Honestly though, what a week it's been.

The biggest piece of good news arrived completely out of the blue. My daughter woke up one morning and she could walk again.

After weeks of being unable to walk following her seizure episodes, seeing her stand up and take those first steps felt nothing short of a miracle. I don't think I've ever been so happy. We've still got a long way to go, but after pushing wheelchairs, countless hospital visits and wondering what would happen next, seeing her walk again was the best gift I could have asked for.

Then it was my turn to spend some quality time with the NHS.

I had another episode of post-menopausal bleeding, so off I went to the hospital. First came the ultrasound, then the waiting around to see the gynaecologist.

When I finally got called in, I discovered they wanted to do a biopsy there and then.

Absolutely no chance.

My pain threshold is through the roof, but I'd been sitting in the waiting room watching ladies come out looking pale, uncomfortable and clutching their stomachs. Some looked genuinely distressed. I knew straight away that if I needed a biopsy, I wanted it done under anaesthetic.

The doctor explained that my womb lining had increased from 2mm to 5.2mm in just three months, which definitely needs investigating.

Now, before anyone panics, it doesn't automatically mean anything sinister, but it does mean they need to find out why it's happening.

If you notice something isn't right, please get it checked.

It's very easy to put things off or convince yourself it's nothing, but I'm glad I listened to my instincts and got it investigated.

As if hospitals weren't enough excitement for one week, I also joined a new dentist.

Now there's a sentence nobody has ever said with enthusiasm.

The saga started when I needed a filling over an implant screw hole. The problem was, I couldn't seem to get the right words out. You know when you know exactly what you mean, but your mouth refuses to cooperate? That was me. The receptionist looked confused, I looked confused, and the conversation quickly turned into a game of "guess what Charlotte is trying to say." After several attempts, hand gestures and increasingly creative descriptions, we finally worked it out. By the end of it, I think we were both relieved that we'd managed to figure out what on earth I was trying to book!

Then came round two.

I'd booked both myself and my daughter in for appointments and deposits had been taken for both. Naturally, I assumed both appointments existed.

Wrong.

On Monday we arrived to discover that my appointment was there, but my daughter's hygienist appointment had somehow been cancelled.

Very annoying.

To make matters worse, the receptionist who had originally dealt with the booking wasn't there, so nobody was entirely sure what had happened.

Thankfully, after a bit of detective work and some juggling of appointments, they managed to fit my daughter in and everything was sorted.

No dental disasters. Just unnecessary stress.

And because life clearly thinks I enjoy medical appointments, next up is another hospital trip.

Honestly though, why does every hospital appointment feel like a military operation?

On Tuesday, my daughter and I headed off to London Bridge Hospital for a day of tests. Thinking I was being organised, I had pre-booked a parking space in a particular road nearby. I'd even pre-boiled some baby sweetcorn to take with me in case I got hungry during the day, but typically I left it sitting in the fridge. I've been reading about Intuitive Eating recently and am hoping to follow its 10 principles this month, including recognising my hunger, making peace with food and honouring my health, so forgetting the snack I'd thoughtfully prepared wasn't exactly the best start.

After driving for what felt like forever at a thrilling top speed of 20mph, I finally arrived.

There was just one problem.

There were no spaces.

Not one.

After an hour and a half of driving, my heart sank.

I turned the corner onto a one-way street and then a miracle happened. A parking space became available right in front of me. Honestly, I nearly applauded.

With the car safely parked, I got my daughter into her wheelchair. According to the sat nav it was a seven-minute walk to the hospital, but with the heat and her health issues, that wasn't happening.

Then I spotted a black cab sitting nearby with its light on.

"Can you take us to London Bridge Hospital?" I asked.

Best decision of the day.

Within minutes we were there, sitting comfortably in the air conditioning instead of attempting a sweaty trek through London. We arrived early, which gave me enough time to fill in my pre-op form for my biopsy. Nothing says killing time quite like hospital paperwork.

My daughter then had a full set of cardiac investigations. First an ECHO scan, then an ECG, and finally she was fitted with a seven-day heart monitor. We were also given a spare one to take home in case the first one became unstuck.

The monitor honestly looks like somebody has stuck a miniature camera onto her chest. It looks highly suspicious and slightly futuristic. If she walks into a shop and security starts following her around, we'll know why.

After the appointment, we somehow managed to find our way back to the car, which felt like an achievement in itself.

Then came another hour and twenty minutes of driving at London's favourite speed limit - 20mph.

But there was a reward waiting at the end.

Venchi in Hampstead.

Now if you've never been, their ice cream is worth travelling for.

Because of my nut allergy, my choices are a little limited, but I happily settled on cappuccino, latte and caramel flavours. My daughter chose vegan chocolate and vegan chocolate with hazelnut and caramel.

We also bought a tub to take home, popped it into its box, and kept it cool with the car's air conditioning like it was precious cargo.

Remarkably, it survived the entire forty-five-minute journey home without melting.

A small victory, but a victory nonetheless.

By the time I finally got home, I was absolutely exhausted. The driving alone felt like a full-time job.

People often ask why I don't just get the Tube.

Normally I would.

But travelling on packed Underground trains in this heat with a daughter who has POTS, a wheelchair and hospital appointments isn't exactly the easiest option.

Sometimes the long drive is simply the lesser of two evils.

So Tuesday involved hospital tests, parking drama, London traffic, suspicious-looking heart monitors and a well-earned ice cream.

Honestly though, if there's one thing I've learnt recently, it's that every difficult day is improved by good ice cream.