Hi. It’s been a while. Life happened; the good, the bad, the ugly, the beautiful and the downright traumatising. It’s not that I’ve had nothing to say or nothing to write about. At times, I think there’s been too much. I was just trying to catch my breath for long enough to process it all.
In all honesty, I’m not quite sure how to describe this past year. I don’t feel like there are any words accurate enough. Any descriptions I come up with are contradictory. They don’t make sense. I guess it feels like this past year doesn’t really make sense to me though, so perhaps it’s apt. But I’ll give it a go.
Traumatic but fortunate. Haunting but beautiful. Full of love, but overwhelmed with grief. Trying to embrace the new while mourning the past. Trying to forget the past while yearning for a better future. Fighting for normality whilst seeking change. Surreal.
Life changed drastically for my family after my dad’s sudden hospitalisation from a ruptured brain aneurysm and all the scary aftermath that followed at the end of 2021. The lack of resources from our healthcare system and an error on their part meant we basically had no support and very little guidance for the first several months. This whole experience has shown us just how stretched and fatigued our system and staff are, and I have nothing but gratitude and respect to those who work in this sector who are still doing their very best to help all of us in every way they can. I’m beyond grateful that he’s now doing so well, I don’t think I’d have coped with any other unthinkable outcome.
2022 has probably been the year I’ve travelled and explored the most. I’ve explored many new places and for the first time, I even did some solo trips. This is something I’m not sure I’d have had the confidence or strength to do in the past, but it’s definitely something I’ll continue to do. Perhaps when your world flips upside down, everything you’ve ever known and the dynamics you’ve grown up with suddenly change and you have to be strong for others, these things become more trivial and less daunting.
I’ve visited Las Palmas (Gran Canaria) – for my first solo trip; and also went to Paris, Rome (solo), Wroclaw and Lanzarote for the first time. Throw in weekends away to Kettlewell (North Yorkshire) and Lochgoilhead, and a day trip to London, have been fortunate enough to explore some beautiful places this year, which I’m very grateful for, and I can’t wait to continue ticking off new places in 2023.
As with every year, 2022 has been full of life lessons, new perspectives, new insights and new experiences. It’s also been full of love, loss, and tears of both laughter and grief. I’ve learned how short life is, how it can change completely and as quickly as it takes for a wave to wipe out your sandcastle on the shore.
I’ve learned the true depth of how a traumatic event can affect people. How it can change them, their perspectives, their priorities, their thought processes, their reactions, and their ability to cope with the things life throws at them, big and small. While I know this is common knowledge, along with the fact that trauma can stay with you – I even learned this in my university course some years ago – I have learnt that no one truly knows how they’ll cope or how much it will affect them until something happens to upend their world. It gives you a newfound insight and empathy to others who are facing similar situations. It rouses emotions and thoughts you may never fully understand.
But I do believe facing trauma eventually makes you stronger, more understanding, empathetic and it can force some realisations upon you. The home truths you don’t want to acknowledge creep up on you; such as, the reality that life is too short and far too precious to spend a lot of your time on things you don’t want to do, with people who don’t appreciate you or support you, and putting off or missing out on the things or people you love. You don’t get this time back. Take the damn photo even if your hair is a mess or you’ve got a stain down your jumper. It doesn’t need to be “for the ‘gram”, it can be for your own personal memories because trust me, one day you won’t be able to take that photo with that loved one and the regret will sneak in. It can be heart-warming to look back on these photos with the people you love in the future to remember those times and they can jog memories you once forgot. Even if a memory is of an insignificant moment for you, it may be one of someone else’s treasured ones.
For 2023, I plan to see more of the world (as much as my finances and work holidays will allow), make more time to do what I enjoy, spend as much time with my family and friends as possible, celebrate love with all of my friends and my cousins who are marrying their soulmates or having babies, enjoy as many snuggles as my cats will allow (even if they have to be enticed with treats), and learn to focus more on the positives, which is something I’ve always struggled with.
IT feels only fitting to end with a saying my beloved granddad used as a toast at family gatherings, since this is the first year we will be facing without him.
“Here’s the good of your blood, here’s to the good of your health. If your blood’s no good, your health’s no good so here’s to your bloody good health.”
Wishing everyone good health, happiness, love, laughter and success for 2023 and beyond.
Hi everyone, it’s been a while. To be honest, the intention to write has always been with me; but sometimes, the time, other times the motivation and mental capacity to write have not. This post has actually been inspired by a very wholesome Messenger chat shared by my friends and I recently about our ‘highlights’ of 2021.
Like every year preceding it and every year that will follow it, 2021 has been an up-and-down-side-to-side-back-to-front rollercoaster. However, as humans, it seems inherent in our nature to focus on the negatives. Placing more emphasis on the adverse events and unpleasant experiences is by no means healthy; yet something I am very well-versed in as a chronic over-thinker. Therefore, I thought it might be beneficial for myself to make a note of my ‘best bits’ from the past year. I know there is a lot of stigma in relation to people only showing their ‘highlight reel’ on social media, and I do agree that it creates an unhealthy view of how ‘the rest of the world’ lives, as well as sets expectations of what life should be like which are unattainable for the majority of the population. That is not what I’m selling. I’m not ignoring the shadows, storms and demons of 2021. Far from it. I often give them too much attention, and I’m sure I’m not the only one. As a combative measure to give myself a better internal balance and a more evenly represented account of my life over this past year, I simply thought that listing the positives (and I don’t mean Covid-19 tests) may be a good way to start.
My dad and I at the summit of Ben Lawers, Dec 2020
1. My dad very recently – and without any warning – collapsed at work due to a ruptured brain aneurysm, which also caused a couple of seizures. The ruptured aneurysm caused a subarachnoid hemorrhage (basically, this means there is bleeding in the space that surrounds the brain which can cause severe irritation). This lead to vasospasms (when the arteries narrow/constrict which can reduce the blood flow and so can be very serious if not dealt with immediately). Despite these past few weeks being the most terrifying times in my life so far, we got incredibly lucky in that my dad – the unbelievable fighter that he is – exceeded the doctor’s expectations and after 3 weeks, was well enough to be released home to us in time for Christmas. He truly has been our Christmas miracle and my family will be eternally grateful. For obvious reasons, the worst part of my year shortly lead to the best part of my year (although, I would’ve rathered we’d skipped the critical illness altogether and he’d remained healthy throughout – but since that’s not an option, I’m overwhelmingly relieved that he should make a full recovery after lots of rest).
Reunited with my family in England at last! – May 2021
2. Being reunited with my dad’s side of the family – my grandparents, aunts, uncles and cousins down in England after around 15 months of lockdowns and travel restrictions was a true blessing. We’d never been apart for so long, and with the world being such an uncertain and scary place throughout the duration of separation, finally being able to hold them again, laugh with them in person and tell them we love them face-to-face meant everything to us all – as I’m sure similar reunions across the globe did to others too.
My girls
3. The girls in my friends group developed a much closer bond over this past year. Some of us were close or even very close, but we’d all joined the group at different stages and knew each other through other people so some of us were more like acquaintances. I’m very thankful that we’ve made more of an effort to get to know one another better and realised how well we all click. It’s special knowing you have more girls at your side whom you can trust and who are ready to fight your corner should you ever need them to – after all, as the saying goes: “It’s a man’s world.”
4. My cousin’s fiancé, Roz, asked my other cousin (her best friend) Maddy and I to be her bridesmaids this year. I was truly honoured to be asked to be part of such a special day for her and my cousin, especially as it’s like gaining another sister instead of a ‘cousin-in-law’. I can’t wait for their big day in 2023!
5. I pushed myself out of the comfort of my safe and cosy nest this year to climb Ben Nevis to raise money for a charity in memory of my late gran – the Alzheimer’s Society. I travelled through to Fort William, explored the town and stayed on my own, then tackled the mountain as good as solo too – it was an organised event but a lot of participants had enrolled with friends or family members. I met some incredible people, the views were stunning and I’d love to set myself another charity challenge in 2022.
My Ben Nevis challenge – July 2021
6. My mum and I reunited with my first ever best friend and her mum on a weekend in Newcastle during the summer. My friend and I met at just 2 years old – her family from Manchester and mine from Glasgow – whilst on holiday in Majorca! Although we’d been in touch on and off through social media for years, Daryl and I had not seen one another in person since we were around 11 years old! It was the most special weekend and the two of us clicked as if we’d only been apart for a week. That’s when you know that those friends are in fact your family.
7. My mum celebrated her big 5-0 in July! Thankfully, the covid-restrictions preventing us from leaving Glasgow were no longer in place and we managed a wholesome family holiday for a week down in East Sussex staying on a beautiful nature reserve. Although the weather was not particularly pleasant at times, it remained warm and we visited some stunning places in the surrounding areas and saw beautiful wildlife.
Holidaying with my family in East Sussex – July 2021
8. As well as Fort William, East Sussex and the surrounding areas such as Brighton, Hastings and Eastbourne where we walked the Seven Sisters Cliffs, I got to visit some other really beautiful places this year: Glen Coe – particularly The Lost Valley; Edinburgh; Tenerife; The Isle of Arran; and I climbed a couple of Munros at Crianlarich and Loch Earn. I also did an inflatable obstacle course on a lake in England with my family as a surprise celebration for my aunt’s 60th, which is something I never thought I’d do or enjoy – I HATE being cold and wet! But, it was a brilliant laugh and as a bonus, it wasn’t even particularly cold!
7 Sisters Cliffs, Eastbourne (right); the inflatable obstacle course (middle); Glen Coe as viewed from The Lost Valley
9. My holiday to Playa de Las Americas in Tenerife with my bestie was definitely a highlight. Leaving Scotland after around 18 months of being stuck at home in lockdowns, with travel restrictions, being forced to stay away from loved ones and uncertainty about when we’d ever be able to reclaim any form of normality back from the virus, stepping off the plane in Tenerife felt surreal in the best way. We explored beautiful beaches, witnessed the most beautiful sunset on Mount Teide, went to bars and nightclubs, out for delicious meals and had an absolute blast at the water park. Oddly enough, our horrifyingly hilarious encounter with a skateboard-sized cockroach in my suitcase became a traumatic highlight of the holiday due to the sheer combined state of panic, laughter and fear we were in. This set us up for round two when another cockroach resurrected itself outside our front door. Of course, sod’s law would have it that we had an audience of three very confused Spanish guys across the road as we ‘handled’ the situation (a.k.a. Hannah dramtically and bravely jumping on it and scooting it away with a fully-extended selfie stick). One of the poor guys started coming over to check on us before we closed the door. I wonder what they thought was going on? Poor lads.
(Left) With my bestie, Hannah; (Middle) Me atop Mount Teide; (left) The giant creepy cockroach which terrorised us for a whole dayMy girls surprised me in Las Iguanas in the capital as a belated birthday celebration
10. My bestie, Hannah, surprised me with a day out for my birthday – I wasn’t given any details, I was only told a time and to meet her at the train station. After guessing we were heading through to the capital, another of my besties met us in Glasgow to get the train through. This was a lovely surprise in itself, but when another four of my best girls were sat waiting for me in Las Iguanas in Edinburgh later that day, my mind was blown. I was truly humbled that these girls had taken the time out of their weekend to travel through there as a surprise for me. It lead to a few too many cocktails and shots – and a nightclub in Glasgow for the last 4 of us standing (which meant it was 5am the next morning before I returned home). My friends really are the best.
Bruce (left); Oscar and Bruce hijacking the dining table on Christmas Day (right)
11. My family adopted the cat (Bruce) of a close friend of mine who was returning to live in Australia with her family and couldn’t take him. As sad as I was to see her go, taking him in has felt like a silver lining. He’s fit right in with my family (I’m currently his favourite although I don’t actually live there…), except him and our other cat, Oscar, who have yet to become besties. I hope this is on the cards one day, but they’re fine with each other as is. Having him around has been a real comfort for us over the past few weeks while my dad was critically ill due to his loving nature and his crazy antics which kept us entertained.
The night sky from Mount Teide, Tenerife, September 2021
12. One of my fascinations is with the night sky. The stars and planets on a clear night have always mesmorised me and I spent many nights wrapped in blankets lying in my parents’ back garden watching out for shooting stars. This year, whilst on a trip up Mount Teide, we stopped to witness the Milky Way in all her glory. The tour guide pointed out constellations and planets and told us stories and facts about our galaxy. A few weeks later when I was on the Isle of Arran (Scotland), I was fortunate enough to witness the milky way again on a magical night with my family. We even spotted a shooting star or two. Experiences like these really do mean so much more to me than anything money can buy.
13. One of my grandparents’ favourite places is the Isle of Arran. Before they had to give up driving, they used to make annual trips there. My aunt and her friend brought them up from Nottingham in October and we joined them for a few days on the beautiful island. Spending time with them in a place so important to them was incredibly special and one of those trips I will always cherish. Whilst in Arran, I FINALLY saw a golden eagle in the wild – a dream I’ve been obsessed with for many years! I saw it from afar through binoculars and through my dad’s camera lens, but it was magnificent all the same. Due to the distance, the photos weren’t particularly good quality, but it’s clear enough proof that it’s an eagle! My dad, aunt, brother and I also tackled the biggest Corbett on the island – Goat Fell – which was brilliant despite the wind, and the views were absolutely worth the trek. My grandparents’ love for the island has rubbed off on me without a doubt and I can’t wait to visit again.
My first ever golden eagle (left); view from the summit of Goat Fell (middle) and with my Nanna on the beach (left) – October 2021
14. Over the past year, I’ve become a bit more content and confident in myself through learning more about who I am and the kind of person I want to be. In part, this has helped me to develop the confidence to share some of my writing – such as this blog. This is colossal progress for me as although writing is something I’m passionate about, I’m also extremely self-conscious about it, which means I struggle to share it through fear of failure and criticism. Again, this is not a particularly healthy mindset to have, but I am working on it – and making this blog public was a big step in the right direction for me at the start of 2021.
15. This year, I have started becoming more comfortable in my own skin. For as long as I can remember, I’ve never been satisfied with my appearance. I’ve always idolised ‘beautiful’ celebrities who had completely flat stomachs or washboard abs all year round; who’s skin was always flawless, and who were highly regarded in the media for their ‘natural’ beauty. It sounds sad, and I guess it is, but I’ve never felt ‘good enough’. I’ve never felt ‘thin enough’; ‘pretty enough’; ‘smart enough’; or ‘popular enough’. However, this year, I’ve started to accept myself, and my body for what it is. I work hard in the gym to keep myself strong and fit, and it helps my mental wellbeing too. I generally eat a balanced diet (excluding Christmas… and Easter, holidays and birthdays…) but whilst trying to maintain an equilibrium which allows me to enjoy myself. I’ve began to accept that it’s okay, in fact, normal to have some body fat. It’s normal to have scars, cellulite and some ‘wobbly’ bits. Any time I’ve achieved or been close to my ‘goal’ body composition, it’s generally been at the expense of having a social life or enjoying the meals and snacks that I love. As I’m getting older, I’m realising that aiming for visible abs to look like celebrities and fitness models year-round are not worth missing out on life for. I’m learning to be okay with these things. I’ll be honest, it’s a slow process, and I still have days where I feel bad about myself, but I believe that’s common too. Perfection isn’t attainable, it’s not a goal. Just be yourself, do your best and treat yourself well like you would treat your loved ones. I’m working on being happily imperfect.
If you’ve made it this far, thank you for taking the time to read my random wafflings. I know these are the positives from my 2021 and they’ll likely be very different from other people’s; but I challenge you to make your own list. It can be solely for yourself, you don’t have to show anyone, but I think it is a good way to gain another perspective and it may make you feel a little bit better if you’re having ‘one of those days’.
(Right) The sun setting behind the top of Mount Teide, Tenerife – September 2021; (Left) Pirnmill Beach, Isle of Arran – October 2021
The train journey through from Glasgow to Fort William was incredibly scenic. As we hurtled past mile after mile of glens, valleys, mountains and streams, I gazed proudly at the beauty of my home country. I re-adjusted my mask (again) in discomfort caused by a combination of the heat and the length of time it had been hooked around my tiny ears. For me, at least, I believe the magic of nature will never fade. I still feel my insides leap with joy every time I spot any form of wildlife (except spiders – my whole body leaps in the opposite direction when I see one and the jump is usually accompanied by a pathetic squeal). Birds of prey hovered impressively, sheep ambled about, cows grazed amongst their many calves who darted about clumsily, a red doe poked her head up through a thicket of vibrant green ferns and two heron stood upright in a field, like imposter scarecrows. These seemingly insignificant sightings made my heart swell. I couldn’t decide which window to look out of from fear of missing something incredible.
A quick photo I managed to steal on the train to Fort William
I’ve been to Fort William briefly before, and I’ve been hiking before, so what was the big deal? Firstly, it was my first proper hike without being accompanied by someone I knew and whom I was comfortable with. It was also the first time I’d actually travelled and stayed overnight in accommodation on my own. This fact only occurred to me on the train journey as I’ve done a fair amount of travelling (nowhere near as much as I’d like!) and have flown down to England alone numerous times to visit family. The difference was that there was always someone waiting for me on the other side. As a rather nervous and anxious person, this was a relatively big deal for me as it was pushing me out of my comfort zone. There was no one to rely on, no one to hide behind. I was pushing myself out of the nest. Furthermore, my hike was for charity to raise funds for the Alzheimer’s Society in memory of my late gran whom we lost to dementia. Fittingly, the charity hike was taking place the week before the second anniversary of her tragic passing, also known as probably the most difficult week of my twenty-six years so far.
When the train stopped at Speak Bridge, the stop prior to Fort William, I knew it was going to be an emotional couple of days when I found myself welling up merely from witnessing an elderly woman being greeted off the train by (presumably) her daughter and young grandsons. My heart ached knowing I’d never again have a special moment like that with my own gran, but it was beautiful to watch all the same.
That Thursday was a day of many firsts. It was the first time I’d checked into accommodation alone. It was the first time I was going on an adventure without someone to bounce my nervous and excitable energy off of. It was also the first time I’d asked for a table for one at a proper restaurant and been on the receiving end of the pitiful look when the waitress realised I was alone. I felt a little awkward, but mainly, I was irritated by the fact that being alone is viewed as ‘a wee shame’ or ‘tragic’. As I’m mostly introverted, I’m definitely one of those individuals who requires some solitude now and again to recuperate and recharge their social battery, so I didn’t really mind. However, I have to admit, eating out on my own did feel a little tragic purely because all of the other tables were full, and I was the only person without someone to chat to!
The night before the climb – I checked into my AirBnB. explored the main street of Fort William and got my kit ready for my early rise.
The next day, upon meeting at staggered times at the Alzheimer’s Society event tent, the groups set off one by one approximately ten minutes apart. My slot was roughly in the middle of the two hours’ worth of slots, at around 7am. A nerve-tinged excitement reverberated around the tent as people readjusted their hiking gear, stocked up on snacks and lunches and served themselves hot drinks provided by the charity. I slowly ate my croissant and sought out the starting point, mentally and physically bracing myself for I wasn’t quite sure what (and silently pleading with all the Gods that they’d hold the rain at least until we were back at the tent).
Somehow, I actually reached the summit first out of the Alzheimer’s Society group! For that reason, I lingered around for a while, taking plenty of photos, video-calling my mum from the summit and having a quick snack. I had prepared an important, personal and emotional post for my Facebook page and blog to upload upon my arrival at the summit. It was a piece I’d written about our experience with my gran’s decline with dementia, and a way I chosen to look at it to make it feel ever-so-slightly more bearable, that I’d always been too shy to share with those I wasn’t close to, despite my mum loving it and having copies printed for my gran’s funeral. The link to that post is here, if you are interested in having a read.
Delighted to have reached the summit in under 3 hours! I was intrigued that there was still snow despite it being July and the weather was surprisingly nice!
Shortly after my arrival at the summit, thick clouds had rolled in, unfortunately obscuring the view almost completely. Eventually, the chilly breeze kicked in, so I put my zipper back on and decided to begin my descent. I video-called my best friend at the start of my descent to let her know I’d made it (and show her the large patch of icy snow I had to climb down to get back to the path because my inner child was thrilled, obviously).
Left – delighted about the snow! Middle – a cairn I passed when approaching the summit – the views were amazing. Right – approaching half way down and still in awe of the views!
Although I did spend time chatting to people on my journey up, part of me wishes I’d dawdled more so I could’ve spent more time chatting to all of the interesting people participating. However, in a sense, I think it was also important that I did it on my own. I needed to know I could do it without relying on anyone. After all, although I was doing it for the Alzheimer’s Society and in memory of my gran, I was also doing it for me. The past couple of years have been tough on everyone, and I’ve personally struggled quite a lot throughout some of the lockdowns. I realised during the lockdowns how crucial it is to protect your mental health, and I think part of doing this is to challenge your inner strength – not so much that it breaks you, but enough to help you grow and for your self-confidence to build. For me, conquering Ben Nevis was one of those opportunities to do so.
The hike itself was a dream (for me at least). For starters, it was dry. In Scotland. No rain. I repeat, NO RAIN. It was a miracle! It was warm, there were no midges, there was good visibility for the majority of the climb, excluding the actual summit where the clouds tumbled in as I arrived), it wasn’t windy and the SUN even came out for a while! I had hiked in disgusting weather conditions prior to Ben Nevis – through sub-zero temperatures, gale-force winds, horizontal hailstones which provided the most extreme exfoliation my face had ever experienced (do not recommend!) and can’t-see-a-bloody-thing fog on top of that. As a sun-worshiper who adores countryside scenery, being able to absorb the beautiful sights from half-way up our country’s highest mountain in the glorious sunshine, was, literally, heavenly.
Left: The lochan at around half way up. Middle: en route up when some thick clouds came in to make it more eerily stunning. Right: more stunning views
I still met some very interesting people. Unsurprisingly, after my apparently rapid ascent, I was the fifth person to reach the bottom and lingered chatting to the volunteers and the other few who had succeeded before me. Gradually, more and more participants joined us for a delicious feast provided by the Alzheimer’s Society. They served up generous portions of mac’n’cheese, lasagne, and vegetable ragu with the options for garlic bread, salad and tomato soup. Naturally, I devoured a mac’n’cheese with garlic bread, followed by a slab of chocolate cake and cream and eventually followed by a second helping of mac’n’cheese as they had so much leftover food. Unfortunately, around half of the intended participants were unable to join due to complications with covid restrictions and some from having to isolate, hence the immense excess of food (the charity volunteers were joking that no one was allowed to leave until they’d had two helpings – so my two portions of mac’n’cheese was all for the greater good…).
Round 1 of the rather surprisingly delicious post-hike munch provided by the Alzheimer’s Society
I got chatting to a man and a woman who were staying in the same AirBnB accommodation as me while we were having our well-deserved calorific delights who were a brilliant laugh. They’d travelled up from the bottom of England to do the climb and had a lot of travelling to do the following day. After getting back, collapsing on to the single bed in my room for a while, I peeled my fatigued (and unsurprisingly rather full) self up to shower and get ready to meet them and some others for drinks nearby. With most people having a long day of travelling or an early start the next day, the night was tame but still lovely to sit with a stunning view of the loch, hear other people’s stories and laugh until we ached.
On the Saturday, a little achy but pleasantly surprised I wasn’t waddling around like a penguin or in need of an adult-sized buggy (okay, large child-sized since I’m only 5ft tall), I packed up my belongings, and sauntered off to find somewhere for breakfast for one.
Somehow, ordering breakfast alone felt a little less awkward than dinner on the first night, despite the added discomfort of lugging a small suitcase and hiking rucksack in tow. I suppose with it being Wetherspoons and being able to order through the app made things easier, but it just somehow felt a little different. I somehow felt a little different. Looking back now, I think I felt accomplished. Successful. I’d achieved something on my own. I was proud of myself. I felt too content to care what other people may or may not be thinking of me. I don’t often feel this way so I guess it probably was an unusual feeling.
I felt a new sense of contentment for the remainder of the day as I sat patiently watching the stunning scenery whizz by once more on my return journey back to Glasgow. I noticed a woman I’d briefly chatted to on the climb sat a few rows in front and wandered up (child-sized face mask on, of course) to find out how she’d got on with the hike. We ended up spending the remainder of the journey chatting about our lives. She’d travelled all the way from Northen Ireland to join the hike! I enjoyed learning her story and about her family, and sharing some stories about my own too. We’re actually looking to meet in the future to do more hikes together, which I’m already excited for.
Other people’s lives always intrigue and inspire me. It never fails to amaze me how much people can touch your life, even through the briefest of encounters. Everyone who participated in the charity hike for the Alzheimer’s Society that day is bonded by a shared achievement, and many also, but perhaps unknowingly, by their reasons for being there.
With matched funding of £1000 from my work, I raised a total of £2,467 for the Alzheimer’s Society. The generosity and support from so many family members, friends and friends of friends and family will stay with me forever. Dementia stole my gran and I’ll never forget the heartbreak it caused my family; so, I am eternally grateful for every contribution towards fighting the disease and supporting those who are impacted by it.
One of my favourite photos from the hike – I’m forever in sheer awe of the beauty Scotland has to offer.
Today, I tackled Ben Nevis on a charity hike to raise funds for the Alzheimer’s Society. I couldn’t think of a more fitting time to post this little piece I wrote about my gran a couple of years ago as we were losing more and more of her to dementia. For my own comfort more than anything, I chose to perceive it as the more of her we lost, the closer she was to reuniting with my grandpa, her beloved husband John, whom we lost to leukaemia 21 years ago.
Memories
Recogniseable sounds approached her ears, piercing the dullness. Voices? No, music? Or was it laughter? Who was laughing? Familiar faces approached, mildly illuminating the fog, generating a warmth in her heart. These were nice people, she loved them, whoever they were.
Her unfamiliar surroundings were blending into one obscure blur. Getting darker and darker. Quieter and quieter. Each object, each face, each sound becoming more and more alien each day.
But as she drifted away from familiarity, she floated closer and closer towards the light.
Curious and radiant. Intense and sparkling.
The light dimmed a little. Who was this woman holding her right hand? And the girl holding her left? They seemed nice. They shared her eyes.
They sang to her, she joined in. They spoke to her softly. Were they laughing? She chuckled too. They asked her questions. “Yes.”
As the darkness reached for her, arms outstretched, the accompanying turmoil and frustration enveloping her, she gazed vacantly at the incandescent light.
So beautiful.
The darkness, the uncertainty, the confusion; drifting further and further away. Becoming a distant memory.
Memory.
Memories danced towards her. Memories of love, pain, adoration, laughter. Memories of lost loved ones. Some lost decades ago, some ever-present, yet now unbeknownst to her.
Brighter and brighter.
Now she was dancing. Familiar voices sang to her. Proximate, but miles in the distance.
A familiar sound interrupted the music.
That laugh. Unmistakable. The laugh she’d craved to hear one last time for over nineteen years.
Brighter and brighter. Closer and closer.
As the darkness tightened it’s grip, the extravagant light widened it’s welcoming grin, almost beckoning.
His smile. So vivid now. Twinkling. Infectious and mischevious, loving and kind, as it always was.
Closer and closer.
He was dancing too. Awaiting his leading lady. So elegant and beautiful, just as the day he met her.
Recognisable silhouettes danced around him. That daft dog circling his feet excitedly.
The blackness was overpowering now. But it didn’t matter.
The imminent light was already engulfing her. Filling her with warmth, love, hope.
And just like that; she realised, she was no longer alone.
May 15th was Vascular Birthmark Awareness Day and so I thought it was only fitting to share some information of this condition along with my own journey with my haemangioma. Please note: my blog post is not about giving any medical advice, it is merely some information I have researched and compiled (the sources are included at the end of the post) in order to raise awareness. Despite them being common, they appear to still be widely unheard of.
Haemangiomas – An Overview
A haemangioma is a benign (non-cancerous) tumour consisting of a collection of small blood vessels under the skin. They often appear as raised red marks on the surface of the skin – commonly known as “strawberry marks” as they look similar to that of the surface of a strawberry. There are different types of haemangiomas: superficial; deep or a mix of both. Superficial haemangiomas are normally a raised, red area on the surface of the skin (as aforementioned – known as “strawberry birth marks”. They often feel warm to the touch due to how close to the skin the abnormal blood vessels are. On the other hand, deep haemangiomas can look bluish in colour because, as the name suggests, they run deeper and appear as a lump instead.
Haemangiomas usually develop within the first few days to weeks after the birth of the baby, and often grow rapidly for the first several months. Most haemangiomas are harmless and tend to stop growing after this period, and then eventually begin to shrink. While the cause of haemangiomas is still largely unknown, there are a few factors which can make them more likely to occur. They appear to be more prevalent in:
Female babies
Babies who are born prematurely
Babies with a low birth weight
Babies which are part of a multiple birth – i.e., in twins, triplets etc.
Caucasian babies
They are not hereditary, but the causes of haemangiomas are still largely unknown or not yet understood. The abnormal proliferation of the blood vessels is again unknown, but it is believed they may be caused by certain proteins produced in the placenta whilst the baby is in the womb.
Haemangiomas can also occur internally as benign tumours which affect the organs – such as on the liver, parts of the gastrointestinal tract, the respiratory tract and even on the brain. Although they are often asymptomatic both during and after their formation, this is dependent on the size and the location of the haemangioma. For example, a haemangioma of the gastrointestinal tract may cause signs such as nausea and vomiting, loss of appetite and discomfort of the abdomen. Internal haemangiomas are usually diagnosed using imaging tests such as ultrasounds, CT and MRI scans.
There are multiple different treatment options available if required nowadays (there appear to be more available now than when I was ill as a baby 25 years ago). Also, to reiterate, most haemangiomas do not require treatment unless their location or size is or could potentially cause issues, such as if they are located at the eye, mouth, neck or around the nappy area; or if they are ulcerated – like mine was. Mostly, haemangiomas can be left to their own devices and after the growth period, they ‘rest’ (stay the same size) and then gradually shrink and fade away. They are usually gone by the time the child is 10 years old, although they can leave some scarring or stretched skin in their wake.
Beta blockers are commonly used to slow the growth of haemangiomas. The commonly used oral beta blocker is Propranolol; while an example of the topical one is Timolol gel, which can also be used to help treat ulcerated haemangiomas.
While Corticosteroids were previously used as a method of treatment by being injected into the haemangioma to decrease the size and to reduce inflammation, they are now rarely used. Although, they are still considered an option if beta blockers cannot be used.
Surgery can also be an option if the haemangioma is small or for internal haemangiomas, such as hepatic ones (haemangiomas affecting the liver) – particularly if they are affecting the organ or if the patient would benefit from the blood supply to the haemangioma being tied.
Laser treatment is the method I was treated with (after several months of… well, medical torture from the sounds of it, but more info on that will follow shortly). The laser treatment can be used on surface haemangiomas to improve the appearance and decrease the redness.
My Story
As I was a baby when all of this occurred, I am fortunate enough not to remember any of the pain or trauma. Although left with a physical yet, painless scar, I am grateful not to share any of the memories of the pain, heartache, frustration and struggles that my brave parents live with. The details I know have been told to me over the years as I’ve grown up and become more and more inquisitive as to what my infantile experience was like.
My haemangioma appeared as a small, strawberry-like mark on my left shoulder a few days after I graced the world with my presence. It quickly covered the whole of my left shoulder and part of my chest. Once the tumour was massive, it ulcerated and haemorrhaged multiple times, and due to the pain, I couldn’t eat. My mum told me recently that my little hands and feet were always freezing, but also that my face around my nose, mouth and chin would go completely blue. We believe this was likely due to the large blood supply going to the haemangioma itself on my shoulder and thus reducing the blood supply around my body. She said the skin at the haemangioma site was always roasting hot because of how close to the skin the abnormal blood vessels were.
After being lied to for months that there was a specialist in the hospital in Glasgow – which had unfortunately become my home – my parents had thankfully been doing their own research and eventually made a revelation. There was in fact only one specialist in the UK at that time and he worked at Great Ormond Street Hospital (GOSH) in London. My mum’s inner lioness was forced to roar at the staff until they finally agreed to allow me to transfer down there for proper treatment. If it hadn’t been for their fierce love and innate need to protect me, I’d have spent many more months in that hospital, being virtually tortured as they butchered my poor baby feet, using them as pin cushions in feeble, long-lasting and unsuccessful attempts to take blood, which left me screaming, purple-footed with bruising and my mum beyond distraught. They also dressed my wound so poorly with adhesive materials which removed the fresh layer of skin from my shoulder each time they changed it. Sticking an adhesive dressing to the delicate, thin layer of skin of an ulcerated haemangioma is like sticking duct tape to a butterfly’s wing and then ripping it back off. Due to the ulceration, and how close the blood vessels are to the surface of the skin, my haemangioma haemorrhaged multiple times and also became infected, which meant I received a lot of antibiotics too. My dressing changes were also poorly timed and so the torment regularly missed the times I’d be most protected by pain medications. Once again, my mama bear had to fight them off and refused to let the torture ensue.
This is me at around 1 year old – I’d been treated a few months prior with laser surgery and the wound was healing well but as you can see, it was still very raised and the redness was still prominent. However, I was pain free!
I can see the trauma imprinted in my mum’s protective eyes as she tearfully recalls the horrifying ordeal whenever I ask questions, guiltily eager to fuel my curiosity of such a substantial period in my life that I have no first-hand memory or knowledge of. Fury flashes across her face and her hazel eyes well up with rage and unmistakable heartache as she tells me again about how some of the nurses ignored my screams during these horrific dressing changes and, instead, discussed whether they’d order pizza or Chinese takeaway for dinner. The worst part was, my screams were not normal, infantile cries. My mum describes how they were my heart-wrenching response to pain so severe that my eyes would eventually roll back in my head and I’d literally pass out. How any parent is supposed to deal with that, I’ll never know, and I honestly pray that I’ll never have to find out.
Whilst I’m left with a physical scar, I was far too young to have any sort of recollection to the pain and suffering I endured. However, my poor parents have been left with the mental scars and devastating memories of the anguish. My mum and dad fought in my corner every single second of every single day until they could get me the best medical care that I needed. I truly believe I’m still here today because of their love, support and undefeatable strength.
At GOSH, my mum, understandably, freaked out at the mention of them doing blood tests. Eventually, a lovely nurse called Evette managed to sit my mum down and calmly ask her specifically what it was about taking my blood that she had problems with. Upon my mum’s disclosure of what they’d put me through back in Glasgow, a horrified and bewildered Evette reassured my mum that they were only going to use a tiny butterfly needle in my arm or hand instead. GOSH also used special dressings that do not stick to the wound. This is also where I received the laser treatment which at long last, finally alleviated my pain and suffering. Gradually, the staff encouraged me to play with food in the hopes that I’d put it in my mouth and begin to eat on my own. Due to the unbearable pain I’d been in for so long, I’d been tube-fed extra calories. A tube was administered through my nose, down the back of my throat and down to my stomach to ensure I still got all of the necessary nutrients and calories a growing baby needs. My mum was allowed to take me home from hospital at times on the condition that she was able to insert the tube and feed me by herself. The true heroine that she is, she wouldn’t do anything to me that she hadn’t experienced herself. This brave woman actually administered a feeding tube to herself so she knew exactly what I’d be experiencing when the time came for her to do it to me. If that doesn’t make her one of a kind, I don’t know what does.
This is me on holiday at almost 3 years old – it’s noticeable how much my haemangioma had flattened and the redness is less raw-looking
After the laser surgery, I was pain free after six long months. I could smile. I could laugh. I could play. I was able to start reaching the normal milestones and develop and grow like other healthy babies do. My mum and dad could breathe again.
I am now 25 years old, happy, healthy and pain-free. This is a close-up how my scar looks now. My “tiger stripes”.
As aforementioned, I have been left with a large scar across my shoulder. However, as you can see from the photos I have included, the raised skin levelled out the redness vastly reduced, although there is a small, tight fissure which is where the haemangioma had ulcerated. We believe the extent of this scarring was potentially worsened by months of the incorrect dressings being applied at the first hospital. The dressings initially being used shouldn’t even have been allowed in the same room as an ulcerated haemangioma never mind plastered on top of one.
There were times growing up, where I was embarrassed of my scar – probably just because it made me “different”. I was lucky enough to not be bullied because of it – kids made comments now and again but my parents taught me from a young age to respond by saying: “It’s my birth mark. It’s not sore, I was born with it and it’s just part of me.” This simple explanation sufficed on most occasions and the kids went back to playing. My scar actually looks very similar to that of a burn, which is often what everyone assumes it is.
I wore my strapless dress proudly to my high school prom (2013)
One occasion in which I was very self-conscious was the lead-up to my high school prom. I had a beautiful deep purple dress (as above – a similar shade to a Cadbury’s Dairy milk wrapper ), but it was completely strapless. My shoulder was going to be fully on display to everyone and in all of my photos… I spoke to my mum who was very understanding of my self-consciousness and so, after a trip to the doctors and a dermatology referral, I had an appointment for a trial of specialist cosmetic makeup with the dermatologist. After a successful appointment, the correct shades were ordered and eventually delivered. However, once prom day itself arrived, I didn’t use them. Coincidentally, in the interim, I had been writing a personal reflective piece for my Advanced Higher English coursework regarding me being self-conscious regarding my scar, and it had somehow proven quite therapeutic. By prom, I no longer needed the makeup. Something within me seemed to have shifted. I was proud of my scar. I now view it as my tiger stripes and like to think it reflects my inner strength even from when I was a tiny baby.
I quite recently joined a Haemangioma support group on Facebook in the hopes that I could reach out and perhaps provide a sliver of reassurance to some parents who are facing similar situations with their own children to show that things can be ok. Their child has a good chance of growing up leading a normal life, like I have. Sadly, from many of the posts I’ve seen, it appears that many doctors and hospitals are still relatively clueless in treating problematic haemangiomas. From what I’ve read in this group; if you need advice or proper medical advice, a paediatric dermatologist seems to be the best person for the job.
I hope this piece of writing is a testament to a few crucial things: firstly, to how incredibly amazing my parents are – my mum for being a lioness at my side every single day, fighting my corner with my dad who was splitting his time between the hospital and still having to work so we still had a house to eventually go home to; my grandparents who provided support in any way they could and particularly my dear Nanna who drove six hours up from England to spend a couple of nights in hospital with me to give my parents some well-deserved reprieve. Secondly, how unbelievably lucky I am to have been born to such strong, loving parents, and how grateful I am to have been able to receive effective treatment. Although this wasn’t the case for the first few months, I fully respect everyone who works really hard in the medical profession – irrespective of their role; nurse, doctor, carer, porter or cleaner. They are not easy roles and I do respect that. However, I do also believe that perhaps not everyone is cut out for that kind of job and perhaps we drew the short straw with some of the nurses dealing with me at that time. And finally, that even if your child is currently suffering with a problematic haemangioma, they can still develop and grow like an unaffected child; and scar or no scar, they will be ok. In fact, with your support and encouragement, they will be brilliant. They will be strong and resilient. Teach them that their scars are their warrior wounds. They were strong even as infants and they will just continue to blossom as they grow.
For a close-up comparison: Left, me at 1 year old, a few months after laser surgery; Right: Me now, at 25 years old – healthy, happy and completely pain-free
Please feel free to share your own stories in the comments, I’m always eager to hear of others’ experiences – even if their haemangioma didn’t cause any health problems. A few of the stories I’ve read in the aforementioned Facebook group mention children being very self-conscious of their haemangiomas or the scars or excess skin left behind and even in some cases, kids have been bullied. This really tugs at my heart as although I know how it feels, I was quite lucky to escape school relatively unscathed with comments. If anyone has a child in this position and they would like to reach out, if there is anything I can do to help, I’d be more than happy to try.
If you’ve never experienced or even heard of haemangiomas, I hope you’ve at least found this interesting and learned something new.
Thank you for reading, all the best!
Aimee x
Left – Me now, – I go on holidays with friends, wear bikinis, strappy tops and don’t generally think twice about my scar being on display. Right – with my heroes, my mum and dad, in the Isle of Skye, 2020
Please see the below links for the sources of the information I have used:
As I’ve stated in my previous posts, each lockdown has brought with it turbulence in many different forms. However, I have to admit, at least for some of us, we have also had showers of positives to break up the negative droughts. I’d like to outline a few very important lessons I’ve learned that were brought with the restrictions, lockdowns and fears the pandemic forced upon us.
Me in Puerto de Mogán, Gran Canaria in June 2019 – I’m absolutely desperate for a holiday in hot, sunny weather!
We need to appreciate our “normal” privileges and freedoms. Under pre-pandemic circumstances, here in the UK, most of us were able to travel freely, meet whomever we wanted, wherever we wanted and whenever we wanted. Most of us were able to go shopping, out for meals, out drinking until we were getting a little too up-close-and-personal with the pavements in the ‘wee’ hours of the morning after 1 or 2 shots too many. We were able to take spontaneous trips to foreign countries, random city breaks to ‘tide us over’ until our next “proper” holiday. We were able to travel to visit family members and friends across our own country with ease, without face masks or restricted seating and timetables. We didn’t have to worry about our health or that of our loved ones. However, in many other countries around the world, people have lived with severe oppression, much like we feel we’ve faced throughout the strictest lockdowns – only, most likely, much, much worse. There are people trapped in or attempting to flee from war-ridden countries; people desperate but too afraid to escape from controlling and abusive relationships and even just restricted by their own health, either mentally or physically. Now that I’ve had the tiniest insight – I am in no way ignorantly making a comparison; merely an observation that living life without any form of your freedom removed is by far from healthy, and at least for me, had detriment to my mental health at times, too. As things slowly advance closer to “normality”, I am making a promise to myself not to take this freedom for granted ever again, and to cherish it greatly; to take whatever opportunities life offers me if I feel it would be beneficial or enjoyable.
2. We need to appreciate our loved ones, hold them close and always make sure they know you love them. If the past 14 months have taught us anything, it should definitely be that life is too fecking short. So many people lost loved ones throughout this period and were unable to even say goodbye, let alone hold their hand. I lost my gran almost 2 years ago, and although it was the most horrific week of my life to date, I was able to be with her in her hospital room for endless hours, holding her hand, grieving her and ensuring she didn’t spend a single one of her last minutes alone without one of her loved ones on hand. The thought that so many people were unable to do this for their precious loved ones or that so many passed on without someone they treasured by their side breaks my heart beyond words. My granddad had a mild heart attack in lockdown 1, and being unable to travel to England to be with him and the family or support them in person was incredibly difficult. Imagine being ill, even such as my mum quite recently was with Covid-19, and being unable to go near anyone or have anyone come to comfort or care for you because you risk making them sick, or they risk making you more seriously ill? My mum said despite how ill she felt whilst bed-ridden with coronavirus, the worst part was the loneliness for the whole duration. I live 10 minutes away and was unable to do anything other than talk to her via telephone and text and drop food off at her front door (once my isolation period was over – I was lucky and didn’t catch it).
For me, in lockdown 1, self-care involved losing myself in the local countryside for a few hours to get away from the doom and gloom of reality
3. Love and care for yourself – it’s essential (as in critical, not ‘essential’ in the way that driving 30 miles to test your eye sight during a global pandemic-induced lockdown is…). Think about; if you don’t look after yourself, how are you supposed to be of use to anyone who depends or relies on you? By keeping yourself healthy – both mentally AND physically – you enable yourself to be in a much better position to get your own shit done as well as anything you want or need to do for other people. Self-care looks different for everyone; it can be fitting in that workout you ‘never have time’ for; taking a relaxing bath, cooking a tasty nutritious meal, reading your book, manicuring your nails, going for a walk… anything that helps you clear your mind and feel good about yourself.
4. Immersing yourself in nature is a soul-cleanser. One of the things that helped me afloat in lockdown was taking myself off for hours on end in the lovely local countryside. Luckily, in lockdown 1, the golf course was closed and so I could roam freely without worrying about being knocked into a coma by a stray golf ball. I also developed a love for photographing nature so my (at the time) new phone, a Huawei P30 Pro was the perfect toy for photographing the sunsets and sunrises. My dad also began to really enjoy it, and as it was my only means of seeing my family at the time, we regularly took his camera out, stopping to photograph various birds (to those who refer to women as “birds” [“burds” if you’re from Glasgow – yes, I am face-palming as I type this] the winged type, obviously!). As I’ve mentioned in previous posts, this quickly escalated once we were allowed to travel further afield and we began tackling bigger hills and Munros. However, it was lovely to see so many others embracing nature, especially those who had never explored the beautiful countryside that is literally upon their doorsteps. Furthermore, I’ve even noticed much larger numbers of people “getting their steps in” wandering around the streets, clearly enjoying a good podcast or some lively tunes. People taking more of an interest in upping their fitness in any way delights me. It really is the little things!
I witnessed many stunning sunsets in lockdown while on walks, yet I never tired of them, I never will. Right: A beautiful sunny day in a local park
5. Don’t compare yourself or your life to anyone else’s; it’s literally pointless and it will make you miserable. The going trend of “Instagram vs. Reality” has been growing for a while now, but I can’t help but feel it isn’t actually doing much to reduce the unrealistic expectations social media has created over the last several years. The quote “comparison is the thief of joy” really does ring true. I can personally be quite bad for this, particularly on days where my self-esteem is sauntering around at the bottom of the well – BUT, I am working on it. More and more, I am reminding myself that we really do not see what goes on in anyone else’s life for the other 1439 minutes of the day (yes, I Googled this, no shame!) surround when the posed picture was taken – and in all honesty, nor do we have any right to. People portray themselves on social media in the way they either wish to be perceived, or in the way they feel they ought to be viewed. Yes, this may be false, and I do believe we should all be able to show our true selves and be respected for it, I’m under no illusion that there are many reasons people are afraid to be their true, raw and potentially vulnerable selves. People can be incredibly cruel – especially from behind a keyboard where no one can call them out on their shit. Also, and this is coming from someone who likes to know things… we really do need to mind our own damn business more. We are not entitled to know what is going on in anyone’s personal life – celebrity or not; friend or acquaintance; no one owes anyone an explanation. Everyone may be entitled to their own opinions; but I am a firm believer in “if you have nothing nice to say, don’t say it”. We are all different people with different genetics, different environments, having lived through different experiences, facing different challenges. With so many variables, there is no validity in our comparisons. Anyone who has studied science will understand that when carrying out experiments, you only change one condition in each experiment in order to compare which factor has an effect (if any). Therefore, with so many differences, it is merely common sense that under almost any circumstances, no two people are viably comparable. I think we should embrace our differences, play them as a strengths and trump cards, and use them to help one another where possible.
6. Face your feelings. You don’t have to act on them, but bottling them up or ignoring or denying them altogether will ultimately suffocate you in the long run. They may even manifest in other ways – perhaps feeling anxious about your relationship presents itself as anger towards your parents instead. Either way, this can only affect you and those around you negatively. Sometimes, you need to sit with your feelings and just process them; talk them through with someone you trust, say them out loud to yourself or even write them down – no one has to see them. Heck, you can even shred or burn them (safely!) afterwards if it’ll make you feel better. But getting them out there and acknowledging and accepting your feelings can alleviate the burden, even just enough to allow you to move past them.
7. The importance of a good, trust-worthy support network. I don’t know about you, but my family and a select few special friends salvaged a rather fractured version of me through the first lockdown and I genuinely wouldn’t have survived the last year so unscathed if it hadn’t been for them. I try to be as much of a protective barrier and safety net for the people in my life too. Things as simple as a text message or a quick phone call, sending someone a card, some chocolates or their favourite sweets as a little pick-me-up can go miles further than you’d ever believe. I think over the last 14 months, these seemingly small and simple gestures have created big impacts and really boosted people’s moods and reminded them they’re not alone – even if they feel they are. I always thinks it’s nice to know someone is thinking about you. However, if people didn’t check in, they may have had a good reason not to and I don’t think we should hold it against them. Some may have been rushed off their feet playing teacher, parent, cook, cleaner, dog-walker all whilst juggling their full time job; others were perhaps fighting their own internal battles just to adjust to the “new normal” or using all of their strength to prevent themselves from shattering. Others may just have not thought to do so and were even perhaps oblivious to others’ struggles.
8. The importance of scientific research and medical experts etc. and also how crucial, underappreciated and utterly self-less so many key workers are – especially those in positions where they are caring for other people. We literally wouldn’t be on our way out of this nightmare if it wasn’t for the scientists and researchers who dedicated their time and energy to creating multiple vaccines against this dreadful virus. The key workers, particularly the nurses, doctors and carers who literally saved the lives of our loved ones, held the hands of those who couldn’t stay with us any longer and worked relentlessly to ensure people were cared for as best as they could through shortages of PPE and equipment whilst putting their own lives at risk. These people deserve our utmost respect and we should forever show our gratitude to them all for getting through this pandemic and for getting us through this nightmare.
9. Time is precious! We need to prioritise and balance our time better; manage the times when we need to stop procrastinating and get the job done; and also the times when we need to slow down and just appreciate where we are ‘now’. A lot of people were forced to slow down as the world slammed to a halt and practically stopped spinning. Many suddenly had no work to go to, no bars, restaurants, meetings, activities to partake in. In a click of the Prime Minister’s fingers, people who barely had time to tie their shoelaces and eat between meetings had to stay home and twiddle their thumbs for an unknown amount of time. They’ve gone from sprinting to catch the London underground at rush hour to a leisurely (1 hour only!) stroll in their local park with one swish of a wand. Others were the opposite, they’d been sailing along gently and their little rowing boat suddenly morphed into a jet-ski zooming full speed ahead. Others, myself included, were floating around somewhere in the middle – busy with work but also scratching our heads when it came to filling evenings and days off. I think many, like myself, picked up new hobbies or projects and probably don’t know how they fit in a job anymore! I think it’s taught us that it’s okay to say ‘no’ to things we don’t want to do. It’s okay to make time for things we enjoy, in fact, it’s important that we do!
10. No amount of toilet roll, pasta or self-raising flour will protect you from a global pandemic. You really do have to laugh! But in all seriousness, the hoarding is selfish and it only made things worse for other people; leaving them without essential items and crucial supplies. On the bright side, the pandemic really has churned out some incredible home-bakers!
As tumultuous as the last 14 months have been, I would like to think that each of us has developed a newfound gratitude for the “simple things” we’ve always taken for granted. I would like to think that we’ll hold onto this gratitude and remember how fundamental our “basic freedoms” are as the world starts to raise its’ shutters once more. I’d hate for a large majority to forget how awful life is without these fundamental freedoms and take them for granted again. Although, I do wonder, would it even possible to forget a ride on the global pandemic rollercoaster?
Beautiful pink sky after watching another incredible sunset last summer.
After an adventurous trip to Amsterdam in the winter of 2018 and several days exploring New York City in the winter of 2019, I have definitely been bitten, or more accurately, mauled by the travel bug. I was eager to add some more city breaks to my belt and experience more new countries and cultures. I booked a relatively last-minute trip to Prague in February, for the beginning of March, 2020. Just our luck that we arrived on the day Czech Republic closed their borders and went into a full lockdown…
En route to Edinburgh the afternoon prior to our flight, our phones began buzzing away with notifications – from my mum, flatmates, friends…
“Czech Republic are closing their borders to the UK! Are you still going to Prague?”
“Czech Republic are going into a full lockdown! Is your trip cancelled?!”
After several attempts of calling the travel company and hours spent ‘Googling’ our trip, the lockdown rules, the restrictions, and seeking out the lowdown on whether or not we’d be able to enter and leave the country or get our money back, I was stuck in a revolving door of speculation. EasyJet wouldn’t answer due to massive wait times for calls, and I was being repeatedly disconnected. Furthermore, globally, it seemed that no one had a fecking clue what was happening or what a ‘lockdown’ really entailed.
Eventually, tired, stressed and desperate for a good meal, we ventured out into Edinburgh City Centre for some dinner – only to find most of the city was closed. It was 8pm. On a Thursday night. In Edinburgh City Centre. But the lights were out. The shutters were down. The cobbled streets were deserted. Had we somehow stumbled upon the set of a horror movie? Bear in mind, this was before the UK had so much as uttered the word ‘lockdown’ never mind implemented restrictions or curfews. Though, the sense of foreboding was a little overwhelming to say the least. Eventually, we uncovered a little Mexican restaurant where we had just enough time to order and eat a lovely meal before they too closed their doors.
Still contemplating what to do, we wandered around the ghost town until we came across an ambiently-lit pub where we continued to discuss our options and scour Google for any further information on the Czech Republic lockdown. We finally found an article declaring people from the UK would still be allowed into the country the next day and would be permitted to leave; and our flights were still showing as “on schedule” for the morning. After a quick call to my dad – the ever-calm and collected, level-headed legend that he is – we decided to take our chance and show up to the airport with the hopes of a successful trip.
A very early start, some frantic yet unnecessary double-checking of under the bed in the hotel and quickly grabbing our bags, we set off for the airport, still a little bewildered. Would we be able to go? If not, would we get a refund? If we did make the trip, would we be allowed to return home? “This ‘Covid-19’ fiasco really does seem to be getting serious”, I pondered to myself.
After being reassured by multiple members of staff that our flight was going ahead and that as of yet, so was our return flight, (I literally asked every single one I could see and was met with reassurance and a pitiful look as if I was truly batshit crazy for being concerned – yes, I was unashamedly that person), we checked in, had a tasty, albeit overpriced, airport breakfast, and off we went!
A stunning square in the city with the brilliant blue sky – one of the first places we saw as we ventured out to explore
Upon arrival in the beautiful city of Prague, we clumsily found our tram, and ventured to our accommodation, The Caesar Prague Hotel – an old-fashioned yet stunning hotel near the city centre. We dumped our bags, wrapped up and set out to explore.
A cute street near the centre of Prague where we stopped for lunch on day 1
After wandering around for a couple of hours, hunger got the better of us and we sought out a restaurant to eat in. So far, so good. The city was lively, shops, bars, restaurants were all open for business as usual. As we were seated, I received a call from an unknown number. I answered curiously, to be addressed by an Easyjet employee with an apology for the cancellation of our trip. Hold the phone. What?! “But we’re in Prague right now?!” I exclaimed. “So, did you get checked into your hotel without any issues?” replied the puzzled man on the other end of the line. “Yes.” The call was cut off and they phoned again. I then had a mini ‘Groundhog Day’ experience of replicating exactly the same phone call word for word another three times. Yes, THREE. After several disapproving looks from the waiters, I eventually gave up on the phone call attempts and sat back down to a plate of delicious pasta (and a much-needed vodka…hey, it was lunch time! Plus, acceptable drinking times don’t apply when you’re abroad, right?).
We continued our sight-seeing escapade; viewing the stunning Charles Bridge, visiting the Old Town Square, the Astronomical Clock, St Vitus Cathedral and the Dancing House, to name a few.
The Dancing House (how funky is that!); The Astronomical Clock and the Charles Bridge
From 8pm that night, the city closed. Entirely. We were able to eat breakfast in the hotel dining room the following morning but only with a limited number of other guests in at a time. Stomachs satisfied, we gambled off out to see the city, unsure of what to expect. Luckily for us, the sun was shining despite the cold, and so being outdoors all day was a very pleasant experience. We were able to explore everywhere on foot and see the sights through the closed gates. All food places were closed unless they were able to serve food and drinks through the doorway – including a bar serving cocktails and playing music outside that night with a crowd of 20-somethings dancing as if mentally in their own internal nightclubs. All retail shops were closed, all except for Supermarkets and mini-marts, which sadly meant we couldn’t even purchase souvenirs!
Throughout that day of glorious sunshine and the obscure atmosphere, we continued to explore the city through the key-hole. We discovered some of the curious art displayed in the streets – such as the Franz Kafka Rotating Head and the Statue of Franz Kafka, and posed for pictures at the Lennon Wall!
The Franz Kafka Rotating Head; the Franz Kafka Statue ft. little old me and a snippet of the Lennon Wall
Those who know me will understand exactly how much I love food and will not be in the slightest surprised that one of my highlights was having an infamous “chimney” cake (known as “Trdelník’). I opted for mine to be crammed with Nutella and strawberries, and topped with whipped cream! Although extremely worth it, tackling this was an adventure in itself! Picture eating this dream food with the wind blowing very long, curly hair into your face (and the chimney cake); you’ve got nothing but a feeble plastic fork and a flimsy napkin to “contain” the mess (which was repeatedly being almost stolen by the breeze. It was quickly smothered in chocolate and cream, and so rapidly rendered redundant anyway). There were also no toilets anywhere to wash your hands (and face – no shame, it was well and truly worth the chocolate chops)!
The indescribably delicious “chimney” cake filled with strawberries, Nutella and topped with whipped cream (please also note the beyond useless “fork” provided…)
The lack of toilets posed a more serious issue though – I had to hop around with my bladder on the verge of bursting the dam for three hours until we got back to the hotel! I then “smartly” ended up severely dehydrated by the end of the day by not daring to drink anything else in fear of ending up in the same predicament as the early afternoon. Due to everywhere being closed, we trekked around searching for food, and eventually settled for chicken kebabs. I say ‘settled’ but they were absolutely delicious, just a tad awkward to eat en route back to the hotel (but after “successfully(ish)” tackling the chimney cake, this was barely a challenge).
Another highlight for me – the nature-and-animal-loving-weirdo that I proudly am – we met the Coypus! (Admittedly, I excitedly exclaimed “Look! There’s a beaver!!!”… Upon googling them later, yes, they are in fact called “coypus”. I also saw a swan having a “square go” with a coypu, which was definitely a unique experience! We crossed over the Legion Bridge in the middle of the Vltava river to Střelecký Ostrov (Shooters Island) which was swarming with the cute ‘river rats’ (yes, that sounds less cute) called coypus or nutrias. They were swimming around in the river, roaming along the banks and enjoying the waste veg left dotted around the grass for them – as well as flamboyantly posing for photos.
The adorable Coypus! You can tell from my beaming face that I was in my element befriending the local creatures! (I was also a little startled to turn around and discover it so close – you’d understand if you’d seen their enormous bright orange buck teeth!)
The next morning, we were advised we could no longer eat in the dining room and had to take our breakfast up to our room to devour – again, another odd little experience but as far as the past year has been, it doesn’t quite make the top 20. Before we had time to plan our day, my concerned mum contacted me in a panic advising she’d heard flights were being cancelled. Anxiety rising, I checked our return flight online to find it was in fact cancelled. Shit. Thankfully, the mystery phone calls from EasyJet a couple of days prior had paid off – I had the mobile number of the caller and so could contact him directly. He confirmed the cancellation and advised they’d be in touch with us soon to rearrange our journey. However, little miss over-analyser here was already two steps ahead. I’d already checked the Internet to find there was a flight returning to Edinburgh that afternoon with available seats. Jackpot! He called back quickly after checking and confirmed we had to get to the airport asap to make the flight.
The airport on the way home was also a bizarre experience. Around a third of the travellers were now wearing face masks, and again, all retail and food outlets were as lively as a graveyard. Of course, it was very apparent when we reached our gate: in true rebellious Scottish style, none of the travellers had any semblance of a face covering in sight. (Please note that this was months before face masks were implemented in the UK – I fully advocate people wearing masks to protect others if their health permits! … And even moreso if it muffles some of the idiots from spouting shit).
I think this trip taught me that these experiences really are what you make them. I had a good time just taking in the exteriors of the architecture and seeing as much of the stunning city as I could. It was a shame we couldn’t go to romantic restaurants for dinner or experience the wild nightlife or soak up the culture properly, but there was still plenty to see from the outside. Don’t get me wrong, I fully admit that I’d have turned into Moaning Myrtle II if it had been wet and windy weather and we’d been confined to the room… Despite the cold and it being very breezy, we lucked out with dry, often sunny weather – which is just as well as when you’re banished to the outdoors!
The UK followed suit with the lockdowns within a week of us returning home. Little did we know, the madness was just beginning.
Left: Church of Our Lady before Týn; Right: Staromestska Vodarna (Old Town Water Tower)
Did anyone else experience another country in lockdown? If so, please share below!
Almost two years ago, one of the brightest lights in my life burnt out forever. Only, my gran’s special glow had been fading for a while. Years and years, in fact. No matter how much fuel and kindling we provided, nothing was enough to re-ignite the real her. Watching her vibrant flames gradually diminish to embers through my teenage years and early twenties was the most heart-breaking experience of my life. It felt almost twisted watching her slowly regress back to a child-like state when she herself had helped care for me as a young toddler while my parents worked.
One of the worst aspects was involuntarily being a useless bystander. A silenced, woeful witness. I desperately climbed the ladder as she floated further and further away from us, but the rungs kept snapping in front of me as I grappled for her, and Dementia snatched her away. Piece by piece, month by month, year by year.
My gran, Helen, and me a couple of years ago.
My gran has now gone. Nothing will ever fill the void she left in my heart and soul, but in a way, that just means I’m lucky. Lucky to have had such a special bond with such a special, loving lady. We loved each other so fiercely, right until the end. She may no longer have known my name, but the eyes don’t lie. They glistened with nothing but love as they bore into mine on each and every visit. She still showered me with hugs and kisses and held my hand so tightly. In a way, we were lucky enough that her candle burned out before the disease could steal one of the most important pieces of her – her vehement love for her family.
I’m now tired of being utterly powerless. I have been itching to help in some way, any way. I did all I could for my gran. I danced with her, sang to her, laughed with her, held her as tightly as I could and made sure she knew how loved she was. Eager to ensure she was happy from one minute to the next, as that’s the timeframe she lived in towards the end. But nothing felt like it was enough. I couldn’t make it better. I couldn’t bring back the ‘real’ her. I couldn’t take away the pain my mum and other family members were experiencing. I couldn’t take away my own hurt. We were all broken and no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t fix it. Rationally, I know no one could have.
Dementia is a devastating end for so many people, and it crushes so many families across the UK. I am desperate to make a difference. To anyone who has been or is currently affected by this terrible disease, I am truly sorry. I wish I could help you and tell you it’s going to get better. I believe it’s an illness and experience no one can fully understand until they have witnessed it first-hand. You can’t yet grieve the loss of your loved one because they are still physically here, but, in a way, they’re also already gone. That in itself, is a confusing and devastating concept to process.
To contribute to alleviating the suffering of even one person affected by Dementia would be very humbling. In order to hopefully help as many people as possible, I will be joining the Alzheimer’s Society on 9th July to climb the UK’s highest mountain, Ben Nevis, to help raise funds for this amazing charity.
The link to my Just Giving page is below. Any donations at all towards this great cause would be very much appreciated.
Hello everyone, (cue the crickets and tumbleweed; oh, and hi mum), welcome to my new blog, ‘Aimee’s Angle’. On this platform, I will share my passions, life experiences, travels, adventures and random stories in the hopes that I’m not completely alone with the feelings or situations I’ve experienced. From the trials and tribulations of working out who I am and want to be, I’d like to share my experiences from love, loss, lockdown and anxiety to my travelling adventures and the inconceivable situations I somehow get myself into. For instance, has anyone else ever been bitten by a spider monkey whilst holidaying in Turkey? Anyone? That’s a story for another day… I promise to include photos!
Writing has always been somewhat of an outlet for me, particularly in times of stress or upset, and throughout lockdown, it has occurred to me that maybe I would’ve felt less alone or perhaps could have even tackled some of my problems more efficiently if I’d come across other people who had experienced similar situations (let’s face it, most of us have had ample time to overthink and come up with some crazy ideas lately). As I’ve gotten older and life has naturally dealt me with some more complicated, challenging and sometimes even painful hands, writing has also become somewhat therapeutic. If any of my stories and experiences were to give even one person an ounce of reassurance or comfort, or inspire them to open up to a person they can trust – ‘a problem shared is a problem halved’, as the saying goes, then throwing my own secret thoughts and feelings into the courtroom of the Internet for scrutiny is worth it.
I think most people can agree that the past year has been full of unprecedented challenges, obstacles, disappointments and even losses – holidays, jobs, and most tragically, loved ones. That’s why I believe now is the time to try something new, such as learning a new skill or starting up that hobby you’ve ‘never had time’ for. Personally, I have struggled on and off, particularly in lockdown 1 due to the complete disruption of my whole routine (along with the rest of the UK, and many other parts of the world), and also some other personal reasons which I will elaborate on in separate future posts. Now we’re in lockdown 54823915 (officially, lockdown 3.0), I have decided to embrace my fitness journey – thanks to having the social life of a hermit crab, I’m actually closer to my goal than I’ve ever been. I’ve also been experimenting with cooking healthy-ish new meals to give myself something to look forward to each day – because who doesn’t look forward to each meal time, especially if you know it’s scrumptious! If there’s any interest, perhaps I’ll share some of my healthy-ish but delicious recipes in future posts. (Another side note, I use the term ‘recipes’ loosely – I’m more of a free-pouring-random-ingredients-and-hoping-for-the-best kinda gal but it’s always worked out well so far – if it ain’t broken and all that…).
A very windswept photo of me at the summit of Ben Lomond, my first Munro
The main hobby I have picked up throughout the pandemic though has been hiking – and for any fellow Scots reading, more specifically “Munro-bagging”. My dad and I started venturing out for long walks in the local countryside areas during lockdown 1.0 because it was the only way I could see my family at the time, and it got us out in the lovely weather. Once the restrictions were eased, we started travelling further afield and bagged our first 7 Munros between September and December, as well as some Grahams and a Corbett or two. We fell more and more in love with the stunning views, nature and wildlife, enjoying to stop and photograph them. I actually believe I’ve become slightly addicted to the rush of accomplishment when reaching the summit – perhaps also because that means it’s time for food… (And perhaps the relief of reaching the car again at the bottom – I’m only human! Plus, the last few have been completed in our horrendously typical Scottish weather; you know, the rain that exfoliates your skin through your 8 layers and the gale force winds that chill your bone marrow).
As I said, why not try something new during these dreary winter days in lockdown. If the last year has taught us anything, it should be that life is precious and time ain’t stopping for anyone – including all of us who have decided we aren’t aging until we’ve completed the global pandemic level (I really do think we should be pleading with Australia for the cheat codes…). That’s why I decided that lockdown 3 would be the ideal time to start writing my blog as a means of documenting some of my adventures, venting about the lockdowns, sharing my bizarre stories and life lessons I’ve perhaps learned the prickly way. If anyone else can learn from my mistakes then that’s great (at least someone will have!).
I’d love to hear from anyone who reads this who wants to share any interesting stories, their lockdown experiences (particularly interested in all the lockdown hobbies others have picked up, ways in which you’ve coped or struggles you’ve faced/ overcome), answer any questions and take suggestions for content you’d like to see incorporated in my posts.
If you’ve made it this far, thank you very much for reading.
aimeesangle.com 