Life Update – Disability & Lifestyle Blog

Ullrich Awareness Day

Finally, after years of battling and campainging, we now have an official Ullrich Muscular Dystrophy Awareness Day!

It’s a particularly rare form of muscular dystrophy, which you probably haven’t heard of – until now. This awareness day means a great deal to me, since I was born with Ullrich congenital muscular dystrophy 35 years ago.

Ullrich is progressive, which means symptoms become worse over time. There is no treatment or cure.

Growing up with Ullrich

For me, the first signs were dislocated hips, so-called floppiness, and delayed development. I lost the ability to walk, rather abruptly, at age 10, though I could never climb steps or stairs, and needed leg splints until becoming non-ambulant. I wasn’t sad to say goodbye to those splints! Even if it meant having to sit on my bum forevermore.

School, particularly high school, was tough for a number of reasons. I used a manual wheelchair and relied on others to push me. Racing around the playground with my friends at the handlebars was fun. But other times, I was left quite literally stranded, unable to self-propel.

P.E. lessons were traded for physiotherapy, and much time was spent absent due to ill health, hospital admissions, and operations (for example, to release the tendons in my feet).

Scoliosis and Spinal Surgery

Ullrich affects respiratory function, resulting in frequent chest infections and, for me, numerous bouts of pneumonia. Scoliosis (curvature of the spine) exacerbates all these issues since the lungs and other organs are squashed. Many opt for corrective surgery, which I was offered at the age of 9.

Bear in mind, it was 1998 and things were very different back then. The surgery itself was not at all like it is today, and the recovery period much longer and riskier. With little to no information or guidance, I ultimately decided not to go ahead with the spinal fusion (yes, even at that age, it was my choice).

Given the opportunity to talk to others with muscular dystrophy, older individuals who’d gone through the surgery – at that time there was no social media, and I didn’t know of anyone with my disability – perhaps my decision would have been different. Armed with the insight of exactly how my condition would progress and the impact on my adult life, it’s likely I would have put myself through the relatively short-term trauma for the long-term benefit.

Scoliosis – in my case, an ‘S’ shaped curvature – affects posture, balance, respiratory function and causes pain, discomfort, pressure sores and asymmetry of the torso. It is a mammoth task to find clothes that fit, and so I wear baggy tops that hide my body. Furthermore, the compression caused by scoliosis causes me to become full, bloated and breathless after very small quantities of food.

My Life Now

For me, the biggest battles are, and always were, with my health and respiratory decline, and managing care – I’m sure many of you can empathise with the latter!

I cannot weight-bear, am unable to independently transfer, and I need help with, well, most things, including personal care. Thanks to funding provided by Direct Payments, I’ve been recruiting PAs for the last 18 years. While the ongoing process can be stressful, it has, without doubt, afforded me a greater quality of life.

Despite the many challenges I’ve faced throughout my 35 years with Ullrich, (I won’t pretend it’s been easy), I attended mainstream school, moved on to Sixth Form College where I achieved 3 A-Levels (AAB), and later studied for a BA (hons) degree in Art & English.

I learnt to drive a car from my powered wheelchair (though no longer able to, due to the deterioration of my condition). I became an employer, a writer and blogger, and, most excitingly, I recently got engaged!

Housing

My fiancé and I continue to find ourselves navigating the never-ending obstacles relating to life with a disability. Of course, we want nothing more than to live together, as independently as possible, but the social housing crisis and dire lack of accessible properties is, at present, preventing us from doing so. Frustratingly, the overwhelming attitude we’re confronted with is that if we, as disabled people, are “suitably housed”, there’s no cause for us to be rehoused or to relocate. Even now, in 2024, we lack the same equality and freedom of choice as able-bodied people!

The Future

I’m well aware that our options are limited and that reaching our goals, as a couple, may take years. I’m also not ignorant of the fact that my condition, which is life-limiting, will continue to progress, resulting in the further loss of ability. Nevertheless, we battle on, as we always have. Again, this is not a lifestyle choice, but a necessity when living with Ullrich muscular dystrophy.

Darker Days & Silver Linings

Happy Halloween, folks!

As much as I love the spooky season, I’ll be glad to see the end of October this year.

I fell ill on the first Saturday of the month, and I’m still not fully recovered.

It’s now over 4 weeks since I left the house, or saw anyone other than immediate family and carers.

For me, this isn’t unusual. Prolonged periods of chronic illness and isolation are, unfortunately, all too familiar.

A simple cold can very quickly progress into pneumonia – a frequent occurrence over the years, resulting in lengthy hospital admissions.

The vast majority of people don’t understand how I can be so ill for so long. Why would they? It’s hard to comprehend something you’ve no knowledge or experience of.

Muscular Dystrophy

This is why my primary aim is to inform and raise awareness of the rare condition, Ullrich congenital muscular dystrophy.

Most so-called medical professionals are totally clueless. It’s therefore no surprise that I’m met with blank faces when telling people about my disability.

Muscular Dystrophy? What’s that?

Explaining the ins and outs of my condition and how it affects me, can be exhausting. But it’s also important.

I’m almost 34, and, for me, the most debilitating and frustrating part of my disability is the daily fatigue and impact on my respiratory health.

As the saying goes, ‘health is wealth’.

Living with Chronic Illness

It can be incredibly difficult to remain optimistic when living with a progressive condition and chronic illness.

This past month has been tough!

Following three decades of cancelled plans, missed opportunities, and life on pause, here are a few things I’ve learnt:

1. Never make decisions when at your lowest.

2. Try not to withdraw or push people away. Knowing I’m unable to commit to plans, it can be easier to distance myself from people to avoid letting them down.

3. Reach out to loved ones.

4. Find joy in simple things.

5. Don’t waste valuable time, energy and effort on that which doesn’t serve you.

6. Set goals and make plans!

7. Focus on what and who matters most to you.

Accessing Cornwall | Summer Holiday

Godrevy, Cornwall. Photo taken by Carrie Aimes

My summer kicked off back in June with a holiday to sunny Cornwall, and I’m still longing for those soothing sea views.

Living in the landlocked midlands, as I do, situates us far from the coast. So, for me, a trip to the seaside is a real treat.

I stayed in the biggest accessible room I’ve ever seen at a Premier Inn, located in Camborne.

There was enough space to have a party, and the disabled facilities were well-considered. I would highly recommend this particular hotel for wheelchair-users who require multiple carers and mobility equipment, due to the expansive floor area.

Whilst in Cornwall, I spent my days being chauffeured around by a good friend who lives locally. What a lovely obliging boy he is!

In all seriousness, it was great to get away and spend time with one of the few people I can completely relax and be myself with.

The first three days were gloriously hot and sunny, which allowed us to explore Godrevy, Polly Joke poppy fields, Lands End and Penzance.

On the Friday night, we had a mate date in Falmouth where a lively sea shanty festival was taking place. I chucked pizza at myself (unintentionally) and stained my lovely lovely dress. Standard.

We briefly met up with a group of people, one of whom instantly recognised my midlands dialect, which amused me somewhat since I didn’t think I had an identifiable accent. Apparently I do!

She and I talked about how different the Cornish lifestyle is. And it’s true. People seem friendlier, happier and more patient. The pace of life is slower and calmer, and the area itself couldn’t be more of a contrast to what I’m familiar with. It’s a place you move to, not from. Idyllic!

Looking out to sea, Penzance – Following our visit to Land’s End

On the weekend, the weather took a turn for the worse, along with my health. For no obvious reason, my chest played up on the Saturday, and so we chilled at Ross’s place all day – the most immaculate abode I ever did see. Ralphus (the dog) tried to cheer me up by licking my entire face rather enthusiastically. I have to say, it was the best snog I’ve had in a while!

By Sunday, I was feeling much better, so we drove to Newquay with the intention of visiting the aquarium. However, once parked up, we encountered a rather unfortunate wheelchair malfunction. After laughing inappropriately, I grabbed a somewhat confused passer-by for assistance, before making our way home, without saying hello to the aquarium fishies.

Next time, fishies. Next time!

Though sad to leave, it was a much-needed positive start to the summer after a tricky few months.

Cornwall, thanks for the memories. I’ll be seeing ya! ♥

The Last 6 Weeks | Disability Battles & Small Wins

May was a funny old month, with slightly schizophrenic weather (is it summer yet?!), and some much needed time to myself.

Since I last blogged in April, I’ve been mostly occupied with life admin and catching up with friends.

The former doesn’t sound very exciting, and it isn’t, but as anyone with a disability or chronic illness knows, there are many ongoing battles to be fought.

I met with various doctors, occupational therapists, and mobility equipment reps. I even managed to recruit a new carer, not easy in the current climate, to drive me from place to place in my Motability WAV (wheelchair accessible vehicle).

My powered wheelchair, partly held together with gaffer tape, continues to fall to pieces, and is now in need of new batteries.

Why do they suddenly decide to fail, without warning??

This is all the more challenging since it isn’t a NHS chair, and so I am responsible for sourcing and funding repairs.

Despite actively bidding online and pursuing a move for over a decade, I still live with my parents in their home – far from ideal for any 33 year-old!

Finally, after a consistent bombardment of calls and emails, community housing managers agreed to meet with me in person.

Though empathetic, they openly admitted it is very much a postcode lottery issue, (I couldn’t tell you how many times I’ve heard that excuse). Consequently, it could take years to rehouse me!

I will persevere and hope for the best, while maintaining realistic expectations.

On a happier note, May provided some space for myself, as my folks took a little staycation.

People often misunderstand my need for solitude. Then again, these people have their own homes and the freedom to do as they please, when they please. It’s about freedom of choice and being able to live life on my terms.

As tiresome and frustrating as it is, this is the reason I battle with medical professionals, OT’s, community housing, social services, and so on – for a better quality of life!

“Though she be but little, she is fierce”

~ William Shakespeare

Storytime | Life Lessons ♿

Years ago, during a university art class, a fellow student sat idly, pissing and moaning about how awful and unfair his life was. (He wasn’t literally pissing, by the way. That would be odd!).

There, in my powered wheelchair, with teeth clenched, I chose to remain quiet while he complained about his superficial, so-called ‘problems’.

As I recall, he’d depleted the bank of mum and dad on nights out and booze, meaning he couldn’t afford to go clubbing again that week.

Oh dear, what an awful shame!

A lad opposite, who I didn’t know well, kept looking at me with a shared expression of annoyance – I remember it vividly. He finally interrupted, “you know what mate, we’ve all got problems! Maybe look around sometime”.

I couldn’t help but smile and offer a nod of respect.

I was 20 at the time. Now 33, my tolerance for ignorance and entitlement has dissipated with age.

Truth is, everyone, at some point in life, will encounter problems, challenges and setbacks. Indeed, we all feel stressed and depressed from time to time – these feelings are completely valid.

Of course, feeling depressed is NOT the same as suffering from depression itself. (That’s a whole other topic, which I won’t go into here).

I’m sure we’ve all been told, “others have it worse off”. While I find this phrase unhelpful and somewhat dismissive, I must concede, it is often true (sorry, not sorry!).

Not to undermine anyone’s struggles or experiences, I do think it’s fair to say that the problems of some people are far greater than those of others – to gain a little perspective, all you need to do is switch on the news!

Admittedly, over the years, I’ve allowed myself to indulge in moments of self-pity (not an attractive trait). The dark pit of despair is easy to fall into, and difficult to climb out of.

That said, I’ve never sulked or felt sorry for myself over what I consider petty complaints, such as missing out on a social gathering or event. Honestly, I’ve no time or patience for that sort of nonsense. Again, it’s about perspective.

For context, I live with a very rare, progressive, muscle-wasting condition (Ullrich congenital muscular dystrophy). Unable to weight-bear, I use a powered wheelchair and rely on carers to assist with physical activities. In addition, associated health issues affect everyday life.

On my darkest days, I would ask – Why me? What have I done to deserve this crap?

Funnily enough, no higher power ever answered. Which later lead me to ask – Why not me? What makes me so special?

Shit happens! And yes, some of us face more than our fair share of it. But like it or not, we must learn to accept, adapt and deal with it – limitation, loss, grief, disability, pain, trauma, illness…

What’s the alternative? Hide under the duvet covers and wallow? Trust me, that sort of self-destructive behaviour can only create further problems.

If I’ve learnt anything, it’s that life isn’t fair.

I continue to battle with frustration due to my health, physical limitations and circumstances over which I have no control. So, I now try my best to practice gratitude and remind myself of all the good things I am blessed with. I don’t always succeed, but I try.

I also find it hugely beneficial to avoid self-indulgent doombrains like the aforementioned art student!

Ouch! | Growing Up with Muscular Dystrophy

Much of my early childhood was spent collapsing on the floor, unable to get myself up.

Such fun, such fun!

Born with a rare form of congenital muscular dystrophy, I could only ever walk short distances, awkwardly, with the aid of custom-made leg splints.

Photo of me, aged 4, stood in primary school uniform and wearing leg splints

Photo of me (right), aged 8, with a primary school friend (left)

I was never able to climb stairs or tackle curbs. I tried, many times…and failed.

I would manage to stumble a few steps then drop in a heap.

At 33, my bony knees remain scarred from recurrent injuries. Small marks on my forehead serve as a reminder of falling forward onto the patio as a kid – That one hurt!!

At around the age of 9, I tumbled from a horse after it bolted unexpectedly. The result was a battered and bruised bum, as well as a lost riding boot!

Still, I got back on the horse – (well, I was lifted) – knowing I had no other option, since I couldn’t raise myself from that muddy puddle and walk away.

In 1998, aged 10, I became completely non-ambulant and dependent on my manual wheelchair.

Photo of me, at primary school, sat in my manual wheelchair

Though it was some relief to no longer struggle desperately to stay on my feet, I then found myself thrown from my wheelchair on numerous occasions – whether due to misjudged terrain, being pushed too fast around the school grounds, the absence of belt straps and anti-tippers (I know, I know), or simple recklessness.

Oh well, you live and learn!

Now, I’m teeny tiny in stature and so, I’ve always been manually lifted and quite literally chucked around. This, inevitably, lead to further falls – or rather, being dropped on the floor and bashed against furniture.

Most of the time, I managed to laugh it off – shit happens! Other times, it was pretty damn painful.

Some years ago, a routine chest X-ray revealed a fractured lower rib.

The radiographer approached me to ask if I knew about the fracture. I told him I did, (how could I forget?). He then asked if I attended A&E following the accident – “No, what’s the point? Nothing can be done for a fractured rib”.

Though visibly surprised, he shrugged and agreed.

There are many more incidents I could recall, such as ramming my powered wheelchair – and my knees – into the bathroom sink, (unintentionally, of course!).

My bloody knee, after I accidentally rammed my powered wheelchair into the bathroom sink!

My point is, in life, we fall, we get hurt, we break. We can either wallow in self pity, or take the knocks on the chin, (sometimes literally), and choose to get over it.

Saying that, I could do without anymore ouch moments!

“Falling down is how we grow. Staying down is how we die.” ~ Brian Vaszily

Navigating Love & Life as a Disabled Woman | Muscular Dystrophy

Let’s be honest, when we’re young, we’re all enticed by a pretty face or a good body. Attraction is primarily physical, and to put it bluntly, at 18, most of us would shag anything with a pulse – opportunity is everything.

I cringe when looking back at some of the guys I fancied and gave my attention to! What the bloody hell was I thinking?!

Each to their own, but I was never a one-night-stand type. And not because I’m a tiny, delicate woman in a wheelchair, and therefore more vulnerable. That didn’t even occur to me. Oh, the naivety of youth!

A collage of four photos of me in my powered wheelchair

Much later, I reluctantly signed up to dating app Hinge, which lasted a total of two months.

I tried modern dating (eurgh!), which, in my limited experience, seemed to consist of shallow idiots and the phrases “you’re no one’s type”, “get in the car!” and, “let’s book a hotel room”.

Responding with a firm no, I was told to “fuck off then”.

There are some lovely people out there!

On reflection, it probably wasn’t the best idea to tell one bloke that his car was shit, but it made me laugh as I rolled home alone in my powered wheelchair.

Growing up, a friend of mine repeatedly told me, “you need a big strong guy to pick you up and throw you around”.

I can see where she was coming from, but even as a young teen, I always thought, why? Don’t I just want someone to care?

Eventually, I did date that guy – the gym guy. And yes, for the first few months it was great. It was fun, liberating, and as another friend once said, “he gave you a sense of independence and adventure”. She was totally right.

In terms of practicality, it made life a hell of a lot easier for me, as a non-ambulatory wheelchair-user. For a fleeting moment, I thought that was what I wanted.

But, ultimately, I couldn’t rely on him and I felt very much like an option, a burden, and too much to take on due to my disability. He was physically incredibly strong, but mentally and emotionally very weak.

I didn’t realise it at the time, but at that stage, I was willing to accept the bare minimum – stupid girl!

I invested my time and energy in the wrong place, the wrong person.

The experience changed my outlook and, as cliché as it sounds, made me realise my worth.

You live, you learn, you move on.

As we get older, our perspective, values and priorities change.

These days, I can’t think of anything worse than attempting to flirt (awkwardly) with some Tinder clone. Quite frankly, I’d rather cuddle up at home, alone, with a nice cuppa tea!

At 33, my life certainly isn’t as I imagined or hoped for as a kid. Then again, with age comes the realisation that life rarely turns out as planned.

I’m no longer impressed by aesthetics. Trust me, a pretty face will only get you so far in life.

Above all, what I want is someone to care, unconditionally. Simple as that.

Don’t we all??

Don’t get me wrong, I cherish my alone time and independence, and I’m more than capable of caring for and supporting myself (mentally, anyway).

I’ve endured a fair amount of crap and spent over 90% of my life single. I’m certainly not the type to need a man.

I’m not interested in grand gestures, a lavish lifestyle, fancy house, or gym-bods!

But, for someone to choose you, want you, and stand by you, even when the shit hits the fan – especially when the shit hits the fan! That, to me, means the world.

Me, in my powered wheelchair, looking out to sea

What I’ve Been Up to Lately | Muscular Dystrophy

Following a decent run of health, things took a dive in October, with one thing after another.

Covid hit me hard and put me out of action for a good 6 weeks, which meant another November birthday spent ill and alone.

I won’t lie, it wasn’t the best of times. But I do have the best parents who, despite being in their 60s, support and care for me, no questions asked. I don’t know where I’d be without them.

My dad – a man of few words, and the best man I ever did meet – wrote a really touching message in my birthday card, which had me in tears (it was a teary few months!).

As the new year approached, I tried my best to pick myself up and get back to some kind of normal – whatever that means.

Gotta keep on keeping on, right!

2022

Firstly, I dyed my hair from the usual blonde to brunette (wild, I know).

22^nd Feb: The first face-to-face appointment with my muscular dystrophy consultant since 2019.

The highlight was buying a shit load of fruit and veg from the market stall on the way out – I know how to live!

9^th March: Beauty and the Beast at Birmingham Hippodrome.

The show was magical and this theatre is, by far, the best and most accessible I’ve visited.

It’s been a while since I roamed around Birmingham at 11pm – Such a rebel!

Things I’ve been enjoying

It’s a Sin – Set in London during the 80s AIDs epidemic, this 5-part miniseries has a great cast, a brilliant soundtrack (in my opinion), and the final episode is heartbreaking.

This is Going to Hurt – Having read the book by dry-witted former doctor Adam Kay, I was keen to check out this TV adaptation, and I wasn’t disappointed. It is funny, brutal, tragic and eye-opening. I highly recommend this one!

Lord of the Rings – Now 20 years old, I decided to indulge in a solo movie marathon and revisit this epic trilogy.

Samwise has always been my favourite character. And why? His loyalty is unwavering and unconditional. We all need a Samwise in our lives!

Plus, the actor, Sean Astin, starred in The Goonies (1985), and remember, “Goonies never say die”!

~ BIG 80s fan here!!

Duolingo – At the grand old age of 33, I’m attempting to learn French, (super cool), after dropping the subject in year 9, in favour of German. And this time, I’m sticking with it.

Looking forward…

Spring is now well on the way, and with that comes warmer, sunnier, happier days ahead.

Though I’m no longer able to drive, which is incredibly limiting and frustrating, I will endeavour to get out and about as much as physically possible.

June – I’m off to Cornwall to spend some time with a good friend, and, of course, to see the sea – a rarity for this landlocked Midlander.

August – I’m excited to return to the Birmingham Hippodrome to see Les Misérables (for the second time).

I love the theatre, having seen many shows over the years. It’s one of my favourite things to do.

33 | Getting “Old” With Muscular Dystrophy

According to Generation Z, once you hit 30, you’re OLD!!

Photo of an old woman, wearing sunglasses and holding up both middle fingers

I recently turned 33 (positively primeval!) which, I guess, means I should be stocking up on Pond’s wrinkle cream, Werther’s Original, and tea – lots of tea!

Considering I still look 12 – a blessing and a curse – I might save my pennies and give the wrinkle cream a miss. I do love a cuppa, though.

A fairly recent selfie of me, in my powered wheelchair, wearing ‘old lady’ fluffy socks and no makeup

33

This year’s birthday was a tough one…

In October, I caught Covid (bit of a buggar!), which hit me hard.

“Normal” life came to an abrupt halt and, 5 weeks later, I’m still struggling with breathlessness, pain and exacerbated chronic fatigue.

For those of you who don’t know, I was born with a rare form of Muscular Dystrophy – a progressive condition. Consequently, my lung function is total crap, immunity impaired, and a significant scoliosis causes my internal organs to fight for space.

Illustration provided courtesy of ‘The Disabled Life‘

~ Find out more about my life with Congenital Muscular Dystrophy ~

I’m a seasoned pro when it comes to extended periods of enforced isolation and inactivity, resulting from a lifetime of ill health. Fortunately, I’m more than comfortable with my own company!

In all seriousness, spending your days sat in the same chair, in the same room, attached to a ventilator 24/7, unable to make it as far as the kitchen, let alone leave the house – it’s…really not good!

This latest period of downtime allowed me to reflect on my 33 years – what I’ve learned, and what I want to focus on going forward.

My Life Lessons

Stop caring what others think of me

(because, actually, they’re probably not thinking anything)

I can trace this back to a comment made by a fellow pupil at primary school who told me, “you look normal when you sit down but really weird when you walk”.

A photo of me, aged 4 or 5, wearing primary school uniform and visible leg splints

I remember it vividly and, ever since, I’ve been painfully self-conscious, particularly about my appearance. But, now I’m ‘old’, I’m trying not to care about the opinions of others, especially total strangers.

Take me as I am or not at all.

Be my true, authentic self

I once had a (sort of) date which ended up in the guy’s completely bare bedroom. In this room was only a bed, some strewn clothes and a copy of, Alice in Wonderland. Rather than attempt to flirt and seduce (yeah, I’m cool), I turned my attention to the book and asked what it meant to him.

His answer made an impression on me:

“I like it because it’s about being open-minded, being yourself, holding onto your identity, and being comfortable with who you are. I’m weird, you’re weird, everyone’s weird! And that’s a good thing, in my view.”

Man, he was…DEEP!

Don’t waste my time, effort or tears on those who don’t care

I think, for most of us, our social circle becomes smaller as we age. And this isn’t a bad thing! On the contrary, you learn who you can be your unfiltered self with, who is willing to tell it as it is, who has your back, and who you can count on when times are hard – the ‘no matter what’ friends and family.

I am guilty of investing too much energy into the wrong people. But, from here on, I will realise my worth and focus only on those who bring joy to my life.

Well, I must now bring this lengthy blog post to a close and get back to my milky tea and digestive biscuits.

~ The content old fart that I am!

Image of an old lady happily drinking a cup of tea

I Caught Covid

For the past three weeks, I’ve been battling Covid, having tested positive on 27th October. I was, in fact, due to receive my booster jab the following day. Bloody typical! Despite being double vaccinated, the virus hit me hard, really hard.

Physically disabled from birth, I’m one of the many considered ‘clinically extremely vulnerable’.

My condition, Ullrich congenital muscular dystrophy, is rare, progressive and affects lung function. This is made worse by a spine that’s as crooked as a question mark and a squashed torso.

I’ve always been a “sickly kid”, susceptible to respiratory viruses, which become more and more difficult to overcome, the older I get.

Throughout my 32 years, a considerable amount of time has been spent in hospital. I’ve endured several bouts of pneumonia, pleurisy and a collapsed lung. Furthermore, my immune system is very much suppressed and affected by at least 15 surgeries under general anaesthetic – I stopped counting after a while.

It’s fair to say, my fragile, little body has taken a battering. And I am tired.

These days, it takes at least a month before I even begin to improve. Life quite literally comes to a stop. Once symptomatic, I become dependent on my BiPap ventilator 24/7. I go from bed, to chair, to bathroom. And that is how I exist. Time becomes meaningless and the days merge into one.

~ I’m not including photos of myself whilst ill because, well, I don’t want to. I don’t have the energy or interest for selfies, and, I don’t want pity. I don’t allow anyone other than my parents to see me in this state, it’s simply personal choice. ~

Few people really empathise and grasp the seriousness of the situation, which I totally appreciate. It’s difficult to comprehend something you haven’t seen or experienced for yourself. Admittedly, 20 year-old me wouldn’t understand either.

Life back then was very different. I was a night owl, regularly staying up until 4am and feeling fine the next day. I completed a coursework focused university degree, spending some days on campus from 9am – 9pm, followed by a 40 minute drive home. Though never a party girl, I did my fair share of drinking and socialising. Trips away with friends involving going out all day and every night, then clambering back to the hotel in the early hours just didn’t affect me. I had the energy and ability to do the things I wanted to do, and it was fun.

These days, it takes everything I have to get out of bed (assisted by carers) and shower.

It’s not the life I wanted or hoped for. But it’s all I have to work with. And yes, it does affect my mood, attitude, point of view and relationships.

A LOT of my time is spent resting. Of course, I would much rather be out, exploring, experiencing, making memories, living it up, and doing fun, daring, exciting activities. But I simply can’t.

Though I try to hide the severity of my condition, a select few people, whom I trust and am closest to, know how much I struggle.

I only told four people about my Covid diagnosis. Mainly because, well, it isn’t the happiest subject, is it! And right now, all of my resources are focused on recovery.

Inevitably, word gets around, and neighbours as well as family friends are also now aware. And they’ve been absolutely incredible.

To the people who expressed genuine concern, care and support – thank you so very much! You know who you are, and I value each and every one of you.

The generous gifts, cards and daily messages have been a huge comfort. I’ve even received medical supplies, vitamins and immune boosting supplements from friends! Real friends who step-up when life is pretty shitty.

Knowing that people care is worth more than anything in life.

To close this rather rambly and inarticulate post, I want to pay the biggest tribute to my parents, particularly my mum, who has patiently cared for me throughout, and not left my side. It’s not only my life that’s been put on hold by Covid, but theirs too.

For those who don’t know, I still live with my parents, in their home. It’s far from ideal and we do butt heads from time to time. But the love and loyalty is unconditional.

My mum is 67, suffers from arthritis, and, four years ago, underwent knee replacement surgery. She’s lead an incredibly challenging life, which I won’t go into. She is an UNPAID carer. She does not receive a single penny to care for me, and yet, she does it without question or complaint.

To whoever is reading this, please acknowledge the country’s thousands of unseen, undervalued, unpaid carers. Let’s raise awareness of the situation and show them some care, support and gratitude!

Those who work regular 9-5 jobs get to come home at the end of the day and relax. For family carers, the work never ends. It is relentless, grueling, and it impacts their lives as well as their mental and physical health.

Something has to change!