right now. Two cancer scares in six months. Except this one is marginally scarier.

Na Uh. I Ain’t That Girl.

I did it. Two minutes before Jock’s birthday, 11:58pm, I blocked them both. I did it. That was it. The last link…. severed.

I didn’t cry. I just sat at my desk, head resting on my hands, staring at the computer screen for about fifteen minutes. Realisation, I think. It’s over.

I didn’t cry when I got into bed. I didn’t cry in bed. I didn’t cry when I woke up this morning. Well, I did cry but for an entirely different reason.

I DON’T HAVE CANCER!

After a shaky start (and for about 11 minutes, it genuinely looked as if I did have cancer resulting in a MASSIVE meltdown on the phone to my poor mother), it turns out the polyp they removed didn’t contain cancerous cells but there are a couple of things they want to keep a closer eye on so I’ll be scheduled for follow up colonoscopies every five years.

The bad news is I have another infection and are on the biggest antibiotics I’ve ever seen in my life. Plus an urgent (within two weeks) referral to the Gastro-department of my local hospital. Finally ladies and gentlemen, we appear to be getting somewhere.

I don’t have cancer. I don’t. What the hell am I playing at? Spending my time pining for some guy? What’s the point in that? There are so many more men out there. There are so many more new things for me to explore. This could have gone so differently. Imagine if it had been bad news. I’m not living my life to the full staying in my house and not showering because another guy broke my heart. Na uh. I ain’t that girl. So I’m not gonna be.

Today was a day that changed things for me. I’m not sure and I’m not sure why but it has. Watch this space. I had an epiphany! 😉

Every Cloud Has A Silver Lining.

A cancer scare isn’t a lot of fun but it certainly helps to clear things up and put things into perspective, doesn’t it? I tried to go with that positivity-thought bollocks but honestly, the professionals already found a polyp. The consultant told me that it would be rare for me to have those because of my age. He also guaranteed my mother that I wouldn’t have diverticulitis and I had that too. I’m a medical marvel apparently. Fucks sake. I’m not holding my breath for my test results to come back clear. Today is a negative day apparently.

Some good has come out of it, of course. I’m 28. I might have cancer. I need to wait two weeks for the results. Well, 10-14 days apparently. That seems like quite a long time to find out whether or not the genetic mutation they cut out of your body contains cancerous cells, which is essentially what a work colleague said to me and I completely lost it. I’m a tad oversensitive these days. I thought he was calling me a liar… I need to stop and think before I lose it and threaten to quit my job. Yes, I was that melodramatic.

That’s the first thing to have come out of all of this. I’ve been signed off work for a while so I’ve been focusing on my writing career. After all, there’s not much else to do while you’re housebound because you can’t stop running to the toilet. I don’t want to work there anymore either. It’s a dead end job and I need to get out. Throughout all of this, my boss has ignored me, called me a liar, asked for photos of sick notes he thought were made up…. That’s what it has come across to me anyway. Who ignores an employee that might have cancer? He never calls me back. He never messages me back. I need to quit my job and just be a writer. And 2015 is the year I’m determined to do it. I did say 2014 but I had a couple of setbacks what with trying to get myself out of debt, moving home, potentially having cancer, having two profitable websites being shut down due to a change in the legislation, and more. If those websites hadn’t been shut down, I might have made it. But they did. So I didn’t.

Let’s say they did find cancerous cells. I know bowel cancer can be treated especially when found early but that’s close enough to death as I’m willing to go right now. Who wants to spend their life, however long they may have left, in a job they can’t stand surrounded by two-faced people that literally don’t give a shit… or know how to do their own job properly? Cancer or not, I know this isn’t the right job for me. I’m starting to hate it.

So, step one is to quit my job and just be the writer I’ve always wanted to be.

Step two is getting Jock out of my life. I haven’t heard from him since he shouted at me and I hung up on Tuesday. It’s now Thursday. He didn’t ask me how the colonoscopy went on Monday. He didn’t even bother to call. He just assumed I’d message him. Fair enough but if someone I apparently loved was having a colonoscopy, I’d have made it my duty to go with them, or at the very least call them after to find out how it went. Everyone else did. Prick.

He doesn’t know that they found that polyp. They don’t know that the entire experience was traumatic. He doesn’t know that I need to now wait 10-14 days to find out whether or not they found cancer cells. He doesn’t know that I’ve been signed off again until basically the end of the month. He doesn’t know about the IBS or the diverticulosis. He doesn’t know that I need to make massive diet changes, and that I’m probably going to need to take pills multiple times per day for the rest of my life. He doesn’t know. Actions speak louder than words… I reckon he’s said enough now, don’t you?

I’m 28. I want to get married again, have babies and live happily ever after. That’s becoming increasingly obvious now. I DO want all that even though I didn’t think I did. I don’t want to be an older mother either so I need to get a bit of a move on. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not going to go out this weekend and find some Friday-night wonder who will squirt their stuff up me and get me pregnant. But I am now proactively looking for someone to date, fall in love with, get married to, and have babies with. Preferably before I’m 31-32 ish. That gives me four years. I did want to be a mother before the age of 30 but I can’t see that happening now, can you?

Jock isn’t the guy that will provide me with all of that. I can’t get him to commit to a couple of hours with me one evening so getting him down the aisle is probably out of the question. Plus he’s never going to get himself out of debt or be the guy he pretended to be when we first started dating. He’s still living in a trailer with no real heating. The Ex is always going to be an issue. I’ll never be an important enough priority in his life. I get it. It’s fine. Well, it’s not but there’s not much I can do about it. And yes it hurts. I’m sad. I cried when I had this moment of realisation yesterday when I was waiting for a man to fix my leaking shower. My life is not going the right way.

Step three is to get myself out of debt. Obviously. Except this time I’m really going to try and do it. I really am. I haven’t bought new shoes in ages. I have been paying stuff off as and when I can. The fact I’ve had so much time off work hasn’t helped. My wages have gone right now. And for a while I was really kinda sad and didn’t really go near my laptop. Well, not to work anyway.

Three stages to recovery. Three stages of getting my life back on track. I’m kinda going with the I-don’t-have-cancer thought. I want my life, and I want my life to go the way I want it to. So I’m going to make it happen.

Every cloud has a silver lining and all that 🙂