It was a terrifying time in my life and being in and out of
hospital was a whole new world which was relentless and depressing in equal
measure. I was unbelievably relieved to be granted this operation which I’ve
been consequently advised after the event; proved to save my life. I was
expected to come round from the operation with a stoma; I didn’t, another fact I
took as a victory. I was gushing with joy (and the morphine was wearing off…)
at the outcome of my surgery. My scar now remains to show how far I’ve come
since then. It’s more like a proud battle scar in my mind now than something I initially
saw as a repulsive eyesore. It all seems a lifetime ago at this moment and I am
incredibly grateful I’ve been nowhere near as ill as I was back then. I’m not
under any illusions that I won’t be in the same position in years to come. I’m very
aware that due to that pesky incurable aspect of my condition, I will most
likely get worse rather than better and that any further surgeries I may have
to undertake will be decidedly riskier than the first. But I know how
determined I have become, and that I will run the risk of anything to make sure
I can be as healthy as possible and can make the most of the life I am so lucky
to have.
The reason I’m reliving all this for you is not to be
maudlin and self-pitying, but to reiterate to anyone reading that there are
always going to be trials in your life. However small or insignificant they may
seem compared to others, and you will always be tested. How you deal with those
tests is truly in your hands. You can allow yourself to lie down to the
challenges in your life and let yourself be steamrollered into the ground, or
you can choose to be bolder than you thought possible and face hard times with enthusiasm
and hope.
In the last few years I’ve been uploading these posts it’s
become apparent that many of you enjoying reading my writing. Being Scottish
and therefore practically incapable of accepting a compliment this in itself is
a bold move for me to admit. I’ve discovered how much I love writing; and this
blog in particular. It’s like a public diary for me (without all the explicit
stuff, and by that I obviously mean how many Jaffa Cakes I can eat in one
sitting) and a form of therapy in a way; to know many of you feel as I do,
disease or not, serves to remind me I’m not insane. And that I’m not alone. So I
suppose this post is really just to remind you all the same thing. My wonderful
friends and family have shown me in the last few weeks that I am truly loved.
It feels good to be reminded, because sometimes its necessary. I want to spread
some of that warmth your way. Whoever you are, you are not alone, the feelings
you feel are real and things are never as bad as they seem. There is always
someone willing to listen if you are willing to talk. Open up and let someone in.
I mean that in the least sexual way possible of course. My Dad might be reading
this.
And it’s 12 by the way.
12 bloody DELICIOUS Jaffa Cakes. My proudest achievement to
date.