Monday 6th July – Running on Coffee and Cake 

Today is my boyfriend's birthday, so despite only managing around six hours' sleep after our unexpected trip to A&E in the early hours, I was determined to make the most of the day.

The lack of sleep definitely caught up with me, and I think coffee became my best friend today! I'm now onto my third coffee of the day, although only the first one was caffeinated. The last two have been decaf because the last thing I need is the jitters on top of everything else!

I also had to pop to the nail salon to have one gel nail removed, ready for my biopsy and hysteroscopy tomorrow. It's funny how something as small as removing one nail suddenly makes everything feel very real. I've tried not to think about tomorrow too much, but I'd be lying if I said I wasn't feeling a little anxious. Then again, I'm so tired I could really do with a few extra hours of sleep.

My Tesco delivery was due today, but typical... three of the items I needed were out of stock. So after having my nail done, I ended up driving to Sainsbury's to pick up the missing bits. There's always something, isn't there?

Back at home, I managed to get three loads of washing done so the kids will have everything they need while I'm at the hospital on Tuesday. Luckily, it was 30 degrees outside, so everything dried in about 30 minutes. I'll probably be out for around 12 hours, so I wanted to make sure everything was organised before I go. It's one less thing to worry about.

This afternoon, my daughter also had a telephone appointment with her "first" adult neurologist. It was a fairly positive call, and he arranged several further investigations, including inpatient EEG video telemetry and a referral to Endocrinology. It's reassuring that things are moving forward, even though there's still a long road ahead to finding the answers we've been searching for.

This evening, my boyfriend and I went out for dinner to celebrate his birthday. After everything that's happened over the last couple of days, it will be nice to switch off for a little while and celebrate him. He has been incredibly supportive through all the ups and downs, and I'm grateful we'll get to spend some time together before tomorrow's procedure.

Sometimes life is a strange mix of emotions. One day you're sitting in A&E in the middle of the night; the next you're preparing for a hospital procedure while celebrating someone you love, all while receiving news about the next stage of your daughter's medical journey. That's life, I suppose, never quite predictable.

Tuesday – Biopsy Day

Tuesday started very early – 5:00am to be precise. I didn't want to risk missing my 6:30am taxi to the hospital for my biopsy.

The taxi journey was unexpectedly interesting. I ended up having a long chat with the driver, who told me he'd escaped Afghanistan after the Taliban took over. He shared how his brother had been killed, his mum had been beaten, and how he eventually managed to build a new life in London with his wife. Sadly, their marriage later broke down after she had an affair, but he has since brought his parents over to help him raise his children. It was one of those conversations that reminds you everyone has their own story and their own struggles.

I arrived at the hospital nice and early and spent some time chatting with other women who were also waiting for the same procedure. There was a strange sense of comfort knowing we were all feeling a little anxious together.

Once I was called through, I changed into my gown and settled onto my bed. A nurse then explained that I would be going down first because of my latex allergy. Apparently, once I'd finished, they could continue using latex equipment for the rest of the operating list, so it made sense to take me first.

At around 9:00am I walked down to theatre. I climbed onto the operating table, answered a few final questions, then they inserted a cannula into my hand—which, if I'm honest, was probably the most painful part of the whole morning! After a few injections and an oxygen mask, I don't remember anything else.

The next thing I knew, I was waking up in recovery feeling incredibly sleepy.

Back on the ward, I drifted in and out of sleep for what felt like hours. I kept hearing a car alarm going off somewhere outside, which was surprisingly annoying, but I was far too exhausted to do anything other than close my eyes again.

I also discovered they'd given me a whole litre of fluid through a drip while I was asleep, so by the time I woke up I desperately needed the toilet. Unfortunately, I was still too weak to walk, so I had to use a bedpan instead. Not exactly the highlight of my day!

Lunch wasn't exactly five-star dining either. I was handed what can only be described as the driest cheese sandwich imaginable—two slices of bread, two slices of cheese, no butter—and a carton of apple juice. Let's just say I've had better meals!

I really felt for the ladies opposite me, who still hadn't gone down for their operations by 1:00pm. They'd been fasting since the night before and were absolutely starving. It really puts things into perspective when you realise how long some people have to wait.

Before I was discharged, the gynaecologist came to see me and explained that my biopsy results should be back in around two weeks. So now begins the waiting game.

Once I was allowed home, I called Andrew to come and collect me, and I couldn't wait to get back to my own bed.

Now all I can do is wait, recover, and hope for good news.

Honestly, though... waiting is often the hardest part. 

Thursday – A Moment to Be Proud 

Thursday evening brought a much-needed change of pace. My daughter and I attended her ONEX Exhibition at college, where some of her artwork had been selected to be displayed.

As a mum, seeing her work hanging on the walls filled me with so much pride. After everything she's been through over the past year—endless hospital appointments, seizures and so many health challenges—this wasn't just an exhibition. It was a reminder that she's so much more than her medical conditions.

Watching her smile as she showed me each piece made every difficult day feel worthwhile. For a little while, we forgot about hospital appointments, biopsies and waiting for results, and simply enjoyed the moment.

I tried not to be the embarrassing mum, but inside I was absolutely bursting with pride. Moments like these deserve celebrating, and I couldn't have been happier for her.

Sometimes life gives you a gentle reminder that even in the middle of the chaos, there are still achievements worth shouting about. You just have to stop for a moment and appreciate them.

And honestly though... seeing your child's work hanging on a wall is worth more than any piece of art you could ever buy. 

Honestly Though… Life looks a bit different now, dinner with friends

There was a time when I was the life and soul of the party.

From my late teens into my twenties, I spent almost ten years clubbing. I danced until the lights came on, survived on very little sleep and thought nothing of heading to another bar because someone fancied "just one more drink."

I've been there.

I've done that.

I've got the T-shirt...

...and probably the ringing ears to prove it!

Fast forward a couple of decades and life looks a little different.

Now, when someone says, "Shall we walk to the next pub?" my first thoughts are...

How far is it?

Will my knee cope?

Is there somewhere to sit down?

What time can I get home?

Have the kids got everything they need?

Funny how life changes your priorities.

The conversation around the table was all about summer holidays, Love Island and nights out.

Mine was about hospital appointments, businesses, writing books, networking meetings and trying to remember which consultant I'm seeing next.

Neither conversation was wrong.

They're just very different.

Then someone asked me what I do all day because, apparently, I have "loads of time on my hands."

I nearly spat my drink out.

Some mornings I start working at 7am.

I run Promote2u.

I co-run Looking4care.

I'm writing my own Kids Cooking Parties recipe book.

I'm organising networking meetings.

I answer emails, design adverts, support customers and fit all of that around being a full-time carer, managing my own health and attending more hospital appointments than I'd care to count.

Working from home still seems to convince some people that you're permanently available for coffee!

There was also a comment that made me stop and think. It wasn't intended to be hurtful, but it made me realise how easy it is for people to underestimate what someone else is carrying.

People only see the few hours you're with them.

They don't see the hospital waiting rooms.

The sleepless nights.

The paperwork.

The caring responsibilities.

The pain.

The fatigue.

Or the endless appointments that fill your diary.

They see the version of you that managed to get dressed, put on a smile and make it out for the evening.

Honestly though...

You don't stop being the life and soul of the party because you've become boring.

Sometimes life simply hands you different priorities.

I still laugh.

I still love spending time with my friends.

I still enjoy going out.

But these days, I'd choose meaningful conversations over loud music, a cup of tea over another cocktail and getting home to my family over another late-night bar.

Growing older doesn't mean you've stopped living.

Sometimes it simply means you've discovered what really matters.

And if that makes me the one who leaves early, orders the tea, asks where the nearest chair is and can name more consultants than celebrities...

...I'm absolutely okay with that. 

Consultants, Blood Tests and Two Pounds

Just when I thought this week's hospital marathon was slowing down... along came Wednesday and Thursday.

On Wednesday, I took my daughter to see a rheumatologist.

Within minutes, he said he strongly suspects hEDS (Hypermobile Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome).

Honestly... we weren't exactly shocked.

At this point, adding another possible diagnosis almost feels like collecting Pokémon cards—except these are the ones nobody actually wants.

She just needs some blood tests to rule out anything else before it's confirmed, so once again... we wait.

Then came Thursday.

My turn.

I had my follow-up appointment with my rheumatologist, fully expecting to have a long conversation about how I've been feeling over the past three months.

You know... comparing notes on the aches, pains, fatigue and everything else my body has decided to throw at me.

Instead...

I think I was in and out quicker than it takes to queue for a coffee.

The consultant explained that we're now waiting for one final set of blood test results, which should be back in about two weeks. They should confirm whether I still have lupus anticoagulant.

Only then can we decide what happens next.

And yes... one of the questions I'm desperate to have answered is whether I'll finally be allowed to have weight-loss injections.

At the moment, nobody wants to make that decision until all the blood results are back.

So...

Guess what?

More waiting.

If there's one thing the NHS teaches you, it's patience.

Or at least it tries to!

The slightly frustrating part is that I did lose 2lb this week, which I'm really pleased about...

...except it's taken me four weeks to lose it.

Four.

Whole.

Weeks.

Menopause really does have a wicked sense of humour.

Years ago I'd cut out a few biscuits and accidentally lose half a stone.

Now I can practically sniff a lettuce leaf, count every calorie, drink enough water to refill a swimming pool, and my body says...

"Best I can do is half a pound."

Still...

A loss is a loss.

I'm trying to remind myself that slow progress is still progress, even if my scales seem to enjoy testing my patience almost as much as hospital waiting rooms.

Honestly though... between consultants, blood tests and stubborn scales, I'm beginning to think waiting deserves to be listed as one of my hobbies! 

Honestly Though... It's Been One of Those Weeks!

Can someone let me know when I became the villain in everyone else's story?

Because this week has been... character building. (Apparently.)

First, I was left wondering whether I'm talking about my health too much.

Now, don't get me wrong, I joke about it. If I didn't laugh, I'd probably cry. But considering my social life now consists of specialists, blood tests, scans, biopsies and consultants who all seem to know each other by first name, it's hardly surprising that health crops up in conversation.

Believe me...

If I had the choice, I'd much rather be talking about holidays than hospital waiting rooms.

Then, just when I thought the week couldn't get any better...

I found myself wondering if I'm actually rude.

Rude!

Apparently I've been rude to staff in country club.

Which staff?

Silence.

When?

Silence.

What did I say?

More silence.

I genuinely tried to work it out.

Was it when I asked if there was a disabled parking space for my daughter because there weren't any available, or those who had parked in the spaces didn't display a badge?

Was it when I committed the unforgivable crime of asking for the tomato to be removed from my cheese sandwich?

Or perhaps it was my outrageous request for someone to refill the soap dispenser in the ladies' toilets.

Apparently asking questions can be surprisingly controversial.

The funny thing is...

The very next day we received a customer review for Looking4care.

It described my communication as excellent.

It said I was kind.

Professional.

Reassuring.

It thanked Andrew and me for helping an elderly lady regain her confidence after coming home from hospital.

Reading that stopped me in my tracks.

Because it reminded me that one person's opinion doesn't define who you are.

Neither does one awkward conversation.

Here's what I've realised.

Not everyone will like you.

Some people will misunderstand you.

Some people will make assumptions.

And sometimes they won't even be able to explain why they've reached those conclusions.

That's hard when you're someone who genuinely tries to do the right thing.

This week upset me.

It really did.

Not because I expect everyone to agree with me.

But because I care.

Probably too much.

Then I remembered something.

The people who know me best don't judge me by one conversation.

They judge me by years of showing up.

By answering the phone when someone is desperate for help.

By finding carers at short notice.

By supporting my daughter.

By running businesses.

By trying—most days—to leave things a little better than I found them.

So no...

I'm not going to let one difficult week make me question my entire character.

I'm not going to let one conversation erase the hundreds of kind ones I've had over the years (including hundreds of fab customer reviews from Kids Cooking Parties).

And I'm certainly won't apologise for asking for disabled parking, a tomato-free sandwich or a bit of soap.

Honestly though...

Sometimes you can spend years trying to be kind, and all it takes is one difficult week to make you doubt yourself.

Don't let it.

Because the people who truly know your heart usually have a very different opinion.