18/10/2026
‼️ A VERY long post with some swearing ‼️
It’s been a week of highs, lows, and everything in between.
After spending several days in bed recovering from the previous week’s fatigue, I was delighted to get back to work, see my clients and feel energised again.
However, I’d noticed a ‘cloud’ hanging over my thoughts towards my husband. (Bless him, he doesn’t usually get on my nerves! 😂)
I’ve experienced this feeling before, usually following his hospital admissions.
I think it’s a form of self-preservation: preparing myself to be strong in case something happens.
🤔 Perhaps I sensed something was brewing.
Then came Thursday.
I’d had a beautiful day with my clients in Newcastle Emlyn. Everything flowed, and I remember thinking, “Yes! This is how life should feel.”
And then I went home.
Although my husband has been doing really well, he’d been experiencing increasing pain around the area where he’d previously had lung tumours. He’s also still waiting for his cancer surveillance CT scan to be reviewed, so we’re living with the uncertainty of not knowing what those results will show or whether they might explain his sudden increase in pain.
🙏 His GP was amazing and arranged blood tests, which came back positive for a possible blood clot. We were told to attend the same-day care unit on Friday morning.
After a night of very little sleep, we arrived at 9am and spent the day waiting.
And waiting. And waiting.
💞 The staff were, as always, wonderful. 💞
My frustration is with processes that could be improved - locating replacement ECG paper, how to insert said paper into machine, dealing with pads and leads that wouldn’t stick or attach properly, resulting in repeat ECGs … (please DO shave!)
These things might seem minor, but every delay and repeated test brings more uncertainty and anxiety.
When you’ve spent almost nine years living with serious illness, hospital admissions and uncertainty, you never truly switch off.
You live on a knife edge, always anticipating the next crisis, ready to respond.
The emotional toll is enormous.
Thankfully, the blood clot was ruled out, and we were sent home with a diagnosis of a chest infection.
You’d think that would be enough for one weekend, wouldn’t you?
But no.
A few hours after getting home, my husband began experiencing symptoms of a possible bowel obstruction. His abdomen became swollen, he felt nauseous and was in considerable pain.
By 9 pm, he had collapsed into my arms and lost consciousness.
He was on blood thinners, and I was desperately trying to protect his urostomy and colostomy as he slid against the bedroom furniture.
I was shouting for my son to call an ambulance, watching my husband’s eyes roll and seeing him become clammy, while desperately trying to work out what was happening.
Was he having a stroke?
I went through everything I’d learned from FAST stroke awareness campaigns.
I was absolutely terrified.
We were told an ambulance could take around four hours, so I was incredibly grateful when one arrived within 20–30 minutes. The crew were wonderful ✨
Back to hospital we went.
The A&E staff were absolutely lovely, my husband was assessed, transferred to a ward and I eventually got home at around 4.30am Saturday morning, exhausted and emotionally drained.
I’d been looking forward to attending a course that day, but there was no way I could attend.
After a few hours’ sleep, checking our children were ok after witnessing last night’s event and talking the dog for his walk, I returned to collect him.
His bowel obstruction had started to resolve, and treatment for pneumonia had begun. I thought it would be a quick pick-up, but we then waited another few hours for a further ECG to be read (lead attachment issues)
I was running on empty.
Then came the question that broke me.
“Next of kin.”
I absolutely detest that phrase.
To me, it carries connotations of being contacted when someone is dead or dying. I know that isn’t necessarily what it means, but words matter.
Please, could hospital paperwork use “emergency contact” instead?
When asked whether there was another number they could put down, I had to say no.
There isn’t anyone else.
No friends or family to call on.
No one to share the responsibility or step in when I’m exhausted, frightened or simply have nothing left to give.
It’s just me.
And suddenly, after holding everything together, I burst into tears.
Sometimes it isn’t one enormous thing that makes you fall apart. It’s one small question that opens the floodgates to everything you’ve been carrying.
And, honestly, I’ve been carrying a fu***ng lot.
An absolute sh*tload.
I love my work, my groups and my clients.
Work gives me the opportunity to be me. To laugh, connect with people, feel energised and exist in a little bubble where, for a few hours, life feels ‘normal’.
Where I’m not constantly thinking about hospital appointments, symptoms, test results or what might happen next.
I’m not just the wife, the carer or the person who has to be strong.
I’m just me.
And that’s why I love it so much.
❤️ And this brings me to something I’d really like to offer.
On Thursday, 29 October, I’d like to offer two FREE half-hour treatments to two women who are experiencing the pressure of caring for someone they love.
Women who spend so much time looking after everyone else that their own needs come last.
Women who are exhausted from being strong and rarely get the chance to switch off.
I know self-care can feel like an unaffordable luxury when circumstances change, the main breadwinner is unable to work, finances become tighter, and there’s little or no financial, practical or emotional support available.
When you’re already carrying so much, spending money on yourself can feel impossible.
I don’t want finances to be another barrier to receiving a little care.
So, if you’re in a similar situation, I’d love to offer you half an hour to pause, breathe and have something that’s just for you.
No cost.
No expectations.
No need to justify why you need it.
Please send me a private message if this would help you, or share this post with someone who might benefit. ❤️
This week has reminded me how quickly life can shift from joy to fear and exhaustion, and how important it is to remember that carers need caring for, too.
We need to be seen. We need compassion. Sometimes, we need someone to ask how we’re doing and genuinely mean it.
If you’re living this life, too, you’re not weak for feeling overwhelmed or selfish for needing time for yourself.
Sometimes, getting through the day is enough. Sometimes, work is a lifeline. And sometimes, you need a bloody good cry over three little words on a hospital form!
If you’ve read this far, thank you.
There’s so much more I could ramble on about, (no call button, discharge process, no wheelchair provision to transport to entrance, …) but I’ll stop there! 😉
Here’s hoping for a ‘normal’ week.
Catrin x
