Memories of days gone by

Memories are such powerful things. Hearing a song, speaking to a person or visiting a place can transport you back to times gone by. Events that took place years ago can suddenly feel as though they only happened yesterday. It’s the strangest of sensations and fills me with nostalgia.

For instance, I’ve recently moved (recently as in almost two months ago but that’s beside the point) and this weekend was the first time I’ve been back to my parents since Christmas/New Year. It was only when I was about to leave that I remembered I’d left a box of all my old CDs in my room. Think Steps, S Club 7, A1, Vengaboys, Spice Girls and every other cheesy nineties pop group and you’ve got my full collection of childhood favourites. Not being able to part with them, I took them back to my new flat with me.

One of the CDs that sat at the top of the box was Atomic Kitten’s Right Now album. What a classic. One of my favourite bands from when I was younger, and my favourite of the three studio albums they released before disbanding in 2005. I couldn’t help but have a listen on my (brace yourselves) Walkman, another find during my seemingly endless task of unpacking.

As soon as the album started playing, I was transported back to the year 2000. It was the summer holidays, I was eight years old (a few months away from turning nine) sat in what was once my playroom (in other words, my parents spare bedroom that was my playroom throughout childhood), listening to this album full blast on my ever so snazzy CD player. I think it even played cassettes; talk about the height of technology for the late 90s/early 2000s. I’d brought the CD that summer from good old Woolworths (RIP), and a few days later I would be going on a coach trip to Brighton with my mum. My first ever trip to the seaside town that I now live a 20 minute drive away from.

My memories of first listening to this album are so vivid, I struggle to accept they happened almost eighteen years ago. I remember everything from the weather, the setup of my playroom and how it was my temporary bedroom at the time because my own room was being decorated, my obsession with the colour purple, looking out into our back garden and hearing my neighbours children and grandchildren enjoying the summer weather. I remember the emotions I felt while listening to the album, the dances I made up to the energetic songs, and the sorrow I apparently felt whilst listening to the sadder songs (I was a dramatic little thing).

These are events, feelings and a time that I haven’t thought about…well, ever. Not since they happened 18 years ago. Yet, me listening to Atomic Kitten’s Right Now album for the first time in years, as a 26 year old woman, has suddenly brought all these memories flooding back to the forefront of my mind.

Memories really are the most powerful things. So many are tucked away in the corners of our minds, yet they’re largely unlocked and untouched until the right reminders come along. And when that happens, it’s like you’re living in the moment of these memories all over again.

 

Moving home, and away from friends

I love organising. Not just my house or various life admin things, but organising days/nights out with people.

I’ve been on a bit of a roll with it recently, with various ideas popping into my head and these thoughts immediately being made into plans. It makes me happy to know that I have things to look forward to, especially when the weather is grey and wet, which it has been for most of January. Knowing that the promise of spring is just round and days out with my friends are marked in my diary always fills me with complete joy.

After a stressful December where I didn’t have much time to think about anything other than moving house and Christmas (not that I’m complaining about that one), I didn’t have a chance to take in the fact I’d moved over an hour away from my friends. They’re no longer just round the corner from me. The option to just pop round to their houses or take a spontaneous trip to the pub is no longer available. I won’t lie, but it’s been harder than I initially thought before moving to the South Coast.

There have been times over the last few weeks where I’ve felt so emotional that I’ve ended up bursting into tears, whether that’s by myself or with my boyfriend. Where he has been able to carry on as normal in seeing his friends once or twice a week, and where my friends have been too busy to meet up after work, or I haven’t had the money to go out in London, there have been occasions where I’ve felt alone.

Now I know this isn’t true, and in fact I speak to my friends over text or social media (thank goodness for technology) more now than I did before moving out, but those little thoughts of self doubt have crept in every now and again. And I’ve been powerless to stop them from altering my mood.

Thankfully this week has been better. I went to the cinema with my boyfriend last night, today I met up with one of my friends for lunch who doesn’t work too far from me, and tomorrow I’m out after work for another friends birthday.

Hopefully as I get more adjusted to having a mortgage and various bills to pay I’ll be a bit more on my feet with money. As the weather gets better, I also hope that more meet ups will be organised. A full calendar equals a happy me.

Don’t tell me I’m imagining PMT

This blog post might be too much information. Heck, people may hate it. I’m trying to be more bold in what I write about though, and to express my opinions more rather than worrying about what other people may or may not think.

A short while ago I read an article about how Sarah Romans, professor of psychological medicine, and health psychologist Robyn Stein DeLuca believe that for many women claiming to suffer from pre-menstrual tension (PMT, also known as PMS), the symptoms are all in the mind.

Now I know that not every single woman suffers from PMT in the lead up to that time of the month. I have female friends and family members who don’t feel any different before or during their period. I also know plenty of women who do suffer from it, myself included. Ever since getting my first period when I was 12 years old I’ve suffered with extreme emotions, fatigue, paranoia and excruciating cramps (these have thankfully gone away after a few years spent on the pill to control the pain and my cycle). The thought that some people, who are health professionals no less, believe that I’m potentially ‘imagining’ my symptoms or ‘using PMT as an excuse for when I need a break’, is insulting to anyone whose suffered with this condition.

The feelings of paranoia I get in the days before I get my period are at times extremely difficult to deal with. Feeling as though my family, friends and even work colleagues are talking about me behind my back can at times make day to day life difficult to concentrate on. These feelings often leave me feeling isolated and upset, something which isn’t needed at any time, but particularly not when your hormones are flying left, right and centre in preparation for the arrival of your period.

Whilst I’m quite an emotional person day to day in terms of crying at the slightest thing that’s heart-warming or sad, my patience and anger during this time are extremely temperamental and can leave me feeling very stressed if I don’t express how I’m feeling. I would describe it as a bubble that’s building up inside of me, demanding to felt and for attention to be paid. I try my best to keep this bubble from popping. But, if anything or anyone harmlessly does something that grates me, it’s very likely this bubble of frustration or anger will burst and I will struggle to keep these emotions at bay. This isn’t something I feel on a daily basis, or a regular basis for that matter. It’s always when I’m due on for my period.

The tiredness is like nothing I’ve ever felt before. Even when times at work are hectic or I have a lot going on in my personal life, my levels of fatigue are never as low as they are when I’m living with PMT. All in all, I sometimes feel like a completely different person during these days when PMT seemingly takes over my body. It might be in my head, where my hormones like everyone else’s are controlled, but I’m most definitely not imagining it.

 I’m not the type of person that makes up illnesses or symptoms to get out of doing things. In fact, I’m the complete opposite. People around me know that I have to be seriously unwell to cancel plans or not go to work. I understand where DeLuca and Romans are coming from in terms that some women may convince themselves they’ve got PMT, when in fact they haven’t, but a sweeping statement needs to be made with caution and consideration for the many women who suffer from symptoms of PMT. Just because a small study group represented no link doesn’t mean there’s no correlation between the two.

 

Changing the habits of a lifetime

It’s almost midnight. I need to be up for work in just over six hours. Yet I’m here, writing this blog post. I have a lot on my mind, hence why I’m writing this at such a late hour.

My post on here yesterday (well two days ago when you’re reading this) about not setting myself any New Years resolutions, and instead choosing to go with the flow. This evening, though, has made me wonder if I perhaps need to make a change.

I’m an extremely sensitive person who cares a lot about the feelings of other people. Be it family, friends, work colleagues, some random person on the tube, I worry about their feelings. Even if I haven’t done anything to upset or hurt them, if they’re in a bad mood, I immediately think it’s something I’ve done that’s put them in this mood. Don’t ask me why, I don’t have a clue why I do this, it’s just part of who I am apparently. I think this is partly why I’m quite considerate to people and always try my best to think before I speak for fear of upsetting someone.

This has its drawbacks, my god does it have its drawbacks. Namely that others aren’t quite as considerate towards me at times, which really gets to me. This is the reason why I’ve spent what was meant to be a relaxed evening feeling pretty low after some inconsiderate actions by friends (I’ll spare you the details to save myself from sounding like a grumpy teenager).

So, maybe this is the change I should make to give less of a shit about everything and everyone. There have been many times when I’ve felt like my feelings have been kicked to the kerb, but I’ve still tried gone as considerate as possible. Maybe I should try and worry less about this. I’m not saying to be intentionally horrible to those around me (obviously) but perhaps it will help me feel less like a disregarded piece of nothing that’s been shoved in the corner. We’ll see how it goes. How difficult can it be to change the habits of a lifetime?

New Year, Same Old Me

Happy New Year!

A time for change, fresh starts and the opportunity to start anew. So many people go into a new year full of optimism and positivity about the year that lies ahead. Whatever you want to achieve, whether it’s travelling to a new exotic location, losing weight, being more confident, changing career paths or just trying to be less of an awkward embarrassment, everything seems possible when Big Ben strikes 12 on the first of January.

It’s almost like with the beginning of a New Year we trick ourselves into thinking that we’re going to be completely different people over night. What seemed impossible just moments ago on 31 December suddenly feels like a challenge you’re ready to take on and beat with all of your determination and power. How I wish this were true…

I haven’t set New Year’s resolutions for myself in what feels like years. I usually just go with the flow, and whilst I enjoy the fresh start the first of January brings following the indulgence of Christmas, I was quite happy going into January and seeing what the year brought, rather than setting myself goals and just ending up feeling disappointed when life got too busy for me to focus on them.

For someone who suffers with anxiety, lack of confidence and lack of self-esteem, the idea of a new year, alongside the work I’d been doing to improve in these areas towards the end of 2017, seemed like a perfect opportunity to continue growing as a person. Well, after not even two full days back at work, these ideals have pretty much gone out of the window. I’ve embarrassed myself twice in the last hour alone, with one encounter leaving my face as red as a ripe tomato.

I guess the New Year fairies didn’t come along and transform my socially awkward self as I’d hoped when we welcomed 2018…

 

Genetic Testing for Breast Cancer – My Story

Last month was the nine year anniversary of my mother’s death. She was only 55-years-old, three months away from turning 56. In the years before her diagnosis of breast cancer in November 2006, she and my dad would discuss the holidays they would take together, the cruises they would go on, and where they would move to after I left the family home. These were discussions that never came to fruition and that were swiftly torn out of her grip when we were told in August 2008 that her cancer, which was by this point third stage and had spread across her body, was terminal. From what little memory I have of this period in my life, I vaguely remember being told she only had a maximum of six months to live. The cancer, aggressive, cold and heartless as it was, had other plans though. Less than a month after being told her cancer could not be beaten, my mum died on Tuesday 16 September 2008.

At the time, I was only 16, a mere six days away from celebrating my 17^th birthday. My brain, immature and quite frankly emotionally unable to handle the awful things that I’d witnessed between November 2006 and September 2008, blocked out most of my thoughts and feelings that surrounded my mother’s illness and eventual death. The last few years have been revolutionary for me, in that I’ve finally started to talk about, and, more importantly, let out my emotions. For the first time in the nine years since she died, on the anniversary of her death, I went to the cemetery where her ashes are scattered, and I cried like I’ve never cried before in my entire life. I don’t think I even cried that much when she died or at her funeral, but I guess that’s the difference time can make in helping to deal with the pain of losing someone so close to you at such a young and vulnerable age.

I’m now 26, and my thoughts over the last few years have turned to my own future. My mother is not the first in my family to be diagnosed with breast cancer. Both my grandmother and great grandmother before her also died, with other members of our family, both male and female, dying of various forms of cancer. It’s a thought that I very easily pushed to the back of my mind in my late teens. It was there, in an untouched corner of my mind that I regularly chose to ignore, but I never truly thought about the consequences and how I would be affected if this cancer that runs through my mother’s family was in fact hereditary.

Although I’m at an age where it’s still rare for people to be diagnosed with breast cancer, it’s not entirely impossible, and in light of this I check myself regularly. Six months ago I also decided to come off the pill. I’d been taking it for six years, and despite the fact that I’d originally started taking it to control my irregular and extremely painful periods, I decided to stop taking it due to the increased risk of breast cancer the hormones used in the pill can cause. I’ve taken precautions, and I feel confident that I know my body and my breasts well enough to know if something was to change or wasn’t quite right. I want to be more prepared though.

I want to stop living with this constant cloud of worry over my head. I want to have a day where the thought of cancer doesn’t cross my mind. I want to celebrate each birthday without the inevitable countdown in my head as I edge closer to the age my mother was when she died. Yes, it may be years away before I reach my fifties, but the thought of potentially having less than 30 years left to live is positively terrifying. This was why, back in 2015, I approached my GP about being put forward for genetic testing. My GP was in full support of this, as she knows my family history, and she immediately agreed to help me apply for testing.

After filling out all of the relevant forms which detailed my family’s history of cancer, I sent it off in the post and waited for a response. It could go two ways. I would either be invited for genetic testing and I would finally know if the cancer that had plagued my maternal family for decades was hereditary. Or, it could go the way I didn’t want it to go, and I would receive a letter of rejection telling me I wasn’t at a high enough risk to be tested.

Unfortunately, this was exactly the response I received. From looking over dates and the ages my mother, grandmother and great grandmother had been when they were diagnosed with breast cancer, without so much of a blood test or a sample of my DNA, the conclusion was made that I didn’t need genetic testing. Instead I was told that I should approach my doctor when I reached 30 to see what alternatives were available to me.

Even though it’s been two years since this unfolded, my blood still boils when I think about it. It angers me even more when I see doctors going on the news and highlighting the importance of women seeking genetic testing if they have a strong family history of breast cancer, when I, as well as so many others, have been turned away for testing despite the strong presence of cancer that flows through our family trees.

I read an article on the BBC News website today (Monday 09 October) about a new gene test that will be made available for women in high risk groups to find out their likelihood of developing breast cancer at some point in their life. It was another reminder of the fears I have for the future. Not just my own, but my future children’s, grandchildren’s and great grandchildren’s.

I’m comforted by a quote from a Professor Evans, which is included in the above mentioned article, where he states that he hopes this new genetic testing will be available for all women. I hope that this, unlike the plans my mother had for her future, comes to fruition.