Nothing like a bit of death to evaluate your life, your goals, dreams and ambitions.

Saturday 1st November was the first anniversary of my Nan’s passing. I worked during the day and then in the evening I took myself to a really nice restaurant, sat down with a glass of wine, ordered a steak and I wrote.

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Coco’s Cantina

I wrote about where I want to be in my life, what I want to achieve and all the things in between. I wrote down all the big things worrying me about my path and where I am heading, to some of the simpler things I wanted to achieve like working my way up to meditating every day.

Sometimes seeing it on paper helps to organise your mind but also gives you the time to think about what it is you really want. Sure, most of us have an idea of what we would like, but do we ever sit down and take the time to really mull it over?

And I thought about my beautiful Nan. I wish I had a photo to show you guys but unfortunately being in New Zealand, I didn’t take any snaps with me.

Memories are all I have and in fairness, all I need. As long as I remember, she will remain alive inside my heart.

It’s a sad occasion, I thought of all the things I never got to ask her. I felt sad for the things she will never get to see, like how unbelievably happy my mum is with her partner, how my two brothers are growing up to be these incredible men. How she’ll never see any of us married or hold a great-grandchild. I feel robbed of time shared. That I can’t sit and talk with her on a sunny afternoon with a cup of tea and biscuit.

It is also a celebratory occasion. I feel grateful for the time that we did share together, blessed that I was able to get to know my nan and create these memories with her. Unfortunately some people don’t even have the opportunity to get to know their grandparents and I feel fortunate that I had a close relationship with mine.

It was a bitter-sweet day where I allowed myself the time to breathe and to feel. I know that time heals all wounds, that things will get easier but the first will always be the hardest.

In other news, today I’m going to bungy jump. I have wanted to do this since I was about 19, and the longer I leave it, the more I’m scared of it. I’ve always wanted to do it in New Zealand, and as I’m here, I figure I should take the time out to tick this one off my bucket list.

I have 7 more sleeps till I’m back in Melbourne for a few days, and I have 17 more sleeps till I’m back in London.

Things are picking up and I have some exciting time that lay ahead.


To my beautiful friends

Through this crazy journey of having IBD there is one thing that people repeatedly touch on.

How brave or strong I am for dealing with this debilitating disease. 
And in a way I am. To deal with the physical and mental pain this disease brings on a day to day basis does require some sort of strength. 
I want to talk to you about the behind the scenes people, the people who make me feel strong and brave. 
My support system. 
To say I have amazing friends and family is an understatement. 
My health is in tatters, but there are not many people on this Earth who have been blessed with the support system that I have. 
One Sunday, a few years ago now, I was feeling particularly bad and called up a friend to say I felt terrible and I wanted to go to a&e. 
Off we went, and she kept me company whilst we waited to be seen, and when I had a drip in my arm that prevented me from moving, she came with me to the bathroom to help me pee. She stayed with me and cracked jokes to keep my spirits up. 
The same friend came walked all the way from her house, as there was no transport because it was Christmas day, to spend time with me whilst I had my Christmas in hospital. 
Not because I asked her to but because she cared enough to make the effort. 
My mum, on the eve of my surgery, stayed with me and joked about my grandad in yellow marigold gloves performing my surgery, and we laughed till I cried about dust. Dust of all things. She kept the nerves at bay. 
My beautiful mum who made me laugh too soon after surgery and I cried because the laughter was hurting my weak tummy muscles. 
My brother who changed his trousers in my little hospital cubicle only to be caught by my doctors with his trousers round his ankles. 
Three friends of mine who sneaked me out of hospital to eat wagamamas. 
A friend who hand drew a get well soon card, who asked questions about my stoma so that she understood. 
Another who said they would take a phone call at 3am if I needed it and would bring me cake if it cheered me up.
Another who did lots of research on the internet about colitis and diet to understand it all.
Every single one of my friends and family who either came to see me at the hospital, wrote me a note to get well soon, who enquired about the state of my health. 
The boy. Who visited me every single day whenever I was in hospital. Who deals with my crying, my anger, my joy. Who offered to learn to clean TinTin so I could get drunk with my friends. Who cleaned the bed when my bag leaked and laughed about it. Didn’t even complain once. Who took me to Rome to cheer me up. Who has been fighting this with me, everyday since we begun our relationship.
Every phone call with advice given, every compliment of how well I was doing, and how strong I was for having a stoma at such a young age. 
Every well wish that has been sent to me, that people have taken the time out to think about me, and send me a message.

Anyone that has allowed me their time to rant about how much I hate having IBD/stoma/J Pouch.

There are so many other moments that I can recall but I’d be here for a very long time and my fingers would have cramp and become claw like from all the typing!

Being strong is half the battle, the other half is having these amazing, beautiful beautiful people in my life. 
This post is for all you guys, who read my blog or who are all here with me through my darkest times. Thank you for being by my side, thank you for your support. I couldn’t have done it without you.