Since September 2024, my life has been marked by a series of ongoing health battles that have left me physically, mentally, and emotionally drained. What began as a possible diagnosis of gallstones and liver issues, with the added frustration of being placed on an 18-week waiting list for surgery, has now taken an even more exhausting turn. Just last week, I was told that I had been misdiagnosed, and now I must wait until mid-March to see if they can figure out what's really going on. The journey has been a long, painful process, and the uncertainty is one of the hardest parts of all of this.
Every day, I face constant pain and sickness, and each new appointment or test brings either hope or more confusion. Being told that the solution I thought I was working toward was a false lead has been beyond frustrating. The emotional toll, coupled with the physical pain, feels immeasurable. And the waiting game? It’s endless. Every day feels like I’m on pause, hoping that the next appointment might bring answers - answers that still seem far out of reach.
What makes it even more challenging is the fact that I’m still trying to power through it all. Despite feeling unwell every single day, I continue to show up at work, trying my best to meet deadlines, attend meetings, and manage the demands of my job. Unfortunately, the support from work has been less than helpful. While my line manager has been an incredible source of support, the wider organisation has not been as understanding. I’ve been put through a formal process due to my attendance, which has only added more stress to an already overwhelming situation. What was meant to be supportive has felt more like an added burden.
One of the most difficult moments came just a couple of weeks ago when I had to take two days off work due to severe pain and sickness. I was prescribed morphine three times a day to manage the pain, but when I returned to work, there was an immediate review meeting waiting for me, even though my occupation health referral should have covered it. The lack of empathy in those meetings by HR was shocking, especially given that they knew the reason behind my absence. It felt like my health struggles were being treated as a mere formality rather than an opportunity for understanding or support.
As the half term approached, I had hoped to focus on my university work and carve out some time for myself. I imagined catching up on things I’d neglected and reclaiming a bit of normality. However, I quickly realised I was neglecting self-care, trying to push through the constant demands of work and illness. On Monday, I hit my breaking point. I went to the doctor, and for the first time in a long time, I broke down. Admitting how much I was struggling wasn’t easy, but I knew it was time to face it.
The doctor prescribed a new antidepressant to help with the overwhelming emotions I’ve been feeling. But to be honest, the side effects have been tough to manage—hot and cold flushes, intense headaches, nausea, exhaustion, racing thoughts, and hallucinations. These past three days have left me questioning whether I made the right choice, as I’ve felt trapped in a fog of discomfort. But despite it all, I’m reminding myself that reaching out for help is a step in the right direction.
This half term, I feel like I’ve achieved very little in terms of productivity, but what I have achieved is far more important. I reached out for support. I opened up about my struggles and began to accept the help that’s been offered. It's not about being perfect or ticking off every task on a list during this chaotic time. It’s about taking small, meaningful steps toward healing and self-care.
In the midst of all this, I also spoke to the hospital last Friday, and they suggested I consider filing a complaint regarding the treatment and misdiagnosis I’ve received. It’s something I hadn’t thought of, but it feels empowering to take control of the situation and hold the healthcare system accountable for the failings that have added even more stress to an already difficult journey.
I’ve also struggled with basic self-care tasks—showering, washing my hair, brushing my teeth—things that most people do without thinking. But even though it’s been a struggle, I know that these small tasks make a difference. They’re part of day-to-day life, and despite the challenge, they leave me feeling a little better after I’ve done them. Just last night, I soaked in the bath for 20 minutes, washed my hair, and slipped into comfy clothes to relax on the sofa and watch Emmerdale. It wasn’t a major accomplishment, but it was a step toward reclaiming some normalcy and taking care of myself.
This journey is far from easy, and there’s still no clear end in sight. But I’m learning that it’s okay to not have everything figured out. It’s okay to not have the energy for every task. It’s okay to take time to prioritise my health—physically and mentally. It’s okay to ask for help, and it’s okay to have days where progress feels slow.
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