This is the fourth part in sharing my personal experience of battling with ill health.
*Trigger Warning – Very sensitive topic being discussed in this post*
Continuing on from To the Point of No Return.
There was no disputing the fact now; I was disabled. A person with a disability.
How did it all come to this?
I was adamant that this was my fault, but kept questioning myself as to what had I done so wrong to deserve all this?
Moorfields had referred me to The National Hospital for Neurology and Neurosurgery, in London, to undergo a variety of tests to, hopefully, find the cause of all that had happened.
Over the next fortnight, I was constantly sleeping on and off, I received an appointment to have hearing aids fitted – at last, something to hope for!
I really tried to be positive on the day of my appointment, I kept telling myself, “This will work, it has to!”. Doubts started to etch in my mind, whilst we sat in the small waiting room, “What if this doesn’t work? What am I going to do?”.
A short man came into the waiting room and called my name, I only knew it was my turn as Mum stood up and had taken the brakes off my wheelchair. The audiologist placed my hearing aids in each ear and started testing different volumes, levels, and frequencies, etc. He explained to Mum that, even with hearing aids, my hearing will never be 100% perfect. To me, this just seemed like he was trying to reassure me, if the hearing aids were not to work. I knew, deep down, that my hearing would never be perfect, but I just yearned to be able to have a conversation without misinterpreting or not being able to understand.
The first time he tested, no change apart from increasing the volume of the background noises. Second time, no change. Third, nothing. After a few more attempts, it was clear that hearing aids would not work for me.
What was I going to do?
I slept for the next few days, the outcome of the appointment had drained me in more ways than one. Physically. Mentally. Emotionally.
When I was awake, I looked for disability aids online, to try and restore some of my independence. After scrolling through several pages, I almost threw up. It hit me, like a ton of bricks, that this was it. This was going to be how my life would pan out. A miracle would never happen to me.
I remember one afternoon, Mum tried to help me shower but it was upstairs, and I could no longer walk upstairs, so instead, I had to crawl up. I had central chest pains by the time I reached the top of the staircase which terrified me, I wasn’t sure if it was a panic attack or something else. I dragged myself into the bathroom and tried to pull myself up, by using the side of the bath, but with each pull I felt like I couldn’t breathe. I tried three times but by the third time, it felt like something was blocking my airway.
I gave up trying.
After breathing deeply to try and regulate my breathing, I mustered up enough energy to turn myself around with my back against the bath. I cried like I’d never cried before.
I convinced myself that this was going to be my last Christmas. I was weak, all I did was sleep. My eating disorder emerged from the shadows once again. To be honest, I did want my life to end, what was I living for? My health, my relationship, my job, everything was disappearing, fast.
I even started to write down what I wished for, in terms of my funeral.
Of course I was scared, but I wanted to be free of all the pain and misery. I had no quality of life.
I can’t remember Christmas; I must have just slept the majority of the day. New Year’s Eve arrived, I so badly wanted to see the back of 2017. It had been the year from hell.
I was very surprised that I made it to my 23rd birthday. I wanted to meet up with India in Norwich, but there was no way of me being able to manage a whole day, away from home where I could rest. Mum was going to take me and push me around Norwich, just so I could spend time with India.
The last time I crawled upstairs and slept in the same bed as Ewan, was the night before my birthday. Ewan kindly gave me some money to go shopping and treat myself. Everything I did, I thought it was going to be my last.
Mum drove us to Norwich and we met India about 11:30am. I was wrapped up in my blanket, scarf and gloves, in my wheelchair. But I was still so cold.
India bought me an awesome Harley Quinn jacket; I do love Harley Quinn! We also went to Primark, I can’t remember what I purchased, no doubt more socks to my ever-growing collection!
By 2pm, I was struggling to keep my eyes open, I felt guilty as India had travelled all the way from Essex to see me. I love this girl so much.
As we said goodbye, I hugged her so tightly, with tears in my eyes. I just knew this would be the last time I saw my best friend. It broke my heart as she walked away.
Days later, I went to see a nurse as I needed to have a blood test, routine, I think. As I tried to get into the car, I lifted my right leg to place inside but all the weight I tried to put on my left foot was not enough to steady myself on an icy patch. My right leg went underneath the car and my right leg bent; my right knee took the impact. I screamed in pain. I shouted, “Lay me down”, to Mum. She quickly laid my blanket on the road and wrapped it around me. I can’t remember if I changed my head against the road as I laid down.
Mum rushed indoors to get Ewan as he was the only one who was strong enough to lift me up. He eventually got me to my feet and supported me while getting into the car. I was in so much pain. We eventually got to the surgery and I was still shaking while waiting to be called in for my blood test. Mum tried to convince me to get checked over, but I didn’t want to make her late for work. I’d already caused enough problems with everything because of what I had been going through for the past year.
I fell asleep as soon as I got home.
I was getting checked every few weeks by my GP, mainly due to the bleeding. I saw her in the middle of February. She was concerned about my general health, there was an issue with my liver and thyroid in the results of the blood test. Plus, my teeth were rotting. She didn’t know what else to do other than to keep on checking me regularly. So, she booked another blood test for March.
At the end of February, it was time to go to London to hopefully find the cause of everything.
If you would like to continue reading my story, then please head over to The Week From Hell.