All things must pass….

Last week I finally got an appointment with the pain specialist I have been waiting see. I had pinned my hopes on this Dr having some answers for me. He did. Unfortunately it wasn’t a diagnosis I wanted. 

My new consultant is convinced that I have Fibromyalgia.  As you may know I have been living with chronic illness for some time. I have a number of debilitating digestive tract issues. I also have problems maintaining a healthy haemoglobin level, which causes a raft of symptoms ranging from fatigue to angina attacks. Along with these known conditions I have increasingly had mystery symptoms. Pains with no definable cause, intensification of pain resulting from my health issues, continual sleep disturbance despite taking really quite strong sleeping pills, confusion , memory loss & needing to pee constantly. Add that to my existing physical symptoms & PTSD and you begin to get picture of what I’m dealing with. 

Pain in particular has been taking over my life. It limits almost everything. I can’t make plans, my social life has contracted & working outside the home is impossible. Even keeping up with housework is a mammoth task. I needed help. I was clinging to the idea that someone would find a problem that could be fixed. That I’d be offered surgery or medication of some crazy treatment, at the end of which I would reclaim some of my life. I knew that my diagnosed problems wouldn’t go away, but I held out hope that these newer cryptic concerns would be cured. Sadly, that is not to be. 

There is some relief in having someone say this is what’s wrong with you. I am glad not to have been patronised or had my mental health blamed again. I just wish the outlook was a bit sunnier. Since Thursday I have been adjusting to the fact that my pain is never going away. My current condition is likely to be my continuous one. I’ve had to read up on fibromyalgia & prepare myself for all it may mean. I have also been confronted with the new knowledge that pregnancy, which was never going to be straightforward is hugely impacted by fibro. This has been a big blow. I’ve wanted to be pregnant for a very long time. Knowing that I will most likely struggle to enjoy the experience is a punch in the gut. 

So, accepting this new diagnosis is a process. However, I am by no means defeated. I will start a new medication tomorrow. It’s likely to be a rough ride as it is harsh on the stomach, but the pain relief it can offer is worth trying for. I’ve already been referred to various groups & medical professionals. I’m doing my own research; I am open to anything. Expect to join me on a journey of experimentation with pain management techniques. 

I refuse to be beaten by this. Which is not to say I won’t bitch or wallow sometimes. I’m not superwoman. I accept my body will always place limitations on me. I also acknowledge that I am nowhere near to being at peace with that. I’m angry and sad, but not defeated. I have a very clear picture of the things I need to be happy. It’s just a case of working out how to achieve them within the confines of my illness. Let’s face it, I’ve been playing with a bad hand for a while, but I can bluff my way to a win. 

  

You can’t touch this…

It’s a rainy bank holiday Monday & I’ve decided to have a lazy day. I’m just casually scrolling through Facebook when a post gets my attention. I’m not surprised by the post, it’s nothing new. Nonetheless it makes me feel a tad ragey.

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My first thoughts run to the sheer entitlement of this man. He wants to do something & no one else’s feelings on the matter count. These thoughts are swiftly followed by exhaustion at constantly having to explain why this is not ok. His dismissal of rape culture as something made up by ‘angry women’ & his total refusal to accept women’s safety concerns are appalling. The problem of course, is that these attitudes are pervasive. Men routinely behave this way.

I am aware that I am not the first woman to raise these issues, but I really think it’s important that we share our experiences. 1 in 5 women in uk have been sexually assualted at some point in their life. To be honest I’m surprised this figure isn’t much higher. Women and girls are harassed daily. It’s infuriating, frightening, humiliating, stressful & so much more. Still girls are told by teachers that ‘boys will boys’ and schools put the onus on what girls wear rather on male behaviour. We are told cat calling is a compliment and police down play our reports of sexual assualt.

Men, it seems have no concept of the female experience. They will never understand the extent of the harassment we endure unless we speak out. Basically, we need to ram it down their throats.

With that in mind I want to share some of the stand out moments of sexual intimidation that I have experienced.

1/ I was approximately 10yrs old & wearing my favourite outfit. It was one of those heat sensitive t shirts that change colour & a velvet skirt. The t shirt reads hotspot, I thought this was the coolest thing ever. At a family gathering an adult, male family friend slaps my bum & says ‘that’s your hotspot’. I was 10yrs old. The incident confused & frightened me so much that I didn’t tell a soul it had happened.

2/ I’m 11 or twelve and have just started secondary school. The boys in my class routinely try to undo girl’s bras through their blouses. I don’t wear a bra yet & so am mercilessly mocked.

3/ That same year myself & a friend are followed off a bus & right to her house by a complete stranger. He’s a middle aged man & we are terrified.

4/ On my way home from school one day a man approaches me & warns me that there is another man playing with himself ahead. A week or so later the same man does the same thing. On speaking to the police it turns out there have been dozens of complaints.

5/ By 15 my flat as a pancake figure has ceased to be. My breast growth has gone into over drive & my boobs are large. My life long battle begins. Boys at school grab me and make crude comments. Adult bus drivers make disgusting comments despite my wearing a school uniform. For the first time I hear the male theory that big breasts mean I am slut.

6/ At some point in my mid teens I go on holiday with a friend’s family. Throughout the holiday my friend’s mother alludes to the size of my breasts & my refusal to hide them under tent like apparel, means that I am not a nice girl.

7/ When I begin clubbing at around 16, I am confronted with the fact that my body is not my own. Men in clubs consider the female form to be fair game. I am groped, slapped, pinched, rubbed against over & over. When I complain I am verbally abused & told I shouldn’t be wearing revealing clothes if I don’t want this. I’m a bitch, slut, frigid, a tease.

8/ I’m 20 and on my way to meet a friend for drinks. As I walk down a busy street a group of young teenage boys surround me, shout about my breasts, one boy thrusts his hand into my dress & violently grabs my nipple. None of the passers by make any attempt to help me. When I report this incident to the police, the first question I am asked is what was I wearing. No action is ever taken. I am left feeling dirty & angry.

9/ In my mid twenties I faint at a street market. When I come round a man is taking a picture of my cleavage.

10/  I try internet dating & am bombarded with sexual comments. If I ignore these comments I get abusive messages telling me I am rude & stuck up. If I say no thanks, I receive messages telling me what an ugly, fat bitch I am & how dare I reject this prize of a man. Several times I block men only to have them create new accounts so they can continue to abuse me.

11/ At an early post graduation job I must wear a blue shirt provided by my employer. I request the largest size, but it still gapes at the bust. I am summoned to HR to talk about how I am dressed inappropriately.

12/ I am leading a sexual health workshop with teenagers. Their teacher requests my card & then adds ‘you look like you could improve my sexual health’.

13/ By my early 30’s I am thoroughly disgusted with all this abuse. I am collecting my prescription from the chemist when an old man looks me up & down, shouts ‘nice’ & proceeds to squeeze both breasts. I automatically harshly push the man away from me. Later when reporting this to the police I am questioned about how I pushed him, how much force I used & why I hit the man. Again, no action is ever taken.

14/ A man I dated briefly over ten years ago periodically sent pictures of his penis despite me telling him not to. When I blocked him from one way of contacting he found me somewhere else & continued.

These are only a tiny taste of the aggravation I have endured. My experience is by no means unique. So, next time you want to complain about women being on the defensive or not appreciating your advances have a think about why she is reacting that way. Before you laugh at a friend’s unsolicitated comments to a female stranger, consider how much of these ‘compliments’ she must deal with.  Ask the women in your life about their exposure to molestation (verbal or physical). Hopefully a glimpse of the reality of the female experience will alter you view point.

If you like what I do you can support me here or on Patreon.

This goes out to all the women…

Lemonade. I know, everyone is talking, writing & I suppose singing about it. I must confess to not having heard (or seen) the complete album. I’ve sampled some highlights and whilst not a member of the beyhive, I’m excited to hear more. I have no issue with Beyonce’s music (her fur wearing is another matter). I applaud the increased political input in her work. Her support of black & feminist issues is on point. Her artistic viewpoint is increasingly progressive & radical. Which is why, some of her fans retrograde behaviour of late has been particularly hard to take. 

  
Oh, I know fans are fanatical these days. Bey is queen & they worship her. That’s all good, but the reaction to Lemonade & hints that Jay Z may have cheated are down right backwards. 

Rachel Roy’s ‘ Good hair, don’t care’ Instagram post ignited smouldering rumours that she was Mr Carter’s indiscretion. The beyhive immediately launched a social media witch hunt. Bee & lemon emoticons appeared en mass on her various pictures & posts. Along with the taunting images came more serious abuse, which inevitably led to her making her accounts private. Today’s tabloids decided that it was in fact Rita Ora would had done the dirty with Beyonce’s spouse. She too was lavished with the same treatment. 

  
Perhaps you think those involved in infidelity deserve what they get. Maybe you feel betraying Bey is worthy of a good hounding, but wait, what about Jay Z? If he did in fact step outside his marriage surely he’s where the hive loyal should turn their scathing tongues? He’s the one who made vows & a child with Yonce. Why does the arse who couldn’t keep his dick in his pants get a pass?

  
The answer, as is so often the case, the patriarchy. Woman are still being conned into feeling that other chicks are the enemy. Our old boy’s club society wants it that way. It’s much better for the status quo if smart, talented women view each other as the competition. Stop letting yourself be suckered by the tired old trope that cheating men can’t help themselves, but cheating women are whores. It’s such a dangerous road to go down. It ultimately leads us to rape apology & the dismissal of female sexual agency. That’s not what we should be teaching our daughters. The bottom line is the Carter’s marital woes are not my business, but women tearing each other down is. 

Cheating is cruel. I’m not loving anyone who participates. But, ladies, come on. Stop beating on your own whilst letting men off easy. We’re better than this.  

The time is now…

I’m lying on my bed with the sun streaming in my window having a lazy morning. I’m planning dinner in my head & pondering what colour to paint my nails, when it happens. A vivid flashback, of a day like this, but 16yrs ago. 

  
Like today I am resting on my bed observing the sunny world outside. Unlike today, back then I had a life growing inside me. I can smell the incense I used to burn in the flat & see the steeple of the church at the the end of the street. I feel the warmth on my face, the ache in my back & the love pounding through my veins. 

As fast as it strikes, it wanes. Part of me wants to cling to those sensations, the rest still finds these memories tender. I’ve been having these flashes a lot lately. They’re not new to me; I’ve been living with PTSD for a long time. This wasn’t a bad one, but it still leaves me feeling sadder than I did before. I’ve been thinking about why these bolts into the past have become so frequent of late & I think I know the answer.

For the first time in a very long time I am making baby plans. I have always wanted to be a Mummy. The loss only increased that desire. For years I’ve watched friends & family create beautiful little people. It’s never been the right time for me. Well, I’m 35 now and life never really gets any simpler. There is no right time. There will never be a perfect set of circumstances. So, the time is now. 

  
Or the time for planning is now. I’m getting my self and my life in shape for baba. It’s a little scary, but I don’t have any doubts. My life will never feel complete without children. It’s going to be a long campaign, but Operation Baby is go. 

Woman of the Week…

This week’s amazing woman Khadija Gbla is the executive director of NO FGM Australia. She campaigns to stop girls in Australia suffering fgm & to bring awareness to issue. 

  

She bravely & honestly talks about her own experience of fgm; from the trauma of the act as a small child to the lasting effects it has had throughout her life. Gbla’s frank discussion of her struggles with her scars, loss of sensation & fgm’s impact on her pregnancy are essential. Fgm is still greatly misunderstood, it is so important for everyone to know the horror that is being inflicted upon children & the lifelong problems that ensue. 

I admire Khadija’s determination to thrive & her drive to prevent others from enduring the same mutilatiom. 

 Find out more about  Khadija and how you can help.

My week in pictures…

 

It’s been a fairly rough week filled with more Dr’s than I would have liked. There were some amusing moments & cool snaps, hence I am sharing my hospital expoilts.

It all started last Monday with a pain in my lower back. By Tuesday it had spread around my side & all over the right side of my stomach. The pain had intensified to such an extent that I had to see my gp. Dr suspected possible upper uti infection, but wanted to rule out pancreatitis,so off to the hospital I was sent. Not, however, before I had to pee in a tiny bottle & was given two injections in my bum. One was for pain, which had no effect. There other for nausea, which was entirely counter productive as shortly after leaving the surgery I began impressively vomiting. 

I founf myself waiting to be assessed in hospital. For some reason I was surrounded by babies & their parents watching me repeatedly throw up into those horrid little cardboard hats. Once again it’s a round of peeing in various receptacles & being prodded by numerous medical personal. The result being I was admitted with probable kidney infection.

After another two injections in my arse (their is no dignity in being ill) my behind was now feeling a little tender & turning some vibrant colours. My nurse was unable to get any blood despite trying both arms & hands. A Dr was then summoned to attempt to draw blood. Much to my embarrassment the Dr who arrived is already known to me. I had a fling with him many years before. So, I find myself lying in a hospital gown, groaning whilst a very attractive surgeon who has seen me naked pokes me with needles. Only I could end up in the medical care of an old shag.

  
Anyway, blood is finally collected & kidney infection confirmed. I stay in hospital for a further day 1/2 for Iv  anti biotics & pain relief. On Thursday I walk free & consider my ordeal over.

I spent the rest of the week pacing around as kidney pain is worse at rest. I tried my best to rest & even ventured out with my sis at the weekend. We were treated to perfect spring weather. It felt good to be out in the fresh air surrounded by new blooms. 

  

  
As this week began all felt well. I was still a little tender, but otherwise much better. I probably over did it catching up with house work & errands on Monday. Meaning that by dinner time I was exhausted & needed to have a nap. And, that’s the last thing I remember until I came round on the hall floor in dark. My face hurt & I was very confused, but otherwise unharmed. My first instinct was just to go to bed, but after consultation with my sister I realised I had to return to hospital. Que scans, X-rays & a night of observation. Luckily I only have a mild concussion and a bashed up nose. I had no encounters with long lost lovers and I pray I have reached my hospital limit for quite a while. 

  
Oh & my squinty nose is real sexy. 

This week I have been mostly…

admiring my hair. Yup, that’s right, I’ve been loving myself again. I’m a proud ginger & this week I have been enjoying some tunes that celebrate my flame haired sisters. 

  
I’m obviously not a big fan of stereotypes, but in the case of my hair colour, most of them fit. I am your classic cliche of a redhead and I love it. 

I came to Bruce Springsteen late. I was too young & in any case my tastes diverged from his most famous stuff. The Ghost of Tom Joad was his first work that caught my attention. From there I listened to random pieces & found myself agreeing with some of his politics. In short, Bruce grew on me, but he didn’t win my heart until I heard Redheaded Woman. I love the down & dirty lyrics. His theory that red heads are more sexually charged is actually backed by science. It’s a rollicking tune and Bruce’s delivery is so believable. I can personally attest to the fact that redheads get the job (dirty or otherwise) done & I’m certainSpringsteen can too. 

For my next pick I’m going all hipster & demanding you listen to the original.  Valerie by The Zutons was an immediate favourite for me. I actually adored their entire debut album. My affection for this song has grown as numerous people have told me that it reminds them of me. I think the lyrics 

‘I miss your ginger hair & the way you like to dress’

are the culprits. I am well known for my sometimes unusual style. It pleases me that friends appreciate both my weird clothes & my ginger mane. I know Amy WInehouse’s version has become the standard of this song, but I’ll always love The Zutons best. 

Neil Young’s Cinnamon Girl is probably the original manic pixie dream girl, but without the negative connotations. He claims to have just seen a girl in the street, adored how she looked & wrote this gorgeous fantasy. The lyrics don’t specifically say that she has red hair, but I like to think that cinnamon refers to her spicy locks. I’ve always been a hippie chick, so Neil Young is so up my street. I’m a complete sucker for this hazy, lazy trip of a song. Wouldn’t it be perfect to inspire a dream like this. 

Caroline England is new to me. I stumbled upon Ginger & knew I was going to like this artist. The song is another celebration of scarlett ladies, but this one has edge. England hints at some of the crap gingers sometimes have to put up with. However, she doesn’t wallow, her message is I’m awesome & you can suck it. Which, I can relate to. The unusual texture in her voice adds a unique sound to the track. It’s an instant classic. 

Oh, I do like to be beside the seaside….

I took a little trip to see my friend & her lovely boy on Friday. She lives in Musselburgh, which is a seaside town outside Edinburgh. I love any excuse to get close to the sea & Lisa (and James) is a fabulous reason to go anywhere.

  
It was chilly & wet when I set off so I employed my new beret to keep my head warm. I don’t wear many hats as I don’t usually look great in them. Thus, I was surprised to discover that berets are totally my thing. 

  
I was also chuffed with the new dress I donned. I’ve had my eye on this for ages and finally snapped it up in the sale a few weeks ago. The cat print is purrfect & the colour matches my eyes. 

  
Dress – Voodoo Vixen

Cardigan – Monsoon

Beret – House of Bruar (gift)

I really love the neckline on this dress. The fit is superb & the large pockets are a dream. 

I can only share the mirror selfie as I had so much fun with my east coast chums that I forget to get any pictures. However, I did remember to snap some photos of our escapades. 

  
(That feline beauty is Bronan’s sister, Mena)

When you’re strange…

I have always walked on the weird side of the road. From a young age I decided the best option was just to embrace my quirkiness & roll with it. It’s a strategy that has served me well. Sure, I still get stares from strangers & folk making snap judgements about me, but fuck them. 

I’ve found that confidence in strangeness is the key. Don’t be apologetic or hide, boldness is the way. No matter how odd your views or look there are always like minded folks  & the Internet guarantees you can find them. However, you don’t have to section yourself into a little pocket of society. I have friends of all varieties, many don’t really get a lot of my choices, but they support them nonetheless. A frequent occurrence for me is having newish friends confess that their first impression of me was ‘weird af’, but on further inspection they found they liked me. My point is eveyone is entitled to be exactly who they are; people will love you despite or because of your differences. 

So, what better way to celebrate my irregularities than celebrating some classic eccentric chicks? 

I’m going to kick off with my 11yr old hero, Blossom. Blossom was my fashion icon. I had several floppy hats that I pinned at the front with ridiculous badges. More than that, I felt a kinship with the character. She was smart & quirky & frequently teased by her ‘cooler’ older brother. I think Blossom was my first hint that being weird could be amazing. I’ll always love her for that. 

  

You can’t talk about weird characters without bowing down to Pheobe Buffay. Pheobe was me. She was the veggie, hippie, black sheep of her group. The other ‘Friends’ were continually puzzled by her, but loved her anyway. Moreover her outlandish ideas often held a needed wisdom.  Pheobe walked her own path, which was exactly my plan. As a teenager it was so affirming to see a woman like that on the biggest to show in the world. 

  

Ok, so I’ll preface this with saying that Lena Dunham is problematic in a number of ways. I can’t stand her. Some of that bullshit filters through, but there are aspects of Hannah that I really like. I arrived at the Girls’ party very late. I have only recently delved into it & was of course sucked into a box set binge. Yes, all of the characters can be hideous and by the end I’m not sure I actually liked any of them. Hannah, though, had something. She is odd. She makes some horribly bad choices & let’s face it, she gets annoying. Her whiny privilege is not something I aspire to. Even, so, I like elements of her character. I adore her body positivity. She wears whatever she wants & she gets naked whenever the notion takes her. She’s a writer, she struggles with her mental health & she loves a very kooky man. Most of all she is honest (perhaps sometimes too honest). She’ll talk about scary feelings & taboo topics alike. Shame is not a thing to be tolerated in Hannah’s world & I’d like to see those features in more (& better written) main characters.

  

Now it’s time for ultimate 90’s weirdo, Daria. God, I still love her. Daria is everything. She’s cynical & witty; she shuns all conformity. Fashion is irrelevant, popularity a non issue. Daria & her equally cool friend Jane live in their own world. She finds her cheerleader sister ridiculous. Her come backs are top level. She even has a romance with an older musician dude without altering herself one bit. For your supreme snark & flawless misandry, I salute you Daria. 

  

I hate you so much right now….

I’m having one of those days when life seems determined to subvert my plans. It is, to say the least, infuriating. So, I thought I would vent my frustrations by having a little bitch about the smaller things that get my goat.

If you’re wearing anything with a wizard on it, you might want to stop skip this bit. I’m afraid when I see an adult reading a Harry Potter book I have to suppress the urge to scream. Those stories are for kids. Read a grown up book. Given what we’ve subsequently discovered about the author, supporting her work at all is gross.

Staring. Stop it. It’s just basic manners. I know I’m fat. I know my boobs are enormous. My clothes are weird, but continued looks won’t alter that. Yup, I have scars & piercings & tattoos. Stop gawking. Oh & whilst we’re on the topic quit nudging your mates & whispering too. I see you & it’s rude. Seriously, just stop it. 

  
Carol Vorderman. She’s not a genius. She’s not even likeable. She does morally questionable adverts & her face just annoys me. I don’t have very good reasons for my hatred. I just can’t stand her. No more woman. No more. 

Gin. It’s horrid, but only recently has it made my list. Some marketing dept somewhere clearly decided they needed to make gin cool & man alive have they been successful. It is now almost impossible to find a cocktail that doesn’t have gin lurking in it. Events have gin only bars. Everyone in the bloody world suddenly lists it as their favourite tipple. It’s taking over. Go away gin. I don’t want you.

  

I’m going to wrap this up with my current top level pet hate. Basic bitches. I think my interpretation of this phrase may be slightly different from other folks, so I shall explain. What really winds me up is chicks whose understanding of feminism & womanhood is peripheral. The type of person who doesn’t think trans women are ‘real women’. They love a bit of slut shaming & feel gender roles must be adhered too. This is a girl who conforms, they will  mock anyone who dares to be different. Solidarity is not their watch word. They’re basic & more often than not, they’re bitchy AF. 

  
(I’m amused by this meme because Judy can be basic herself)

Disclaimer : If you’re a gin swilling, relative of Carol Vorderman, some of this post is just a tongue in cheek rant. 

* Vorderman gets some props for her recent political discourse, but my illogical dislike remains.

If you like what I do you can support me here or on Patreon.