Tag: disability

Meds, Appointments and Pain…

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…are just a few words to sum up the last few months. It’s really strange. I worked out the other day that I haven’t had a single week free of hospital appointments since I moved back to uni. That’s three months with at least one hospital appointment every week (but sometimes up to four a week).

I am exhausted.

Being perpetually tired is something i’ve had to get used to as of late, and the worst thing is I don’t know what it is that is leaving me so run down. The other day I had my occupational therapy appointment. For anyone who doesn’t know, they basically help you to ‘do’ things better. So in my case – cerebral palsy (right hemi) – they  help me to make sure my hand has ‘reached its full potential’ in terms of coordination and control. As it turns out, I have a pretty powerful grip in my palms, but I find controlling my fingers and other fine motor movements completely frustrating. I can’t pick things up with my fingers  very easily at all, or do up buttons, or cut up my food at dinner, or use my right hand when my left hand is full (getting on the bus with the change in one hand/ticket in the other/personal belongings balanced somewhere on my person is incredibly challenging).

As is the case for many with a disability you learn to adapt to difficulties, and you manage to find a way around the more challenging daily activities. This isn’t always a conscious effort, and as my occupational therapist pointed out I won’t realise I’m making these changes. The adaptations one makes with CP aren’t ‘natural’; they’re not energy-efficient or ‘easy’ movements because they’re not the movements the body is designed to do. I had always read that people with CP expend between 3-5 times more energy than those without but I didn’t quite realise this until the other day, particularly with regards to my own CP.

My therapist gave me a simple task to complete with my right hand; I had to place plastic pegs into holes on a board. This wasn’t a trick and there was nothing sneaky going on: it was just a simple, easy activity.

But not for me.

As I tried to gain control of my fingers to pick up the pegs I dropped them. I then struggled to get the pegs at the right angle if I managed to pick them up (very awkwardly). My elbow was pointing outward, my wrist was curled under, and my whole posture changed; I was so, so intent on completing this activity my head felt like it would explode. Everything about my body was fixated on trying to complete this one little meaningless task, and it completely exhausted me.

and, most of all, I felt like a failure because I couldn’t.

I’ve never done these tasks before, and I’ve never seen an occupational therapist until this year. Treatment was mostly focused on my leg (physio, the occasional neuro and consultant) and my walking, as I had an operation to enable me to do so when I was very small. I think my hand just got a little bit left out on the way, and as a result I’m finding all these tasks impossible and ridiculous and a little bit of a shock to be honest.

Of course I’ve always known I haven’t had good control over my hand, and I often deliberately avoid using it because I drop things and have in the past been made fun of for it (kids, eh). But this exercise drove it all home to me.

It’s hard to live with a brain injury. It’s frustrating when your body doesn’t behave in the way you want it to. And it’s tiring, because not only is it physically taxing but mentally frustrating.

We had a long discussion about Everything, and it was so refreshing because I felt like she really understood me. We discussed the fatigue, and really it’s probably a variety of things combined into one; med side effects, pain-related tiredness, depression, anxiety, CP…and for now that’s something I have to work through. I need my medication. I can’t just stop doing things. And unfortunately neither my pain nor brain (ha!) can switch off for very long.

But most importantly what my therapist made sure I knew was that it is okay. It is okay to feel this way. It’s okay to take rest days, and it’s okay to have a break.

Living with a disability isn’t easy.

It is not okay however to make myself feel bad about all this, and feel bad about the fact I’m tired, or think of myself as a failure, or less than worthy. Because those thoughts just add fuel to the fire.

Having the depression and anxiety on top of the CP/spinal problem really doesn’t help (and I spend a lot of my day feeling sad/empty/guilty/horribly anxious as it is) but I do not need to add to these feelings.

I am not a failure, because I will learn how to do things differently. I will thrive, because I’ve already come this far without the help.

Getting used to everything is taking time, but I think I am getting there. It’s just going to take time.

I am sorry because this is a really rambling, ridiculous post, but (as always) many thanks for reading if you got this far. It means a lot.

Take care of yourself whatever you’re doing; we could all do with a break every now and then.

Heather x

 

 

What Not to Say to Someone With Chronic Illness and Disabilities

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Hello there, and thanks for stopping by! This is going to be a slightly unusual post today, but it’s something I’d really like to share with you all. As you may know, I have a form of cerebral palsy- mild spastic hemiplegia – and a spinal condition called Scheuermann’s kyphosis. These are long-term illnesses, with no cure, so it’s just about learning to manage and live with the associated pain and mobility difficulties to ensure I have a good quality of life. What has been really shocking to learn is that people assume they’re an expert of chronic illness and think it wise to give out tips and advice. I know, we’ve all been there, but it’s something that never ceases to amaze me! After all, I know my body better than anyone, and I know how my conditions affect my day-to-day life. I just thought I’d share a few snippets of advice I’ve often found funny, and usually unhelpful. Some comments are pretty hurtful, but I know some are simply well-meant.

Just to clarify, this is not a dig at anyone at all, and this isn’t intended as something to offend any well-wishers: I just think it’s helpful to realise sometimes things aren’t always what they seem and maybe we can all think before we say something to someone. You never know how your words are going to affect someone else.

‘Chronic illness? But you look so well! How is this possible!?’

I get this a lot. I really do. And whilst I can appreciate I do look ‘fine’ most days, it can be very frustrating to hear. Firstly, it makes me feel fraudulent. No, I don’t use a wheelchair, and even when I use my walking stick I appear able to walk normally and without difficulty. However, I spend the majority of my day in constant pain, and it’s really wearisome having to reiterate this. Secondly, there’s also the idea that if I’m dressed up nicely or have make up on, that I can’t really be that ill, because, you know, I’ve made ‘an effort’. Having chronic illness doesn’t mean you have no desire to feel good. I still want to look as nice as the next person, and when I feel like it I really enjoy wearing a little bit of lipstick now and again. It just goes to show that you never know what’s underneath it all. (oh, I also enjoy wearing a bright shade of red when I can…makes me feel I can take on the world, especially on bad days!)

‘Why don’t you try exercise? I’ve heard it really helps [insert illness here].’

I have couple of things to say about this one. What I do seem to notice is people often recommend exercise when they don’t really understand the condition. Last year, someone asked what cerebral palsy was. Immediately upon hearing this, they proclaimed that exercise would cure it. Funny…they didn’t know what it was prior to asking! Though I know exercise is fantastic, and I do exercise as much as I can to keep my muscles as flexible as possible (particularly in my hemi side) sometimes the nature of my conditions limits me in terms of exercises. Some I simply can’t do. Most others leave me in a lot of pain. People also assume that I don’t try/never have tried/that I’m unfit anyway. I happen to walk quite a lot, and considering walking is something I find challenging, (particularly with regards to the palsy) this can sometimes be very painful and very tiring. However, I always try. Sometimes I try too much, end up walking for miles (often in a bid to push myself) and subsequently suffer for it. What I’m basically trying to say is don’t assume exercise is the be all and end all. It can be brilliant, but think about it: if you’re in severe pain, would the first activity to spring to mind be a jog/some workout at the gym? No? Didn’t think so.  Also, I’ll add here that when I was at school I still used to take part in PE and sports days despite my medical conditions and difficulties. One memorable sports day I volunteered for a long distance running race. At school, very few people knew about my cerebral palsy, but when I crossed that finish line (I came fourth out of eight) it was amazing. I’d done it; I’d also competed against people with no mobility or pain issues. It was possible, but I won’t say it didn’t hurt. I can still think back to the feeling of intense burning, crampy, sickening  pain in my hemi leg that followed. The PE teachers gave me some little gifts to say well done: they appreciated how difficult it must have been for me and I’m truly grateful for that. It’s an experience I won’t ever forget.

‘Ah, get well soon!’

I feel bad about including this comment, because this is obviously well-meant and I appreciate the sentiment. However, it is difficult to explain to people that my conditions won’t get better. I have done this once or twice, and I’m usually branded a pessimist. I just call it being realistic: there’s no cure for either. They fluctuate on a daily basis. Yes, some days are better than others. But I will be living with these for the rest of my life, and I have (mostly) come to terms with that. I’m still sad I included this one but hopefully you’ll understand what I mean!

‘You’re just an old lady really!’

This really, REALLY annoys me. This reiterates everything I feel about myself. Some days I wake up in so much pain I feel like I’m years older. I can’t do normal household chores without intense back pain, I can’t go shopping without my body hurting and I can’t do ‘younger people’ stuff like clubbing without things becoming very difficult. Of course I enjoy a good dance every now and then, but it becomes extremely painful. The next day is an issue not because of the ensuing hangover (well, at least not the majority of the time) but because my body is tired…it’s tired of the pain. Don’t call me an old lady. It’s never okay. It’s one of these things that really get to me. Calling me an old lady basically confirms all my worst fears. I have a hard enough time thinking of myself in this way, and I’d rather you didn’t add to that.

‘You’re just lazy/milking it’

I just don’t even know what drives people to say things like this. I didn’t choose to have these conditions. I can’t help that sometimes I need rest and relaxation. Just try putting yourself in someone else’s shoes: do you think it’s easy living in pain every day? It is also well-documented that people living with cerebral palsy use more energy than an usual. It’s tiring stuff. The latter part of the above comment was one of the more hurtful things I’ve heard. When I was in school, I had to wear a spinal brace. This was extremely uncomfortable. I had to wear it 23 hours every day and the hour off was for showering/PE. Because it was hard plastic, it dug in everywhere, and I’d end up with bruised hips, itchy skin rashes and marks cutting into my skin from the plastic. It constantly forced my spine into an unnatural position, and this was painful. Wearing that brace was awful. I felt detached from my own life: it was like I stepped into a magazine and became someone else. ‘Will I have pain for the rest of my life? So, you mean it’s incurable? My spine might get worse?’ These were questions I found hard to ask and even harder to understand when I was thirteen. I was thrust into a world of painkillers, hospital checks, physio, pain management, and procedure after procedure. This was on top of my appointments for my cerebral palsy. Having people claim I was milking it was something I really didn’t need. How insensitive can you be?! The worst part is that a person who said this talked behind my back and told my friends I was ‘milking it’. At the same time, they’d be really lovely to my face and would offer to help me in any way they could. As you can imagine, hearing that was extremely hurtful, and I never really associated myself with them at all after that. I still avoid having to now, despite the fact we have mutual friends. Please don’t do this, ever. The last thing I’d ever want to do is feign an illness. If I had it my way, I’d be completely healthy and have nothing wrong at all. As it stands, I’m not. Don’t make assumptions because you don’t understand.It’s a comment that I haven’t ever been able to shake off since the age of thirteen, and I don’t think I’ll be able to forget it.

I know this is an unusual post, but I hope it has given you something to think about! On a light-hearted note, I have two huge bars of chocolate to get me through the last couple of weeks of essay writing. I know I can do this, but it won’t be easy. Wish me luck!

I’m getting closer to that finish line…

Heather x

Anxiety: Taking Baby Steps

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Hello! I hope Monday got off to a great start for you. It’s been a fairly busy few days, and I thought it’d be quite nice to incorporate these journalistic posts into my blogging routine. Blogging after all is extremely cathartic for me, and sometimes it’s great to change things up a bit. What I haven’t really been so open about on here is my recent struggles with anxiety, but if you follow me on twitter I’m sure you’ve been able to follow various updates (that are admittedly fairly angry and annoying) about my general health and emotional wellbeing.  I can’t say I’ve ever been a laid-back person. I’m the kind of person who worries about how they’re going to answer a question in a seminar, or if I’ve somehow come across rudely, or whether or not I’ll be able to head into uni without panicking about it first. When I was younger I’d worry so much I’d work myself into a fit of tears, crying in bed as my stomach twisted and turned, my pillow damp with tears. Of course, I can’t really say why I worried like this. All I know is that I did, and it was very real. There was no stopping my worrying. My mum would constantly tell me I was making myself sick with worry (which was often the case), I’d catastrophize every situation, and I’d get that same stomach-churning, knotting sensation deep in my tummy. I remember many a night, prior to associated board vocal exams finding myself in a state of panic; ‘What if I forget the words? What If I can’t sight-read the piece? What if I sound absolutely awful?’ Although I passed these exams very well, the panic never ceased. The same occurred for every music concert, every question answered in class, and every time I over thought an embarrassing situation. It’s not an easy way to be, but I didn’t know how to be any different. I couldn’t stop it, no matter how hard I tried. Even as a tiny child, I remember the panic  that ensued when I even so much as thought about being in trouble. It frightened me.

This anxiety has never ceased, but it has definitely developed into a different beast. Since being diagnosed with Scheuermann’s, I’ve noticed the relationship between my pain levels and my anxiety (and vice-versa). Some days when I am having a particularly difficult pain day, I get what I can only describe as a ‘feeling of doom’ inside my stomach, like something unbearably bad is about to happen. This is the same for the painful symptoms associated with my hemiplegia. When both my back and hemiplegia are very painful, it’s an absolute recipe for disaster. I’m sure it’s a feeling some of you are more than familiar with.

In April last year  my anxiety really spiraled out of control. I was definitely at my worst: something extremely traumatic had occurred at home, and I was one to help pick up the pieces. I don’t want to go into things, it’s very painful and extremely upsetting, but it’s something I had no control over which only made things worse. Things got so bad I couldn’t leave the house, especially when on my own. If I managed to get into uni, usually with my boyfriend accompanying me, I’d panic as soon as I realised I’d have to sit in a room with people, so I had to go back home. I’d continually cry. It was like the tears wouldn’t stop rolling down my cheeks, no matter how hard I tried. My heart was beating out of my chest, I couldn’t eat, and I felt so nauseous I didn’t feel like eating even if I tried. I felt so alone, in unbearable amounts of pain, and unable to obtain help because I felt terrified every time I left the safety net of my bedroom. I couldn’t even talk to my housemates. It was a really, really bad time.

Over summer the situation that was the main contributing factor to my anxiety stopped being as much of a problem. I was still anxious about everything, but not in the ‘housebound way’ I had been previously. Things looked better for me. I no longer felt like despairing. Things weren’t completely fine, but I felt better. Unfortunately I’ve had  a slight relapse; the original situation that caused such heartache last year hasn’t gone away, and I’m not sure it ever will. This is the most painful part, because I feel like the same thing is going to happen again if I don’t take preventative measures. I have however managed to ask for help. People tell me this is a huge step, so I only hope they’re right. I’m going to see someone Friday  (I did originally have an appointment last week that was cancelled at very short notice, which is never a good thing) but I’m hoping something useful will come out of it.

It’s easy to feel you’re completely alone when going through anxiety and other related conditions. I know now that I should have sought help a long time before now, but I’ve set the ball rolling and that’s the important thing. There are the resources out there, it’s just a matter of seeking them out. Surround yourself with people you can trust, with people who will help you through this  difficult time. I’m reluctant to take medication if I can absolutely help it. This is not because I think medication is a bad thing; I know it’s a lifeline for some people and that’s fantastic, but for personal reasons I’d like to see if I can manage my anxiety in a different way. I’ll keep you updated on my progress.

Just don’t give up. You will find a way.

Heather

bad day

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As I sit here typing this I can see the dull gloom of the sky outside, and the flickering light of candles on a desk. The landscape reflects my mood; the sun is absent, not even a patch of blue is to be seen and the sky is so overwhelmingly grey. Today is a grey day, and my mood seems similar. I feel dejected, stressed, tired and everything else that comes along with it. I’m at a stage where I’m really resenting things. I resent my body; I resent my body right now because I wake up in pain and I fall asleep in pain, it hurts to walk and it hurts to sit, and all the silly, mundane things that need doing in everyday life seem impossible and difficult. Washing my clothes is an ordeal, making my bed is a challenge, and cleaning the house leaves me in so much pain I can’t do anything for the remainder of the day. I feel hopeless. I feel ashamed of my body, and even more ashamed of the way it makes me feel. Today the pain in my body is taking it’s toll. I feel robbed of the opportunity to do things without having to think of their consequences. I am constantly weighing up the pros and cons of analgesia, knowing that either way I can’t win. Today I am realising that I struggle and it’s the struggle that’s the hardest to address. I am stubborn; but there’s only so much I can take on the bad days.

I’m hoping for a brighter tomorrow.

A Quick Update

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As I write this it’s nearly 23.45 on a Sunday night, and whilst I’m having a break from essay writing I’d thought I’d provide a brief update. The past few weeks have been really, really hectic. I’m in my final year of undergraduate study at university, and though I do not think the work has necessarily become harder, I feel that there’s far more of it, resulting in later nights and earlier mornings. By the end of the next week I’ll have written close to 12,000 words, so I can’t wait to have a little break before resuming semester two. Studying with a chronic, long-term condition can be really very stressful, so I can’t wait to have a breather, take some analgesia and hopefully feel like myself again.

There’s LOADS of things I’d like to share on here, too. I’ve been lucky enough to have some great products that have really helped during this time. My dad knows how painful I find essay writing, and so he was kind enough to buy me a RelaxWell Dreamland throw which has become a new favourite of mine! I’ll let you know how I’ve been getting on with it.

I’ve also been slowly (yet surely) ploughing through my box of DeGusta goodies, and I’ll be able to update you on my progress with it. Food is definitely something I look forward to during an intensive assessment period, so it’s always wonderful to have a break, eat some really delicious food, and then have the energy to resume working. It almost makes the work bearable!

It is with regret I must finish this post and resume reading. I hope to update you all really soon, and look after yourselves until then.

Best wishes,

Heather

Life can be a pain, sometimes

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I say this with all seriousness. Life can be a pain for anyone, of course. There’s the usual stressors of everyday life, sometimes there’s issues with friends and family, and sometimes there’s problems at work.

However, for some people, life isn’t just a pain: life can be painful, too.

Having Scheuermann’s disease and cerebral palsy means that I live with chronic pain. Though it is a common misconception, having chronic pain doesn’t necessarily mean the pain is severe; it simply means that the pain lasts for an extended period of time (the word chronic is derived from the Greek ‘chronos’, meaning ‘time’). So, to put this into perspective from my point of view, if I’m talking about my back pain, I haven’t been free from that for over seven years now. That’s right. Seven years of pain occurring pretty much every day. So what does this constant pain mean? How do people living with chronic pain cope? And finally, how does it affect the way I live my life?

I’ve always found it difficult to articulate what living with chronic pain feels like. I’d like to say that the expectation of having pain is a constant thought in the back of my mind. Pain is the last thing I feel at night, and the first thing I wake up to in the morning. Yes, it hurts, of course it does, but there’s ‘good’ days and ‘bad’ days. There’s days where the pain is barely noticeable, but there’s days where the pain is all consuming and it stops me doing normal things. I like to think of my pain as a Bunsen burner flame. Like my pain, the Bunsen is always on; but the flame burns more strongly when you add oxygen to it. Like the flame, when I do too much (just adding more oxygen to the Bunsen) I can exacerbate my pain levels, and the pain becomes ‘stronger’ or worsens.

Sometimes this happens without prior warning. I don’t necessarily have to have done anything in particular to exacerbate my pain, (this can be really frustrating) but there is usually a reason why. Silly, I know, but sitting for an extended period can exacerbate my pain levels, as can standing for too long. I’m constantly needing to strike the perfect balance. If I go for a long walk, I have to be prepared that I may be in more pain as a result, from both my Scheuermann’s (abnormal curvature in my thoracic spine; I’ll explain all in a later post!) and cerebral palsy. It’s a really odd thing to talk about, and it sounds so silly, but I’m constantly aware that each day will bring different levels of pain. Being in constant pain means there are things I cannot always do, though when I was younger I tried to ignore the fact I wasn’t necessarily able to do everything that I’d like to. Going to the cinema is pretty painful, and as much as I like going out to eat in a restaurant, the extended period of time sat down means that can become quite a painful experience. I’ve recently had to accept that going out clubbing isn’t really the best thing for me. Being on your feet all night coupled with the fact you’re constantly being pushed into by drunk dancers doesn’t make for comfortable entertainment! Studying for university can become difficult, but I’ve learnt to deal with it by constantly working and reading, so that if I need to take a day off then I can.

There are various ways I cope with my chronic pain, so I’ll try to list them;

1) take painkillers as and when I need them.
I’m prescribed quite a hefty amount of analgesia, but only take tablets when I feel I can’t cope. I’m often described as having my very own pharmacy in my room, and I can’t necessarily dispute that!

2) use heat pads/various other heated products
I have a heat pad that brings great relief when I’m struggling. It’s basically like a miniature electric blanket and you can adjust the heat setting. My dad bought mine from Boots and it was such a great buy!

3) learn to take it easy
This has been really difficult for me. I’m quite an anxious person naturally so I tend to want to rush so that I get everything done as quickly as I can. In light of this I’ve learnt to give myself a break when I need it. Living with constant pain can be extremely draining both physically and mentally, and I need some quality time to recuperate.

4) have the occasional glass of wine
I’m not saying this and justifying it, however I have found that if I’m not prepared to deal with the side effects of my medication when I’m really bad, (drowsiness, euphoria, itchiness) I’ll have a small glass of red wine maybe about once a week. I don’t drink a lot of it, but I do notice it definitely helps to relax my sore muscles.

5) be happy!
Though things can be difficult at times, I’m truly happy and extremely privileged to live the life that I live. I’ve had a lovely upbringing, been to school, achieved great grades and I’m now studying at university and I’m expecting to finish my final year in 2015. Trying to keep happy means I take time out to do things purely for the pleasure of doing things. I like to watch rubbish telly in bed, I like to have the odd takeaway and not feel bad about it, and I like to spend time with really supportive friends and family. I’m very lucky that the university I attend is really supportive and adjusts things as and when I need. They’re truly great and I know if I’m having a particularly painful day I can inform my department and know that there’s support there if I so need it.

Living with chronic pain does mean I’m constantly accounting for ‘bad’ days or ‘bad’ parts of days. I found a theory someone came up with to describe this, and they have described it so wonderfully I don’t think I could possibly add anything more to it. It’s called the ‘Spoon Theory’ and was created by Christine Miserandino. Click on the link below to find out more:

The Spoon Theory written by Christine Miserandino

I’m aware that this has been a pretty long post, and if I’m honest I could add so much more to this and be writing for days. However, I don’t expect any of you would have the patience to read it (I know I wouldn’t!) So I’ll stop there for now.

Best wishes and I hope your week is going well!
Heather

Cerebral Palsy: what you need to know

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When people hear that I have cerebral palsy, I (usually) get one of two responses. The first usually goes along the lines of, “wow, you’d never know, you look really well with it!” and the second is,”Cerebral palsy? I’ve heard of it, but I don’t know what it is”. Of course I’m speaking in very general terms, and it is worth mentioning that I am indeed conscious of the varying degree to which people are aware of the condition. However, I thought that it would be worthwhile to discuss the basics of cerebral palsy to further inform subsequent posts.

If we had never met before, and you were to come across me walking down the street, I’d be very impressed if you knew that there was anything ‘wrong’ with me at all. Whilst I hate using the words ‘normal’ (what constitutes normality, anyway?) ‘wrong’, and ‘different’, please bear with me! I’m hoping to make some sense to you all as it’s been a really long day! I physically don’t appear to be any different to the next person. I seem to walk perfectly normally, and appear fit and healthy. However, if you took a closer look, you might notice that I sometimes walk a little awkwardly on my right leg, and that I find my right hand a little awkward to use. So much so, I keep it tucked away in a pocket.

You see, I actually have a form of cerebral palsy called a right-sided hemiplegia. When I was born, I was premature and only weighed 2lb 11ozs. Being of low birth-weight can increase the risk of acquiring cerebral palsy, as does being part of a multiple birth, which I also was; I have a twin brother. Cerebral palsy is, in really basic terms, caused by an injury to the brain prior to, or fairly immediately after birth. I know when I was born my brain hadn’t fully developed on the left hand side, and though it did seem to recover and repair after my birth, it left me with the resulting cerebral palsy which affects (on a very basic level) my motor skills on the right hand side of my body.

When I was three I underwent an operation to ‘lengthen’ and stretch my right Achilles’ tendon. The form of cerebral palsy I have causes my muscles to be spastic, so that they’re always tight no matter when position they’re in. This operation enabled me to walk in the way that I do today, and for that I’m so grateful! I’ve also had lots of physiotherapy appointments, stretching plaster casts on my leg and, more recently, I’ve been using a splint to try to keep the muscles in my leg as stretched as possible. On painful or difficult days, I use a walking stick as I managed to find a rather pretty one. Or at least (I think) as pretty as a walking stick can be!

The main thing to note is that cerebral palsy doesn’t go away. There is no cure for cerebral palsy. And though my brain injury has already occurred, the affected muscles may continue to deteriorate over time through use and stress. My affected muscles can often become really painful because they’re constantly stiff and tight. I also have issues with my balance, with using my right hand, and my mobility, especially on ‘bad days’. There are so many other different symptoms associated with having cerebral palsy, and I’m aware of how long this post is becoming, so I’ll make sure to discuss them in other posts.

I’m sorry if this is rather dry and that this is possibly running the risk of being boring, but I felt like it was imperative for me to at least highlight the basics for you all! I hope you’ve had a wonderful week and I wish you an enjoyable weekend.

All for now,
Heather