My Nan: The Final Part.

Now I know that I am one of the lucky ones in life. My family might not be perfect, we might all have our foibles - but no matter what happens... we all stick together. We are all very close, which is an unusual thing for many, but it is something that I treasure each and every day.

Today I’m in only what can be described as pre- mourning... my whole family are. My poor Grandmother, Audrey, is currently succumbing to an infection that is immune to all known antibiotics. She has been taken off all meds bar pain medication and put on hospice care, which means it’s a case of when, instead of if. We all knew that it was a matter of time, but absolutely none of us were prepared for the turmoil that we are all currently experiencing. Maybe I shouldn’t write about it whilst she’s still here, but I guess it’s my own form of dealing with it, not to mention it highlights a massive flaw in the system, of which I will highlight later in this piece. Nan never wanted this, and dignity is a hard thing to keep in your final days - once lost it is hard to ever find again.

Now, moving away from the current pain of the imminent situation, I want to tell you all about Audrey. I know I’ve previously blogged about her before; five years ago to be exact... when I read the blog over I burst into tears, it’s crazy how time flies and how situations change so graphically.

My Nan is freaking amazing: this woman has had more lives than a cat; surviving multiple strokes, stents, blood clots and septicaemia to keep on going, and would have been turning 98 in September, the day before my 34th birthday. She’s always had a super strong heart, and an even stronger mind. Other than the fact that 98 is an awesome age; Nan has lived through war, multiple monarchy, the forming of the NHS, the turn of the millennium - let alone watching all of our family grow up and make our own paths. This situation is exceptionally bittersweet for me as two weeks ago I married my soulmate and was unable to show her our wedding photos, of which the week before hand she’d told me that she wanted to see. My mum managed to show her one of me and my dress, of which I have to take some comfort from. 

I cannot explain just how much of an influence she has had on my life, let alone other members of my family. As a unit she has always been there to influence or be apart of, and it is a very odd feeling within the family right now. Her wise words have stayed with me over many a matter.

Nan used to live across from my parent’s house, and in her later years my Mum (and Dad) became her primary carers. She survived many years in her house due to Mum’s exceptional care, feeding her lunchtime meals every day, ensuring that she had had everything that she needs and helping her shower and set her hair into her trademark curls every week. My Dad’s fantastic handyman skills kept her house liveable and looking back, probably kept her independent and more mobile than she should have been for a very long time. I spent many a day helping Mum by helping Nan with her personal care, it was never been a bother.. sometimes she would wind me up with her opinions but I was always happy to help. She’s repeat her stories on a regular basis and my eyes would roll trying to remind myself I was damn lucky overall. (See previous blog here: https://jennieedwards.blogspot.com/2013/10/my-nan.html )

What this all highlights for me is that there is one massive problem, one that is taboo to discuss: euthanasia. Nan had said many times over that she was happy and ready to go; no matter how morbid it seems.. she really was. She missed my Bamps who passed all the way back in 2002, and pretty much just existed since.

Now she’s stuck. Nearly 4 weeks ago she experienced two bleeds on the brain that left her in a hospital and bed bound. They discovered this infection afterward... Of which on hearing there was no more treatment my family had to make one of the hardest decisions of this life: to stop all treatment and allow her to pass or to press on after the doctors specifically saying there’s nothing more they can do... not knowing how long that will take, or how much pain she will experience. 

I hate it. We all hate it. It’s this sense of dread and foreboding that you cannot just shake away. A big cloud has hung upon us all. Watch someone you love and care about wilt away in front of your eyes with a terminal sentence that you are not allowed to change to assist in. 

Nan has stated many times over the years that she did not want to suffer. Her cousin Bud passed two years ago as she was walking into Boots; opened the door and just dropped down dead.... rather than being upset, all she could say is that she hopes it’s the same when it’s her time! 

In certain cases like hers I believe that euthanasia should have been there for her. None of this guessing. None of this emotional turmoil and suffering would have even been an option. She could have quite happily passed away a few weeks back. Instead we wake every day wondering if today will be the day, if the morphine is really helping her, if she’s calm in the mind and soothed, if she’s comfortable. The list goes on.

I have to keep reminding myself of the last time I saw her in the care home a few weeks ago, the giggles we were sharing as I showed her how I use Messenger to talk to Dad, who was away at the time. The fact she reminded me every time that Dan was lovely, and it was better to be “an older man’s darling than a young man’s slave”. 

I’m forcing myself of the memories I don’t want to forget. Reminding myself of the time she took me to the doctors to only find I needed an emergency appendectomy. When she and Bamps used to come and see me when I was sick in hospital. The time she chased kids down the seafront for stealing a trolley and had us all in tears of laughter. All the times I set her hair and she told me all about her childhood, the trips by chauffeur to Harrods and Selfridge. How Bamps fell in love with her when she turned 18. The picnics in Hythe with pork pies and a packet of fruit pastilles for my brother and I. Electric blankets in the spare room for when we stayed over and it was too cold. Her Saturday Rock buns that used to go hard half way through the week. The Christmas tree with ancient tinsel and decorations on and not to mention, past but not least, her secret stash of crunchies and dairy milk.

I don’t know quite what to say from here on in. We’re all just plodding on, knowing that the inevitable is going to happen and we can’t do anything about it. 

Note: I wrote this at the end of last week. My Nan, Audrey Edwards passed peacefully in her sleep this morning, Monday 10th June 2019, aged 97. I still stand by everything I put above. I might not be religious but I’m really hoping that she’s been reunited with my Grandfather, Bamps. X  

Thank you to the lovely nurses and Doctors on the Fordwich ward in Queen Elizabeth the Queen Mother Hospital, Margate for their care.

Let's talk about Breasts, Baby!

Let’s cut right to the main subject here: Breasts, Chesticals, Boobies! Whatever you want to call them...

Yes, I have them. Technically we ALL have them; however, strangely enough mine are always a subject up for discussion whether I like it or not — or as soon as I wear the right (or wrong) top. This week I had a few comments from a photo on a boat, it wasn't even that revealing but it just really got to me.  

Over the years this has been a really uncomfortable subject for me. One that causes anxiety and pretty much leaving me second guessing everything that I wear on a daily basis. One that will be leading me down a surgical route in the near future because it’s got that bad. A friend pointed out to me that I talk about "them" negatively, like they're not a part of my body, and it really made me think. I’m hoping to share this to maybe help others with their body confidence, and perhaps not feel the same way about themselves:

I’ve always been quite conservative in the way I dress. I’ve always felt uncomfortable with my size and shape, feel out of sorts when my chest is even slightly on show. The odd time I actually do show "them" off.. I get so much negative attention I just hide away. I’m completely top heavy, low cut or revealing tops just don’t sit right with me. But why do I feel like this? 

My anxiety and body sensitivity stems from one thing and one thing only: Judgement. Judgement from both men and women. It's hilarious because even when writing this, I know there will be someone reading this paragraph, rolling their eyes going "attention seeking!".

I struggle with my size. I can’t just walk into a shop and buy a bra, let alone a bikini. I have a tiny back and big boobs, and anyone who has a size over F Cup will know my issue.. and that’s before I ever start of tops and dress sizing. I have certain friends in similar physical situations… some far more than me! They know my thoughts about it..some feel the same, and some don’t give it a second thought. I wish I was in the latter.

The other day I found a size XL bikini top that tied at the back, which meant I could actually fit it... when I went to buy the Medium bottoms the shop assistant just didn’t get it. She also couldn’t get why i was jumping for joy with tears in my eyes. My first new bikini in two years! Trawling shops for two years! (Before you say you’ve had your bikini for years.. my bras and bikinis only stretch enough for around 6 months then die a nasty misshapen death; another expensive fall out of being well endowed.)

Now back to the judgement: women.

Sometimes women are far worse than men. Which, in this day and age is just upsetting. I hate the media and how women are blindly led to believe they should be X/Y/Z, yet I find myself apart of it purely because of the scrutiny and judgement of others. 

The amount of women assume that if I broach the subject that I’m showing off, or lying about how depressed my breasts make me to gain attention. “You’re not that big!” “I don’t see what your problem is!”  “You should be happy, I’ve got nothing!”  Are the normal responses.

Now I totally get that we, us women, are rarely happy in our own bodies; but I’d never compare or tell someone how they should be feeling about it. I try and lift up and find the positives. (Not to mention I don’t need someone to tell me these things purely on the fact my chiropractor bill kind of shows just how big a problem they really are!) 

My mates who have less can wear strapless dresses and tops, they look fantastic. I always tell them this, it might be slightly riddled with jealousy but it’s also the truth... they have amazing figures that can get away with any look. But I also totally understand if they’re still not happy either. My well endowed friends - I am equally in awe of.. they look tremendous in their own right, yet I wouldn’t ever have the confidence to wear the same apparel. It’s crazy, isn’t it? Self acceptance is as rare as unicorn shit.

I try my best not to talk about boobs anymore. We’re meant to be able to talk about our difficulties, not shy away from them, yet I feel beyond uncomfortable even now, writing this. I know real life isn’t as simple as black and white.. but until we broach these unseen barriers, this kind of taboo conversation just won’t happen. Uplift each other. Jealousy and talking down another person’s body is just mean, insecure and just not nice, and myself and many others are the end product of such toxicity.

Men: Now where do I start with men? (I’m taking Dan out of this generalisation as he’s forever been wonderful to me about this matter.) 

You get all types; you get ones that love them, you get ones that hate them and you get ones that feel the need to make a comment because they’re in front of you whether you like it or not. Whether that’s just nature or not, I still cannot figure out. This is My body...nobody else's...  Is it right and acceptable to point out the bloody obvious and make me feel uncomfortable? I don’t go around saying “LOVE HANDLES!” Or “PENIS BULDGE!”  to others... so unless I know you well and it’s a joke between us.. understand this now - it is not the right thing to do and I really don’t like it. Yes.. I have boobs. Well done!  The excuse of "men will be men" is just not acceptable. We all have breasts, some, including mine are bigger than normal.. but does that mean I shouldn’t show them off encase others make a comment? Should I ignore the comments? Call them out on it? I'm beginning to do so. It's not party pooping, it's maintaining my own mental health. A sly comment here or there can send one person into personal hell, yet people continue to do it.

I spent years with a man that used to tell me, and others that more than a handful was a waste. I spent years believing that I was some top heavy freak that needed to hide them away because having them put means I’m attention seeking. I took in what others said rather than just accepting myself and just being me. To the point that now, I’ve written a whole blog on the fact that I will be getting a reduction and that actually, you should be damn happy with whatever you have, let alone be shamed into keeping them covered. (The reduction is for my own mental health, but also because I know a few who have taken this route and their lives have been completely changed for the better.)

We can’t help genetics. I can’t help being bigger chested than the average. I can choose to ignore, repute or tell others I feel uncomfortable, but the one thing I have realised s the I’ve always judged my own happiness on how I look on other’s opinions. 

That stops now. 

The Same Old Rhetoric.

Well what can I say? Just the other day, someone brought it to my attention that I haven't used my blog in over a year. The last post I had made had been written in such an emotional time that I just ran out of steam. I lost my love of writing anything half-decent (If you can call any of my blogging "decent"!). I'd like to be able to give an excellent excuse as to why I haven't blogged since then, but the truth is that I've simply just been lazy. Busy, but lazy.

The start of 2018 was filled with such promise, however, over time the reality sinked in that it was just the same as any other year, it was truly bog-standard. Dan ended up in hospital and had a big operation, which took months to recover, whilst I played nurse and worked my butt off for most of it... That's about it really. nothing really to write home about.*

Saying that, there was one thing that consistently stood out for us both by the time we'd arrived at the last quarter of 2018. We realised the fact that we'd both ended up doing absolutely everything that we promised ourselves that we wouldn't do. 

Three years ago we moved to El Gouna to make our own way, our own business and our own path together. We'd both previously come from uncomfortable and unstable "toxic" relationships and needed that chance to grow, and heal with time together. We managed those parts quite easily, we're happily closer than ever. Sometimes things just fit and our relationship does just that. However, it was everything else that just wasn't fitting in. 

El Gouna is amazing, it really is.. but it is a bubble. You can lose yourself into this little piece of paradise without even realising. Unless you come here with money in the first place, or the right friendships/contacts you'll end up within that little bubble, without actually taking notice of what is going on it the world. This in itself can become very toxic and repetitive on a day to day basis.

With all of this in mind, we ended up running around trying to keep our heads above water without actually achieving anything of what we wanted. We'd got stuck in the bubble and it really wasn't a nice place. Another year down and another wall, unfilled with achievements. We'd sit and discuss our hopes and ideas knowing that it just wasn't going to come but we'd pretend to think it would be nice to see it happen despite knowing it wouldn't. By the time we'd realised the truth we'd realised that our time in El Gouna was nearly at an end...

Then it all changed. We changed. One day we both sat down and finally started forward planning. Not hopes and wishes but proper life planning. I quit my job. I was done, I was burned out and unhappy, none of which I intended on doing but I needed to take that leap. Dan's taken a few leaps himself of which one massive one has turned out to fit in perfectly.

In the meantime I'm going to be concentrating on my mind, my health and obviously, my blogging!

So here's to 2019 everyone. May it be happy, may it be healthy and most of all, may it NOT be bog-standard.

*Dan is absolutely fine and recovered now, just encase you were wondering.