Sleep Exercise Repeat

As we know, the world is still going a little bit Pete Tong right now. I’m still just keeping my head down and worrying about the big stuff until a later date. I have no idea when life will return to any form of normalcy so I need to stay focused. 

I had a full wobble a few weeks ago.. it didn’t achieve anything, and I was of no use to myself, Dan or anyone else in this period. I still have fleeting moments, panic attacks etc but I’m trying my best just to not focus in. I’ve always been one to take on other people’s issues and negativity and try to help solve it. Forever a sunny outlook, unfortunately, lately, that has been something that I just cannot handle without breaking a little myself. I know people go on about self care but I didn’t quite realise till recently, just how much I needed to practise this.

I keep trying to look to the bright side. You’d think not actually working that I would be bored, when actually I’ve somehow managed to keep extra busy to the point I would really like an extra hour or two added to my day. Between the normal animal issues, I’ve somehow managed to be smashing out the exercise as of late. Mostly running - The Tri Factory’s Stay Safe Marathons have been keeping me busy. Currently on day 4 of 14 attempting another 100km. I’m on track for now (Albeit feeling rather tired today). I’ve made some excellent Twitter friends, of whom we’ve now named ourselves the “Plank Posse” - they’ve made my day with videos of planking with jokes, conversation, poems, excerpts from books. It’s amazing what a bit of positive motivation does for one’s mind, especially when you’re on your own so much. 

 The one thing I’ve been missing from my life is scuba diving: by now I’d be out on the boat at least twice a week and on the hunt for whale sharks amongst just chilling out 15m down. It’s the one place my brain switches off... which for anyone who knows me well knows just how much of a big thing this is for me. First world problems Eh?I guess I need to be thankful that the marine life of the Red Sea are having a well deserved break from us intruding on their turf. I cannot wait to see just how well it is doing once we’re back in the water. A few months is most certainly nothing compared to the life of Coral, or many species of fish but still, it can only but help!

Just over a month ago my friend convinced me to start Kayaking. I’d already bought a blow up one from my friend Leigh, as he was leaving the country. It had sat on my balcony since last October. I kept promising myself I’d go out in it... but I didn’t.  I’m one of these types of people who promises myself I’ll do something for myself and then consistently put it off. Normally I’ll procrastinate and use other people’s needs as an excuse not to do things.  After much convincing from my friend Sandra, and the photos of her out to sea I took the proverbial plunge. The next thing you know I’m addicted. It’s become my absolute passion already. 

My blow up baby didn’t last long she punctured easily.  I keep meaning to repair her (and I shall do so soon!). But in the meantime my friend let me borrow her hard kayak. After an afternoon paddling on that and I found myself ordering a brand new hard base kayak. It’s like I’d learned to ride a bicycle without the training wheels on. A completely different experience, and a wonderfully easy one.  Within an hour my new “Kayaky McKayakFace” (Dan named it.,...) was sitting on the beach just waiting to be used. Now I’m not the type to go buy something straight away, let alone spend that kind of money on myself. But, as I’m not diving and I’m definitely not holidaying/shopping/ going to the gym, I somehow managed to justify the cost to myself. I’m still quite surprised, I would normally feel guilty about spending money yet this time I didn’t care. I still don’t and two weeks later I am so ridiculously happy with my purchase. I will be getting every penny’s (guinea’s) use from    it!  It’s most certainly one of the best things to have come out of 2020 so far for me. Who knew, eh?

 What’s even better is the fact that I can social distance and not disturb the peace whilst doing it. I tend to meet my friend who lives the other side of town midway.. and we decide our route from there. The lagoons of El Gouna make for the perfect route to paddle around without getting bored. No wind days means out to sea, which is even more of a treat. We sit over the corals and watch the world go by. It is almost as good as scuba diving, it seems to have slowed my mind for now, and give me that little bit of peace of which I so desperately needed. The even better result is that it works my upper body, of which I normally avoid like the plague. (I’m thinking we should do away with the saying “avoid like the plague” - considering as proven the past few months that most people do not avoid pandemics!!)

 I’ve even managed to get a tan. I’ve spent so much time in the sun the past few weeks that I’m almost unrecognisable. The day walker may have actually turned into a normal person for once! Factor 50 is still my life - and even then I’ve ended up with a few burns. I just must remember to reapply as much as possible.

Anywho, this is my ramble for the week. I’m sure I’ll try and write again soon, like I keep saying that I will.  Tally ho and all that!

I would tell you a joke about a needle in a haystack, but I don’t think you’d see the point!

I’ve ended up in the same conversation a few times over as of late - stories about being adverse to needles. In-fact, I have a massive phobia of needles that has landed me in some hot water over the years. I thought I’d share them down onto my blog, so that you can all have a great laugh at my expense.

 Now, my background covers a lot of medical experiences and training thanks to a varied work life. I’ve seen so many animal accidents, sicknesses, blood and gore you’d think I’d be used to it by now; but no, I’m really not. It all started back when I was young. My father will always deny this; in fact, he calls me silly for it -  but he started it. He used to chase me, put his fingers at the back of my knees and middle of arms and shout “injection time”. I used to hate it, and even now, I absolutely hate being touched behind my knees or my arms. It makes me feel quite physically sick.

As written about previously, I had major health issues throughout my teenage years. The amount of needles, blood samples, canula fittings I endured must have gone well into the hundreds. All you need is a few bad experiences and BOOM! A phobia is born. Fear is completely stupid, because it’s always completely irrational. But that is exactly what it is. If it wasn’t, we’d all be fearless which in turn would lead to a whole different problem. My fellow animal volunteers find it absolutely hilarious (and perplexing) that I can help with an animal that is falling apart because of a road accident, with blood and guts everywhere... and yet I cannot bring myself to give a small subcutaneous injection under the fur. 

One of the first instances that I can remember is being treated at Great Ormond Street Hospital. The nurses took me to a room, and sat me on a chair to take blood. I always remember my mother specifically telling them that I’d need to lay down as I don’t fair very well...  The next thing I know I woke up on the floor. Mum says to this day that I’d gone the colour of the floor.. a very pale medical green!

I used to be on the DEPPO injection - which is basically the ladies pill in needle form. Once every three months I’d have to have an injection into my butt.. and every three months I’d have the same argument with the nurse about laying down, every time I won. Once time my ex-husband came with me and the nurse was insistent that I just needed to bend over and relax... so I did to prove my point. Once again, I woke up with both the nurse and my ex trying to lift me up onto the table. I was as still and as solid as a rock. Thankfully, she made a note then and there never to give me any sort of needle without laying down ever again. Point proven!

Now one of the more frightening times was a few years ago here in Egypt. 2017 was not a good year for me - I was gravely ill for months - I had an infection that had spread inside my body and really did quite a bit of permanent damage. One of the side effects of the medication (not that I knew it at the time!) was that it gave me tachycardia. On more than a few occasions I’d felt like I was having a heart attack. My heart rate would zoom up to 200bpm without me even doing anything. I had to pop up to Cairo for a tonne of tests as the Doctor in Gouna had told me I had slight heart failure. At 32, with no pre-existing issues. 😳 Anywho, I digress...

One of the main tests needed was a dye based CT scan. They inject the dye into your wrist and 15 minutes late you’re put under the scanner to check the walls of the heart. The nurse was kind of aggressive with the dye. You’re meant to administer it slowly, but no... she shunted that damn needle into my hand like a pressure hose. Dan managed to walk me back out into the waiting room before I keeled over in front of everyone. Interestingly, I had the most amazing dream whilst I was “out for the count”. It was a cool British Winter’s day and I was snuggled up under the most amazing duvet. I didn’t want to move or get up, yet something kept on trying to pull me out of this amazing feeling. I woke up with a start. I was covered in sweat, I had four nurses holding my arms and legs up, smelling salts under my nose and a very upset Dan standing above me. They moved me to a small room to recover, and  fed me apple juice to try and get my sugar levels up. I proceeded to tell Dan about my wonderful dream, and almost how horrible it was to wake up again. He went white as a sheet and asked me not to tell him that ever again. It turns out I’d stopped breathing and had been turning blue for nearly a whole minute after I’d fainted. He’d physically slapped me across my face trying to shock me back into life and genuinely thought that momentarily he’d lost me. I had no clue in my happy little place. Interesting to think that IF that’s the other side, well, I won’t worry so much when it is my time - let’s put it that way. I didn’t tell my parents that story for a good year, purely because I thought they’d freak out. I was right!

Last but not least of these experiences revolves more around Dan in the hospital rather than me! Two years ago he had to experience what I can only call a major operation that NO man would ever voluntarily put themselves through. I will not go into details, but lets just say it left a 8 inch scar in a place that is super uncomfortable even today. Due to the way that hospitals work here ... I became his nurse for weeks, whilst this operation healed. What’s worse is that this operation was open/loose stitched as it needed to be healed from the inside out. (I wont post a picture!). Suffice to say that Nurse Jen was excellent at doing everything except for administering the injections, of which, Dan, the poor soul had to do himself as I found myself going dizzy as soon as I’d mixed the antibiotics to flush into the cannula. 

 The best part of this story though, was the check up two weeks later. When the Doctor heard what I’d been doing he’d invited me to take a look at what he had to do next, which involved removing and re-stitching said area. (It was fascinating, I love this kind of thing!) However, the doctor did most of it without giving poor Dan an anaesthetic. Half way through, he called for a morphine needle... and that’s where it all went wrong for me. As soon as I saw the needle, the room suddenly went smaller. I excused myself to go out and get some air. I went to the toilet to splash myself with water and next thing you know, I’m on the ground. So, I pick myself back up and take myself outside to sit on the marble steps for air... except I never made the marble steps. Well, I did, kind of. I made them by fainting onto them, knocking myself out and smashing my

glasses. I woke up in the bed right next to Dan. The doctor visited me and couldn’t understand where I’d come from.. once again I’d turned so green he didn’t even recognise me! It was only when I managed to choke out that I was with Dan he realised I was the same girl who’d been helping him in the operation not ten minutes before! Lord knows what people must have thought of us that night. I looked a right mess and was still slightly dizzy and concussed, Dan was high as a kite and we both stood outside of McDonald’s, swaying on our own as we downed a large pack of fries and nuggets purely for some energy.

 I’ve had a few hospital experiences since then, fortunately nothing on the same scale as these. The food poisoning and hospital experience that I had last year was so bad that I almost got used to having needles and cannula jabbed into me. I definitely faired better that time...maybe it’ll hold me better stead for next time.

Anyway, I hope you enjoyed reading my adventures with needles. There’s a small tattoo that I would really like to get, yet I still just cannot get over the needle fear, one day... maybe. Until then, no more injections please!

Purpose and over-thinking in Isolation.

I’ve just realised I’ve not posted for a whole year - after losing Nan I just hadn’t really had the enthusiasm to write. I’m not entirely sure that I have any more of that good old enthusiasm at this precise moment, but I feel like I’m losing the will to do anything remotely productive so maybe it’s time. It’s a poor excuse, it’s not exactly like I haven’t had the time for the past year - I’m at my most creative when I have purpose, and this year has been sorely lacking that.

I guess I’m feeling a little stuck. I’m hitting 35 in a few months time -  I hear some of my friends cry whilst reading this statement “You’re still young and able” ...but I’m hitting that age where I’m constantly evaluating my purpose in life and really, I’m really just not sure what I’m doing anymore.

Not that I really believe in “Purpose”. Purpose is a social construct built within our own imaginations. We put these pressures and these constraints on ourselves and what we perceive - to fill out our time to believe that we actually mean something to satisfy our own ego. (Yes, that’s just how much I’ve been over-thinking all of this.). I’m a complete sucker for this, I’m forever managing to put stupid pressures on myself and than beating myself up when I cannot achieve them.

Don’t get me wrong, overall I’m happy. I have a wonderful partnership (despite being apart so much.) I’m also ridiculously privileged to even be sitting in the position that I am right now - I spend my life in a beautiful seaside heaven, rescuing animals and basking in paradise. I don’t want to curse it, but even my health hasn’t been too bad this year bar the odd cold. I’m lucky I’m anti-social and introverted as this whole isolation thing hasn’t to bothered me too much. I walk the dog, I look after the cats, I run, I swim, I cook, I read, repeat.

I shouldn’t be whinging yet I feel quite empty a lot of the time. I know it doesn’t help with Dan being away so much.. especially now as he’s stuck away for so long. We have a plan, we’re sticking to it and the end result is completely worth it. 

This post isn’t about that...

The thing is, I’ve always had purpose. Always. I’ve always been working towards my career, or a business goal. Last year when I stopped working I spent a good six months tearing myself up on the inside because I felt guilty for not playing my part. I’ve worked solidly since I left school. The way I’m built and my anxiety does not like the slow lane - I’m not meant for sitting back and letting someone else look after me. (Dan’s never once said that either, he’s been amazing throughout all of this.)

I’m not taking the “family route“. Due to a few personal reasons that part just isn’t going to happen. So it’s not exactly like I’m waiting to start a family. I don’t mind this, it’s not really a talking point. It just is what it is.

I’ve debated going back into study so many times in the past few months - I’ve even whittled down subjects and all. I just cannot, for some reason make that leap. Something keeps holding me back and I’m just not sure why. Self confidence? So much doubt? Practicality? I’m not even very sure where we’ll be located in a year’s time thanks to Dan’s job so is it even worth spending the money studying when it could end up being a giant stress? It’s what keeps me awake at night. I’m forever contemplating what comes next. Once again, over-thinking is ruining it for me!

I guess everyone is feeling this in some way or other at the moment - time will be the key player - I’m very sure that I’m overthinking this all purely thanks to the demons of isolation taking hold. I must just sit back, stop worrying and reassess in a few months time. It’s just a few months time feels so very long away right now! In the meantime I’m running, cycling and swimming and trying to beat those demons. I’m not good at waiting, I’m not a patient person. I like to be pro-active and not reactive.

I’m very sure I’m not the only one having these moments. If you are, and you’re panicking... please believe me when I say that you’re not alone - I’m always a message, tweet or email away. Feel free to chat to me anytime. If I don’t reply it’s because I’m asleep, or having a moment myself.

I’d love to say that I’ll write more blogs. I want to aspire to ensuring at least a few more entries into the 2020 diary.. but we’ll have to see what that brings. 

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.

Compassion. Or is it?

Compassion. It’s a word I’ve heard repeatedly in the last few days, but what does that truly mean?

We had a situation recently, which to be fair if we’d been in Europe there wouldn’t really have been any issue. However, we’re in Egypt, when basically every cut, break, scar, rescue is a complete uphill battle against the world when it comes to street animals. 

A feral street cat had broken it’s leg. This wasn’t any “to be adopted” type street cat, and this wasn’t any normal break… he’d basically sheered the back leg off in a car accident. The young male was petrified of everyone and everything. Dragging his leg across the floor in agony. It was heart breaking to see. My friend Sandra took him to BlueMoon in Hurghada with the hope of rescue. Within this period it became very apparent that he was past the point of being able to place him with humans. Rehabilitation for loss of a front leg is difficult, when it’s a back leg it’s even harder as cats use this for everything from balance and jumping to full on survival tactics in fights. It’s hard but possible when the animal is humanised. I had experience with my brother’s cat Moomin three years ago - it’s doable but it takes a very long time to heal and learn how to deal with it.

We took a good day to decide which way we could take this forward. Our trusted Vet was quite frank in saying that survival chances were minimal. We spoke to the local shop keepers who normally feed and care for the cats in the area (they were also the ones to first call us). All of them agreed that the boy could never be placed back into the town for fear of a worser fate.. he had nowhere to hide or be safe and that there was no way to get close to him.  We checked with all of our experienced foster carers to find there was absolutely zero space. By now the boy had been in pain for well over a day, let alone the time he'd suffered before Sandra had managed to catch him.

Now put this all together: A feral street cat - used to living on rooftops in town. Used to fighting his way through life as a rule. No humans allowed to touch or care. Loss of a back leg and no guarantee of survival. No foster carers to be able to even try the hard rehabilitation process. 

We didn’t want to play God. We never ever want to make those decisions. But sometimes, on the rare occasion we have to. That day we had to. Both Sandra and I cried. There’s something horrific in knowing you’ve made a choice you cannot go back on, we could not see a way forward. I question myself most days on whether I’m doing the right thing. I see death with animals on a regular basis via nature and it hurts every time. However, when you know it’s on your shoulders it never quite sits right.

I decided to put this story online on our Facebook Page; sometimes it is a good idea to show the rough with the smooth just to make people realise that it’s not a happy holiday here. Volunteering is hard and stressful.. and as you can tell by now, incredibly upsetting.

What I didn’t expect was for a few armchair warriors to come back and tell us that we’re murderers and very bad people. I was shocked. It completely floored me. “You wouldn’t do that to a child, so why would you do it to an animal?”  “A broken leg is not enough to justify killing.” “You’re murderers to justify your own selfish needs” “You should have just left him for nature” were amongst the quotes. 

Now I understand the cultural differences here. I’m not saying I’m holier than thou, but I’ve met many an Egyptian who do not believe in helping a hurt animal and to let nature take its course. I disagree, but I accept that this is another person’s opinion. However, the one thing I did take of note was that all of these comments came from people outside of Egypt!! We were being told that we were shameful animal welfare volunteers by people who probably haven’t lifted a finger for animal welfare themselves - let alone seen the conditions we work in. It's very easy to sit and form an uneducated opinion whilst sitting a few thousand miles away.

My first response was how dare they judge unless they’ve been in the same situation?! We have it lucky in our westernised, fair and privileged world. We do not have a street animal problem, or a lack of neutering initiatives. Sadly Egypt isn’t quite there yet.. not that I quite want Egypt to be anything like Europe, but it would be nice to see a difference in attitude towards animal welfare. 

I spent all night crying, I was just so upset. I had my husband and my friends try and console me but I just couldn’t shake this sad and unjust feeling. I’m trying to do good deeds in a not such a good world.. and even then there are people ready to smack you down.

Then, a while later  I came back to one thing; Compassion. I had others reassure me that doing what’s right is sometimes painful. Exceedingly painful.  We’re so wrapped up in keeping animals alive for our own comfort in our own minds that we don’t mind them suffering. People keep the suffering going with the excuse that it’s the right thing, rather than standing up and making the right decisions to actually be kind and show that compassion. We try our absolute upmost to preserve life, sometimes we do not have a choice. Or if we did, it would be from pure selfishness and not for the actual welfare of the animal.

My Aunt told me that there are far worse things that death - and those who think differently have never been in that situation where life is a living hell. She also said that euthanasia could be viewed as the last and greatest gift we can give an animal. This advice comes from a wonderful woman who sadly had to watch her husband fade away without her being able to do anything. Wise words that hit me to the core.

I do agree that if this had been a completely different situation; his life would have probably been saved. However, we have to deal with the facts first hand, and first hand we were pulled one way only.  We don’t have the luxury others do. There’s no friendly rescue down the road to help you pick up the overflow. There’s no government grants or random millionaires willing to spend a few thousand to ensure a humane way of life here. We scrounge and scratch away what we can to keep all of this going - and with the few volunteers that we have, we’re bloody lucky to be able to say we keep El Gouna standards going to a point with what we've got and it's not bloody easy.

So there you go. Compassion. You’ll have your own opinion to this blog, I’m sure. Don’t ever think I don’t second guess my decisions.  Morality is a very difficult thought that I could spend hours wasting anxious thoughts over. I will go to bed again tonight worrying if I’ve done the right thing. But the one thing I do know is that that one boy is not laying there in agony anymore, and with that I can feel a little peace in the midst of upset.