Pre-diagnosis

It started with the snow.

February 2018. Skin glowing, hair cooperating, snow selfie secured. Shame my body was quietly falling apart.

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Just your average girl.

I was 23 and figuring it out. Moved to Scotland, moved in with my boyfriend, cried over job boards. A perfectly normal breakdown in progress.

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The climb was worth it.

I was sweaty, ranting, and absolutely not in the mood. Then he pulled out a ring. Somehow, it was perfect.

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Eleven months.

The job was chaos, but it paid the bills. Everything felt normal - just a bit exhausting. Underneath it all, my body had other plans.

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The second memory.

Burned my finger making hot chocolate. Thought nothing of it - very me. It never healed. That was the first red flag.

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The warning signs.

A burn that wouldn’t heal. A tooth that wouldn’t stop hurting. A hip that hated me. Everything hurt - but nothing made sense.

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Trying to be heard.

I was exhausted, breathless, and bleeding when I brushed my teeth. But somehow, still not “unwell enough.” Two GPs in, and I was starting to believe them.

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Three visits later.

Three GP visits, zero progress. Still breathless, bleeding, and being ignored. Mum came with me once - and suddenly, things moved.

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The call.

The GP rang. “You need to get to hospital - now.” Apparently, I wasn’t being dramatic after all. No flight home. Just an Uber to A&E.

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