Apparently, time is a healer. It’s true. However, what people neglect to mention is that you will never be completely healed. You will never forget the trauma. You will never be free from the affliction that is your past.
For those of you who know me in real life, you will know that ten years ago, to this very day, I was blue-lighted from the Norfolk and Norwich University Hospital to Charing Cross Hospital in London. I had suffered a complete molar pregnancy, persistent trophoblastic disease. After a D&C to remove the tumour, the cells that should have formed a baby, these cells grew back; that tumour was malignant.
Although the NNUH is a fantastic hospital and I received some excellent care from them later into my treatment, Charing Cross is probably the place renowned for its knowledge and treatment of molar pregnancies.
We were supposed to be heading to London that day anyway. Having cancelled holiday plans of interrailing around Europe, some smaller stays within the United Kingdom were planned. Mum and Dad were supposed to be seeing the Dreamboats and Petticoats. We would have travelled by train, but instead, I was heading to the capital in an ambulance.
Back then, I plastered a smile on my face. Every time I hit a hurdle, I outwardly remarked that it wasn’t so bad and that things could be worse. They continued to get worse… until the only way things could have been worse was with death.
People tell me I’m lucky to be alive. They’re right, and I am.
People tell me I’m lucky to have my wonderful daughters. They’re right, and I am.
People tell me I should be over this. They’re wrong, and I’m not.
No one ever has the right to tell you how they feel. My declaration back then about things could be worse was wrong of me… but it’s how I felt and tackled things at the time. I kept comparing myself to others. Overhearing a nurse and patient telling her sister that it was terminal, and she didn’t have long to live – that made me feel as though I had to feel grateful that my prognosis was much better. It has a 99% cure rate. Later, when in the NNUH, I heard someone die. Again, I felt guilty for feeling so awful at that time.
Ten years on and still not being emotionally healed… all I can say is that my feelings are mine. No one else’s and not one single person, even me, has the right to tell me how I should or shouldn’t be feeling. Suppressing things will result in an emotional breakdown, and that’s precisely what happened to me. Bottling things up does not help, never did and never will. I’m vocal about my experiences. It helps me… reminds me, yes, but helps me to process things.
I also feel strongly about molar pregnancies being more widely known about. When I had mine, my GP has no clue what it was, and I was the one doing the explaining, giving the science behind the condition. It should be the other way around. So, if there’s anything you would like to know about my experiences, please do ask and I will always take the time to answer.