6 Years…

This month marks 6 years since the event that, well, made me who I am today.

6 years ago this month, I became really ill. I was 15 years of age and incredibly small. Throughout the majority of my childhood and teen years, I had always been small-built and considered underweight. No one really knew why but we put it down to my genes and the condition I was born with.

At this stage, I’d reached a scary weight of 3 stone. I was dangerously thin. Something was obviously seriously wrong. Early September, I was due to start my two weeks of work experience at a nursery. I was in year 11 (my final year of school) by this point. I managed 1 day. I felt a bit rough that day, but managed to hold it together and carry on as normal as best I could, until I got home. I went down-hill very quickly and within a couple of days I was admitted into my local hospital and put on a drip. I was at my weakest..

The photo above was taken on this day (7th September) in 2012.

Because I had gotten so weak, they decided that it may be best to give me an NG tube to help build me up and make me feel better, as I was now struggling to eat myself (I had always had an on/off relationship with eating – it’s never been great, but by this point I could hardly eat a thing).

After a few days being boosted up with a drip and NG tube feeds, I was blue-lighted up to Kings College Hospital in London. This was because even though I was feeling a bit better, it was very obvious something wasn’t right and my consultant felt that it was time that I moved to a more specialist hospital.

I remember the trip up there, I was petrified. A new hospital. A London hospital. A big hospital. A specialist hospital. Scary stuff for a young 15 year old.

I arrived at Kings. My dad was also with me. I was a bit cheeky when we arrived though (got to lighten up the situation in some way, hey?). The paramedic asked me if I was feeling okay and if I wouldn’t mind walking to the ward – if not, it wasn’t a problem as they could take me up in the bed. I said how I felt a bit faint so I’d rather be taken to the ward in the bed. So they took me through A&E, through the corridors, to the lift and up to the ward. Princess Elizabeth Ward I had been admitted to. Once we’d arrived at the ward, I’d settled in a bit and the paramedics left Dad asked me if I was still feeling faint. I replied “I wasn’t actually feeling faint. I just wanted a ride in a hospital bed!”šŸ˜‚

So, if any of those paramedics ever read this; I’m sorry for the hassle! To be honest, I’ve had so many rides in hospital beds now – I’ve had enough of them!!

To be Continued…..

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