To the NHS nurse who held my hand

When I was 17 years old I had a Cancer scare. The ultimate outcome was that I was far too young to go through invasive screening and that they were certain I was fine. This unfortunately led to a series of health related anxieties, doctors visits and serious hypochondria. When I say the word “hypochondria’ I’m sure many people envisage a germaphobe or a comedy sketch with Dr Google sentencing me to death. It is and was, however, a serious and debilitating form of health anxiety which affects me in profound ways. I’m sure many will think that it’s such a privileged standpoint, to be worrying about these illnesses and never actually have them. But it really is rough, intrusive and overwhelming. I’ve written a more specific post about Hypochondria and you can find it here.

In May 2017 at age 24, the symptoms that I had gotten at age 17 came back. Without going into too much detail, I ended up getting a procedure done to screen for Cancer. This was the ‘invasive’ screening that the doctors in my teens had told me I was too young to go through, and good grief were they right. Let’s just say it involved a needle and an ultrasound machine.

When I got to the screening clinic I had no idea that I would end up getting this procedure. I was greeted by two lovely smiling receptionists and sat down in the reception amongst the rest of the people waiting. I was called through to a doctors office and I remember it being oddly dark in there. I’m sure there’s a technical or medical reason for it but it made the experience extra trippy. For the life of me I can’t remember the Doctor’s name. I only remember that she looked like Charlotte Rampling and that she was a little bit scary (though I expect anyone holding a needle with the intention of stabbing you with it is terrifying).

What I do remember though, was Louise. Louise was the nurse that called me into the room and stayed with me the whole time. I remembered her name because she was like my guardian angel that day. Thank the stars for her. When it all started she held my hand as if I was her own daughter, and I just kept wondering how many hands she’d held before.

As I looked at the details of one particular ceiling tile I realised my feet were freezing cold. I had my running shoes on and I remember looking down at them, desperately to put the thoughts of illness and disease and infection out of my mind, and to quiet the voices asking ‘did she sterilise that needle?’ and ‘what if she finds something?’. On the other side of the room I could see my boyfriend who was told he had to stay on the other side of the half drawn curtain. There was a piece of fluff hanging from the ceiling vent and I stared at it… and stared and stared.

When the procedure started the Doctor said ‘You poor girl’, and I just kept holding Louise’s hand. And Louise was there. She didn’t know that I was already envisaging my own funeral, or picturing my immune system being set upon by bacteria shaped monsters. But Louise was there and she made everything seem okay, because she’s a bloody good nurse. When it was all finished Louise took us out of the room and asked me how I felt, I said ‘tired’ and she said ‘me too’, she was definitely more tired than me. I went home, ate monster much and watched Lilo and Stitch.

For the first time in a long time, I couldn’t obsess about an invisible illness or an itch or a dirty hand rail on the tube, I had finally seen what I had been terrified about for so long, and it was smaller than an MnM. The fears of death and illness were suddenly replaced with rationality and planning calmly for the various scenarios that might surface.

When it all came through clear, I was relieved, but I also felt silly, and thankful, and blessed that we have a National Health Service in this country with hundreds of thousands of of Louises.

The NHS is immeasurable, irreplaceable and essential. But it’s slowly being driven to the point of total breakdown. Louise does a job that I could never do, she sees people through their most vulnerable times with a smile and profound strength. I have friends who are nurses, I have a boyfriend who’s training to be a doctor, these people are amazing and I honestly couldn’t imagine having to do what they do. The NHS has been incredible to me. It works, and it works hard.

I hope we can continue to spread our stories and share our gratitude towards the NHS staff who have held our hands, saved our lives, helped us through illness and fought for us. In a world full of hatred, selfishness and fear… I think we should all strive to be a little more ‘Louise’.

A little change

Hi there!

For anyone who reads here regularly I just wanted to let you know that I’ve changed things up a little. I’ve made a few old posts private. This is because they contained images that could be easily opened in a new tab in full resolution and copied for personal use. Although I’m sure nobody has done this and it’s very, very cynical of me to assume it would ever happen, I do have a reason.

I’m starting a new venture, through which I hope to be able to offer my art/photography services and share my work. Because of this, I just wanted to be sure that the images I intended to use weren’t floating around on the inter-webs. I hope this makes sense!

I may re-upload these posts in a different format at some point, so stay tuned for that trip down memory lane. I really am a technophobe sometimes, bare with me! Meanwhile I will still be using this blog for photography when I feel the creative urge, but you’ll probably be seeing more writing from me, I hope that’s okay!

xo

Why ‘giving up’ isn’t always a bad thing

We live in a society in which many of our life choices are labelled as us ‘giving up’. For example, when we hear that someone has stopped pursuing a lifelong dream, or maybe moved back into their parents home, we feel like they’ve lost out on something. We might even feel a sense of sadness and pity, and the cruellest among us might even label that person a failure. “They must be devastated”, we say. But the thing is, we can’t assume that when someone takes a turn, chooses a different path, or takes a step back, that they are ‘giving up’.

What you envisage as ‘giving up’ might be another persons life defining choice. Perhaps someone quit a high paying job in London to return home and start a non-profit organisation, perhaps a seasoned west end actress decided she wants to quit the industry to become a historian, or maybe a university student decided to leave education to start up a cosmetics company. Without knowing the full context we might see a failed business man, a washed up actress and a college drop out, but we don’t see the full picture of their decisions nor the reaping of their eventual rewards. Perhaps these people ‘gave up’ on their situations because they were unhappy, exhausted, or struggling to cope.

I always found it cruel when I heard people talking about how their friends and acquaintances had ‘given up’. Some people even take this stance when it comes to complete strangers. They say stuff like, “He’s let himself go” and ‘Wow, she could have really been something if only she hadn’t given up” etc.. etc.. and so forth. The thing is, even when we think a goal or a dream is truly worth the struggle, we don’t know how soul-crushing, life-altering and embittering that journey can be until we’re on it.

People very rarely ‘quit’ or ‘give up’ on things that make them truly happy, relaxed, content and fulfilled. Perhaps for a time they felt that way and things changed, or they were trying to fight and fight for something that made their life miserable. I know of many people who have gone through struggle after struggle and finally realised that the illustrious and almost impossible end point of their ‘dream’ isn’t even what they want anymore. It’s good to fight for things we know will end up right, to strive to see things and do things we want to do, but if the expense of all this is loneliness, bitterness and burn out, we have to decide ourselves whether it’s worth it. Unless you are significantly hurting yourself or somebody else in a profound and drastic way, you have every right to say ‘enough is enough’. The wonderful thing is that ‘giving up’ can actually lead to countless opportunities and possibilities.

It takes a lot for someone to give up on a dream, and it’s harsh of us to belittle their decision and assume that they’ve failed. I think that sometimes, it takes ‘giving up’ to understand what you really want. This doesn’t mean that the journey towards your goal served no purpose, nor that you won’t someday return to the same path. It just means you might find your way there via a new route, or a different mode of transport. Maybe you’ll take someone else with you this time, or you’ll be more cautious along the way. Life is a series of choices and events, and you should never feel judged for ‘giving up’ on something that makes you feel anything less than wonderful.

The Ship Might Sink

This blog post was my first ever, and for some reason I deleted it. I’m not sure why but I only recently found it and decided it deserved a re-upload. Since starting my blog, my grandparents have sadly both since passed away, but they stay with us in memories such as this. I hope you enjoy this old blog post which explains my blog title.

When me and my family used to sit at the dinner table for our weekly visit to my Grandparents’ house we would listen to the most obscure stories. Within them were some utter gems, and some of the most poignant, rare observations came from my Grandad, (affectionately known to us as Mandad).

One of these hidden gems seemed to come out more often than others. Imagine this, my sister is happily digging in to her meal but, like she does every week, she leaves her meat until the end. Mandad notices this, and looks on with narrow, but jovial eyes and says “Jessica! Why are you leaving the chicken?” for what seems to be at least the fifth time, and we see where it’s going. “I’m just leaving it till last…” she says with a smile “…because it’s the best bit!”. And now Mandad lets out that signature phrase we’re all waiting for “Ah, but Jess! The ship might sink!”. What’s the moral of that story? Well, we had no idea, so we asked. “Well, when you’re on a ship you never know when it might sink!” says Mandad “So, you always eat the best bit first, because it might be your last meal, or you might need that strength when you get shipwrecked!” He exhales a loud chuckle, we giggle, and Jess saves her meat till last again.

The more I heard this reappear in conversation, the more insightful it seemed. “The ship might sink” kept playing over and over as such an interesting message. “The ship might sink”, is just like saying live life to the fullest and take every opportunity as soon as possible before it passes you by… Obviously it’s a bleaker way of saying it, since in Mandad’s version you are looking at some kind of naval disaster, but it makes for an interesting blog title. And the ship sinking isn’t just a metaphor for death, or anything else which is as severe and sombre. I think the ship just signifies an opportunity, a time in which you need to seize your destiny, and try not to make the mistake of playing it safe.

 

Still

 

Still

Your cold fists scrunch tufts of hair into birds nests

But now It’s time to go

Just put on your shoes

One at a time

 

Bite the skin on your lips

Give your fingers time to breath

Now put on that bag of artefacts

I feels heavier than before

 

Glance down and down

Further than that

Until the core of the earth can see you

Until it stares back

 

Can you hear it yet?

The groaning and the wheezing

The rumble and the racket

Your steed is here

 

Two steps too close

See the blur and the squabble

Cross your fingers in your pocket

And hope to breathe

 

Stand tall, don’t topple

Look past it, that’s far enough

Hand on heart, feel it beat

Remember that it’s there.