Life lately


I've been incredibly busy these last few weeks and poor little Runkle has been missing me heaps. This week I made sure to be at home every night so that we could hang out, and do you know what? We had the best time. He honestly does not leave my side. When I'm washing the dishes, he's sitting on the drainer. When I'm folding up my clothes, he's standing at my feet. When I'm curled up on the sofa, he's plonked his tubby belly on top of me, and yes, when I go to the loo.. He follows me too. But as I always say, I wouldn't have it any other way!
Living alone hasn't actually been that bad. Of course there are nights when I want to watch movies with someone, or curl up next to, but you know, it's such a different time. I feel like I do what I want, when I want. Some evenings I'll eat late, some evenings I'll eat early. And if I want to sit and eat curly fries and cheese for three nights running and watching re-runs of Gossip Girl in my pants, then hell, I will. Ain't nobody stopping me!
If you'd have asked me years ago what my take on bedding was, I always replied that I buy anything that does the job. Fast forward to now, and ever since I delved into the world of expensive bedding, I find myself constantly wanting to sleep amongst these crisp sheets, even if it means washing it and re-making it within a day. So worth it!
 Hi my name is Katy, and I have developed an obsession for cactus' and any form of succulents. When MillionD came to visit this weekend, we headed into town and returned home with two bags of those spiky plants (we definitely could have left with more, but we resisted. For now anyway...) and prickled skin. I love adding splashes of green to my neutral coloured home. One day, it'll turn into a greenhouse!
There are many wonderful people in the world, but one in particular who has stuck with me this week. When an email popped through my inbox a few weeks back from essentially a stranger, asking to send me a present, I felt a little unsure. What? Why me? However after talking to Polly (who, by the way is literally an inspirational lady!), she simply wanted to send me a 'pick me up' parcel as she'd once received from a stranger before. Honestly... This is quite simply one of the kindest things someone has ever done. The fact Polly reached out to me (and ended up listening to me pour out about the last few months!) was such a warm and humble feeling.
Polly has now inspired me in many ways. And firstly, I am making up a little parcel myself to send onto someone who needs that pick me up. Because it works. And people are awesome!

An Honest Post


I'm not sure why I felt the need to write this post considering I've spent the past few weeks not even wanting to tell close family how I feel, where I'd been to friends or what was actually happening.
Maybe I'm writing this because the letter that arrived through my door today finally hit me, finally caught up with me and made me cry. Made me feel uneasy.
Maybe I'm writing this because people are praising me for being so brave, and so strong, coping well, when really, right now, in this moment, I feel like I'm nowhere near that.
Maybe I'm writing this because it's the honest thing to do. Nobody wants to hear of people being sad and having a hard time, but equally, we're all normal people. We all have dark times.
Or maybe I'm writing this because I shouldn't be like a lot of people in the world, hiding things, bottling things up and dealing with them alone. Because really, we should never feel alone.
But equally, saying that. I don't want sympathy. I'm not quite prepared for the people to tell me "that they're here for me" that "they're sorry I'm going through this alone" or that "it's a difficult time right now". I don't want that.
And I know people are just trying to help..
Jesus, I would be totally the same, and the first at the door with flowers and a shoulder to cry on.
But because I'm essentially 'alone', my mind has told me that I have to do things alone.
Which in a word, is total BULLSHIT.
And so maybe that's why I'm writing this. Because I'm telling myself that it's OK to share things. That it's OK to be honest, and that it's OK for people to want to be there for you. And help you.
Because actually, that's part of life.
But then, I also tell myself that in fact, what is happening right now, is only a small issue.
A small issue compared to what some people are going through.
And that really I should be grateful to be here.
Which hell, I am.
I could sit here all day and tell you of the things I'm thankful for. I am incredibly lucky to be here.
But I suppose in a sense, I'm OK to have MY issues.
And I'm OK to cry about it.
That's what I'm trying to tell myself.

When I moved out at the end of March, I felt a little distant from life. I kept myself busy (I still do), and I threw myself into seeing friends, and doing things that I hadn't done in some time. I pushed the thought of selling our house to the back of my mind, and told myself this was a fresh start. We'd made our choice, for the right reasons and that was a part of life I shall remember, but it wasn't my forever story. I have things to do, for me.
And with a fresh start, came a small panic of everything. Now I'm nowhere near ready to start a relationship, or even meet anyone, (OK, here's being totally honest with you) but the thought of having sex with someone terrified me. With sex previously hurting me on occasions, and finding myself putting it off at times, I realised that maybe it was time to have my smear test.
The smear test that I'd put off for two years.
Because here I was starting again. I didn't want to feel like this forever.
I didn't want to be 'abnormal', as I felt. I wanted to just be a normal 26 year old.
So I took a very nervous self to the doctors, and you know what? People tell you it honestly is no big deal, and that it doesn't hurt and is over within minutes.
Well mine wasn't.
Mine really hurt. It took 25 minutes to do. And it was so painful, that she had to go and find a smaller instrument to ease my pain for the little vagina I had.
There I said my honest truth. And I'm probably the minority here, but after half hour with one of the loveliest and kindest nurses I've possibly ever met, I left feeling like my invasion of privacy had been broken.
The nurse had mentioned how my cervix seemed raw and erosive, and softly reassured me that maybe this was why sex sometimes hurt, however I had a normal looking vagina. The words I longed to hear, had been spoken. I put this all to the back of my mind, and carried on my day. My week. My life.
A week and a half later, a letter came through my door as I was heading out. I opened it, and read those words that I didn't want to see. 'High Grade Dyskaryosis'. Within seconds of opening the letter, I threw it in my bag and ignored it. I spent the night laughing with my friends as though nothing mattered. Nothing was different.
The following night however when another letter appeared with a date for a Colposcopy and a Biopsy, I researched it. And then I called my mum. And she cried a little. I didn't. I kind of blocked it out, and kept telling myself that 'everything happens for a reason' and that it'll be fine. I didn't feel any different.
And I knew it would be fine. But actually, I didn't. I just didn't really want to think about it.
So I didn't. Until that day came, and I walked into the hospital room, wearing my gown, holding my box of clothes.
And I was shaking.
Boy, I freaked out. I really freaked out.
I felt like I couldn't breathe. I cried. And I shook. And quite honestly, it was one of the hardest things I had to do. I can't deal with pain one bit. I just wanted it to be over and I just wanted to take my legs out of the stirrups. I didn't want to hold my mum's hand anymore, and I didn't want the kind nurse to try and chat to me. I just wanted it to be over. I wanted to be anywhere but there.
After half an hour, I was given a sanitary towel (bigger than my vagina - that's the only funny part about this!) and felt faint at the sight of blood. Now (sorry for the honesty again!), I'm not a heavy bleeder, but this was awful. I had bled a huge amount. I felt sick, and uncomfortable. And had unbearable stomach pain.
I spent that week curling up in bed at any opportunity, going to the toilet every hour to clean myself up because I felt dirty. And trying hard to hide my sweating that had appeared. I felt disgusting, and disorientated and how having a simple biopsy on something like this, could make my body feel all over the place.
But as awful as I felt, I picked myself up, and carried on. I laughed about the size of the sanitary towel, I laughed about the fact I was sweating as though I had the menopause early, and I just got on with things. I told everyone it was fine, and that these things happen. I didn't really think about it anymore. I planned a weekend with my friend, and after dropping my car off at the garage I hopped on a train to London.
That following morning, I was told that my car wasn't doing great and that it needed fixing. It would cost nearly £1000 to sort. I couldn't believe it. Why was this happening to me? I don't have that kind of money, but I also couldn't live without a car. I spent that weekend and the following week thinking up ways on whether to sell the car, or pay to have it fixed. After deciding to sell it, my mum and I headed out on the road (in said car) to part exchange it for something new.
And we broke down.
The car started smoking. And the water was dripping through the bonnet.
And my mum and I were scared.
And that. That was the moment, that made me cry. That made me wonder why life was testing me. Why life was pushing my buttons whilst I was facing these things alone.
Until my mum told me "that it was just a piece of metal. It's no big deal".
And she was so right. It is nothing in the scheme of things.
Cut a long story short, RAC saved my life and within hours I'd managed to part exchange the car for a new one. It was a bitter sweet story, but one thing ticked off the box.
It was only going to get better from here now.
And I put my smile on my face, I had friends for dinner, I went shopping with family and I spent time on my own enjoying the calmness of a night alone. I felt alright. Weekend's away were booked back in, and my place was coming together. Life was picking up. Life is picking up. Things happen for a reason.
So when a letter came through my postbox this weekend telling me I have pre cancerous cells, I kind of crumbled. The letter had briefly explained that I'm to go under general anesthetic for an LLETZ procedure (I'm not even going to explain it, because reality is, I don't know. I kind of don't want to read about it), and that I'm to wait for my hospital date.
And how do I feel? Right now, I feel a little like I'm watching myself from another room. I feel like I've stepped out of my body, as though I'm not really sure this is happening to me. I'm constantly having backwards and forwards with myself, one minute feeling slightly sad that this is happening to me, happening to me when I almost need someone the most, but then telling myself that I need to grow a pair. This happens to people daily, so many others are faced with this - AND MUCH WORSE. And that actually, this really is no big deal.
And I guess it really isn't a big deal.
I don't have cancer. I have pre cancerous cells. And I'm going to get them removed. Because I can. Because it's not too late, and I'm incredibly lucky. I'm still here.
Do I feel stupid for putting this off for two years? I honestly couldn't tell you. This is the reason I put it off. That doesn't mean that it's right for doing that, but I was scared. I still am scared. If this has taught me anything, and as I've said to the few people around me who know, it's proved a hell of a lot to myself that I'm stronger than I think.
It's made me have this attitude of brushing everything off, and taking it within my stride. And it HAS made me stronger. It's made me realise that being alone has meant I've had to get on with it, because there's noone to come home to everynight and get reassurance from. So I've had to reassure myself, and well, that's tiring. So it's simply been easier to ignore it. To not think about it, until those moments happen.
But I'm still just a normal person. A normal person with feelings, and concerns.
And the want for someone to just tell me that everything will be OK.
I know it will. It's part of my life story.
And with that, I wanted my life story to be as honest as possible.

So there you go, I guess now knowing that I have a small vagina, makes us all really good friends now right? But please, promise me one thing... I don't want your sympathy, instead offer it to someone who needs it a lot more than I do. Just be there to laugh and share with me our embarrassing stories, and the simple pleasures that life gives us.

They're the important things right now.

A beautiful weekend

Last month was one that I'd spent majority of the year looking forward to. Counting down on my diary too, and feeling super excited for.
The beautiful Rosie was getting married (YEP. MARRIED. Like real grown up stuff!), to her equally handsome man, Tom. And I was invited to celebrate the beginnings of new things for them.
That's a nice feeling you know.
To be part of something so special like that.
Oh, I love a good wedding I do.
Although I'm that guest. The one that cries over everything. Happy tears city, I tell you.
Also, apologies to the couple in front of me who always looked concerned every time I weeped a little more. Weddings are just SO romantic. SO lovely.
The ceremory was quite possibly one of the most perfect ceremonies you could ever dream of. Not only was it held in a beautiful and quaint old mill, but seeing Bodhi in his mint bow tie had me squeeing with delight. Rosie oozed beauty and elegance, and Tom looked super dapper. I debated walking down the aisle to him myself....
The table settings were every girls dream, with the flowers being effortless in their vintage watering cans, alongside cute heart bowls full of mini eggs (yes, one of each colour ever single time thanks!). The paper hearts and advice to the bride and groom notes were just the finishing touches that makes a wedding one to remember.
Ahh the gluten table. The table that screamed 'EAT ALL OF ME'. Like seriously, look at all those delightful looking cakes ranging from Strawberry to Lemon and Chocolate, and meringues thrown in for good measure. And the perfectly swirled cupcakes (go Sarah!!). Lets just say that this table didn't last that long...
This girl. My date for the day - and an awesome date at that. So awesome that we even ended up in matching pants, and decided that after one too many drinks and sharing a Cornish pasty, that it was totally acceptable to tell a stranger this news. She's a keeper, I tell you. Maybe I'll marry her.
Getting out of bed the next morning was hard (except for Char - don't know how that lady does it!), but nothing sorted us out like a big greasy fry up and a windy walk along the beach. The wind in our hair, and the sun blazing down on us was the perfect way to end what was one of the loveliest weekends of the year so far. Weddings and good friends are literally the best medicine.
And this one. THIS one, MillionD to be precise, is bloody awesome. Literally super awesome. And when she's drunk, I want to spend my whole life around her.
So Million... Want some more alcohol...??!!