Thoughts That Go Through My Head In Hospital Waiting Rooms

I've spent a lot of time in hospital waiting rooms over the last five years, waiting for appointments that I hoped would give me a full diagnosis to explain my chronic pain, or provide me with some relief from my symptoms. Consultations, blood tests, X-rays, scans, physiotherapy, acupuncture, facet injections, manipulation... the list of appointments goes on. Basically, I've had so many hospital visits, sometimes I feel like I live there.

I probably spend more time in the waiting rooms than with the doctor, nurse, or physiotherapist, because appointments are rarely on time. Depending on the reason for my visit, waiting around can stir up all kinds of thoughts and emotions, from fear to boredom, causing my mind to go in to over drive and over think to pass the time. All kinds of thoughts have been known to enter my head while I've been in waiting rooms, so for kicks, I'm going to share a bunch of them with you today.  Why? Because I can.

♥ Why are pain clinics and physio departments always so far away from hospital entrances?

♥ Why is it so hot in here? Have I entered the gateway to hell?

♥ Why are all these people staring at me? Is it because I'm fat, young (ish), wearing loud clothes, don't look ill? Are they wondering what's wrong with me? What?

♥ Seriously, why won't they stop staring at me? I hate this.

♥ How much longer do I have to sit here? My appointment was 23 seconds ago.

♥ I hope I don't have to strip down to my underwear or wear a hospital gown today. Please let me keep my clothes on.

♥ Am I wearing matching underwear? Nice underwear? Did I remember to shave my legs? No? Shit. I'll definitely be stripping down to my underwear today, then. And in front of the fit osteopath. Fuck.

♥ Does anybody actually read those random magazines about fishing, rambling, and hunting?

♥ Why are appointments never on time, even when you're one of the first of the day?

♥ I wish I was in bed, in my PJs, blogging, and having a Netflix marathon.

♥ Why am I the only patient here under 50?

♥ Will the doctor / nurse / physiotherapist be kind and try to help me, or will they just dismiss what I'm saying and shoo me away? Will they believe me? Judge me? Treat me like I'm wasting their time?
♥ Will they treat me badly because I'm fat?

♥ Will they assume my health problems are just down to being fat?

♥ Is this appointment going to be a waste of time, or will it be another step forward?
♥ I've got nothing to worry about; it's going to be fine.

♥ Mother, chill. You're stressing me out. 

♥ Must not laugh out loud at hilarious meme / Tweet / Facebook status/ Instagram photo on my phone. Must. Not. Laugh. Oops, too late.

♥ I wish I'd remembered to bring a drink in with me; my mouth is as dry as the Sahara. They really should have vending machines or water coolers in this hospital.

♥ I hope I don't have to write or sign anything today; my hands are so shaky!

♥ I must look like my body is shaking from fear or a drug addiction. This is so embarrassing.
♥ I wonder what health conditions, ailments, or injuries these people have.

♥ I wonder if any of these people have any of my health conditions. I wonder if any of them are going through a similar situation.

♥ Either somebody has a voodoo doll of me, or body, you are being one mean son of a bitch. Pain, this is no time to throw a tantrum. Do you want to have us hospitalised? Don't make me come down there!
♥ I really don't feel so good. Hurry up, doctor, so I can go throw up and get home to bed.
♥ My back and legs are killing me. I don't think I can take this pain much longer. Body, why do you hate me?

♥ Do I look as bad as I feel? Do I look ill, or do I look perfectly healthy to all these people?

♥ I should have brought my book with me. Why did I leave my bag in the car?

♥ I hate these uncomfortable waiting room silences.

♥ What did the blood tests / scans find? What will they diagnose me with this time? Has anything improved or worsened since the last one?

♥ What will the plan of action be this time? New medication? More physiotherapy? Injections? Acupuncture? Mummification? Ritual sacrifice? A magical elixir made from the blood of my enemies?

♥ Please, Jebus, don't let him send me for another claustrophobic scan, like he was considering doing last time. Anything but that. Save me, Jebus! *Has silent panic attack.*

♥ Where's Doctor McSteamy when you need him?

♥ I need some fresh air.

♥ I wonder if I can convince my Dad to take a detour through McDonalds on the way home...
♥ I hope he's not too bored waiting around for me in the car / coffee shop.

♥ Aw, it's lovely that the elderly man sitting across from me is taking care of and reassuring his poorly wife. / It's sad that that lady is here alone. / It's sweet that that man's got so much love and support from his family.
♥ I wonder what crimes the two guys handcuffed to Police in front of me have committed. I wonder what they're here for. (This happened when I was getting physio at a hospital in Oxford a few years ago).

♥ How much longer do I have to sit here? My appointment was 45 minutes ago.

♥(Another 45 minutes later). This is taking the piss now. How much longer is he going to b- FINALLY! Hallelujah! The old geezer didn't die at his desk after all. All is forgiven.

♥ Okay, my legs and backside have gone to sleep.
♥ (Stiff from sitting in a chair for so long, walking across to the doctor). I feel like the little old lady from the Tweety Pie cartoons.
♥ I hope he doesn't mind shaking my slightly sweaty hand. *Quickly wipes hand on dress.*

♥ Okay, let's do this!

What goes through your mind in hospital or doctor's surgery waiting rooms?

A Little Update

Hi guys,

I just wanted to check in to apologize for the lack of posts here at the moment; quality and otherwise. It's been an over-whelming few weeks for me, and the stress and pain combined with a stifling heatwave and writer's block have all made blogging difficult.

I've tried to write so many times, only to find a lack of inspiration or motivation stopping me from typing. I actually have twenty-three posts in my drafts right now, and I'm not inspired to write any of them. I think I'll probably delete most of them and start again; there's no point forcing something that I'm clearly not motivated to write. Normal service should hopefully resume soon.

I have found the motivation to give my blog a little face lift, though. I've been trying to work out what to do with it for months, designing images with a lot of trial and error, but never liking the result when I put it all together. Now I'm doing it as I go along, I finally seem to be getting somewhere; although it's still a work in progress. I've added more pages and subjects to the right hand side bar, as you might have noticed, but I still have pages to edit / finish, and about 600 posts still to go back through and relabel correctly. It might take a few weeks, but hopefully when I'm done Polka Spots and Freckle Dots will be better organised and easier to navigate. 

Aside from the blog, as some of you will know, two and a half weeks ago, I began my journey in to private health care. I had three appointments in the space of one week- efficiency I'm just not used to after so little support from the NHS.

Last Wednesday, I got the results of my X-Rays and MRI scans. I didn't expect to learn anything I didn't already know- I'd had an MRI on the NHS in 2011 which (eventually) diagnosed my multiple disc injuries, so I wasn't expecting any new developments. 

Let's just say I was in for a surprise!

My Doctor began by showing me the X-Rays, and I could instantly see my spine was not exactly that of a healthy person. My discs were still all in various states of degeneration; the herniations were still herniated; they had not miraculously healed in the last three years... but I'd expected that.

What I didn't expect to see was that my spine was slightly- but visibly- curved in places, and that there was a little shadow near the base of my spine. Even to my untrained eye, I knew that was not how a spine should look.

The Doctor explained that near the bottom of my spine, there was a little bone on the side of one of my vertebrae that shouldn't be where it was, and there was a good chance it was causing a lot of my pain. It looked like a little butterfly beside another piece of bone. 

I was too overwhelmed by the new developments to remember to ask questions, so right now I'm not sure if the bone is out of place, or just not meant to be there at all, but I suspect the latter by what I could see on the scan.

He told me the curves to my spine could be a result of all the pain I'm in. Three years of relentless pain has obviously had some affect on my posture, but I never thought that it could physically affect my spine! 

I'm left wondering for now, and I'm curious as to what caused both of these 'new' issues. Whether they were caused by injury, I was born with them, or whether they're the result of a condition.. or something else entirely. I have a lot of questions to ask next time.

All I could do was listen to what he was telling me, respond with "okay..." and stare at the images on his computer as I tried to process it all. I wasn't frightened or upset by the news; I just couldn't believe there were more problems I didn't know about. The NHS hadn't picked up on them, or if they had, they didn't tell me.

The good news is, he told me he didn't see anything that told him to wheel me off to surgery there and then. That was a relief; the last thing I want is to go down that road, if I can help it. 

Instead, he discussed a few options with me and instead of telling me what to do, he asked for my opinions and asked what I'd like to do. We talked about physiotherapy and hydrotherapy, which I've already had; spinal injections, which cost a shocking £1500- each!; and CT scans- deep joy, another scan!

I asked him what he recommended, but also told him physiotherapy isn't working one little bit.

We came up with a plan...

The next step will take me to London for a CT scan. Early next week. I'm not quite sure why I'm going all the way to London for the scan, since it's a couple of hours drive from where I live, but he wants to get a more in-depth look at my insides to see what's going on. He also needs to find out where he should stab me with spinal injections for best results, as I'll be having three of them after the scan. I hope they don't hurt as much as being injected in the toe (with anaesthetic, not drugs!) did. After that, I think I'll be having intense hydrotherapy, since physiotherapy has never made the slightest bit of difference. I've had a few hydrotherapy sessions before, but not enough or often enough to find out if it could've made a difference. 

So, yeah, there's a lot going on, and things are moving in the right direction. There's no guarantees anything will work, but I have nothing to lose at this point. Hopefully the CT scan will tell me more about what's going on, so I can find out what the future holds, and what might help to get me back on my feet.

I'm looking forward to visiting London again next week, even if it is for a hospital visit. It's been three years since my last visit and I've missed those days out- I used to go several times a year to shop, sight-see, catch a musical, go to a gig, or visit an attraction. My Dad's driving me up, so hopefully I'll be able to persuade him to take a scenic route or visit something during the three hours between the dye injection and the actual scans. I can't even remember the last time I spent a whole day out with my Dad, just the two of us. 

The day is going to be a long one, and will involve more hours out of bed than I've managed in three years, so I'm preparing myself for a lot of pain and exhaustion, but I'm actually a little excited for the trip. Crazy, I know! I guess that's what happens when the most exciting part of your life is managing a trip to the supermarket. Haha!

Anyway, I'm sorry for so many personal posts recently, and I'm sorry for the lack of quality content. I'll do my best to get back in to the swing of things this week, starting with my Sunday favourites post tomorrow. 

I'm also sorry for leaving your comments and emails unanswered for so long, and I'll be setting some time aside to reply to all of them over the next few days. I have read them and I just wanted to say thank you to everyone who left me messages of support for my MRI scan; they meant a lot to me! You guys are all so lovely and your words have not gone unnoticed!

I'm a useless blogger, and I need to give myself a kick up the backside!

If you've made it through all of this, thanks for reading! And thanks for listening.

Have a great day!

My First Venture In To Private Health Care For Disc Injuries

On Wednesday, I met with a private doctor for a consultation about my disc injuries and sciatica. It was my first tentative step in to health care away from the NHS, and the most positive experience I've had with a Doctor in my three-years with disc injuries.

My parents arranged the appointment without my knowledge; I guess I should start with that. They've been threatening to get me private care for over a year... more like two, and for over a year and more like two I've repeatedly declined and refused, mostly because I don't want to inflict such a financial burden on them. And also because I'm as stubborn as week-old glitter nail polish. (Which is probably why they didn't tell me they'd pursued private care anyway, until the appointment was secured last week).

I can't say I was thrilled to hear the news. I'd told them 'no' hundreds of times, and they'd done it without my consent. It just made me want to bang my head against a brick wall.

I'm not ungrateful to them for wanting to get me private health care; I'm not; they just want to see me better, and if I had a child in the same situation I'd be doing the exact same thing. I just don't want to see them waste their money, which could be spent on far more important and greater things. My Dad should be using it to enjoy his new found retirement, for one thing. Private health care costs good money, and I don't want them to drain their bank accounts to get it for me. I'm especially worried that they'll spend their money only to discover nothing can be done, and it will all be for nothing... but that's me; I worry and over think everything. They've told me countless times that they've got this, and that they want to do this for me, but it doesn't mean I'm comfortable with it. I burden them with enough already as an injured person.

Regardless of my feelings, yesterday morning I headed off to my first appointment at the private hospital, with both of my parents in tow, trying to keep an open mind and low expectations.

My appointment was at a private hospital near Swindon, a small hospital that really didn't look all that different to an NHS hospital or large Doctor's surgery. There were waiting rooms with coffee machines; long carpeted corridors with doors leading off to a variety of rooms for consultations and specialist treatments; and Doctors and nurses promenading down the halls, going about their business.

Just off the first waiting room, was a small office where I had to go and register my contact details, and provide information like my emergency contacts, and if the health care would be paid by insurance of ourselves. We also had to leave credit / debit card details, which will be held for three months as a deposit. I guess that's in case we disappear off the face of the Earth, and don't pay the bills. The woman was friendly and it was quite informal. The only part I didn't like nor think was necessary was being asked for my marital status. I always feel judged and pitied when I have to say I'm single. She told me to stay single as long as possible, and then proceeded to chat about her son who is moping because his girlfriend has gone travelling. 

The registration took less than five minutes, and I was then sent down a corridor to another waiting room, where a couple of other patients were waiting. It was basically a narrow area about twenty feet long with a row of chairs against a wall, at the corner of two corridors that led to off to many rooms. We were a little early, and my pain was so high I started burning up, shaking, and feeling nauseated. (It wasn't nerves, I still feel like it a day later). The appointment was about fifteen minutes late, which isn't bad compared to how late some of my NHS appointments have been, but I was dying to get out of there for some fresh air.

I was called in by my new doctor, a friendly man, who I'd say was in his early forties. He was immediately very welcoming to my Mum and I, which helped to put me at ease. I took a seat, and was asked to tell him my story from the beginning. What happened, when it began, where my pain is, what treatment I've had, who I'd seen and that sort of thing. I was poked and prodded, and had to stretch forwards and backwards so he could see where it hurts most and what stretches cause the most pain, and I then had to parade around on my tiptoes and on my heels, so he could see how my legs were functioning.

He is the first medical person to acknowledge just how much pain I'm in, and commented on how much my body was shaking from it. I can't tell you just how much of a relief it was to hear that, after three years of not being taken seriously by the NHS. It's a relief to be told somebody believes you, when so many others wouldn't listen to the facts.

He was shocked by how little support I've been given, although he said it wasn't uncommon because the NHS don't like to spend money where they can help it. Which is fair enough; they only have so much funding, and a never-ending stream of patients, but it isn't right. He did say he was amazed I hadn't been referred to see a spinal surgeon or spinal specialist, and had just been left like this for so long.

He told me that there should be things we can try, but was honest about the potential expenses. For instance, a spinal injection would cost £1500- each!, and some spinal surgeries could cost £6000- although I'm sure that's just the price of the surgery, and doesn't include everything else like aftercare and room and board. (Everything is still cheaper than I'd imagined). I don't want to have surgery if I can help it, and he agreed that surgery should be the very last resort. I won't know for sure what my options are until I've had a new MRI scan, but unlike what the NHS have led to me to believe, surgery might be a possibility one day.

He wants to see an up-to-date scan of my spine, and automatically suggested a different hospital to visit for the scan, where MRI scans should be a third of the price than they are at this hospital. We didn't even ask about pricing, so I'm impressed he didn't want to make it as expensive as possible for us. He was very efficient; he immediately wrote down the hospital to call for an appointment (not that I could read his handwriting to remember where I'd be going, haha!), and then sent me off to have some x-rays done.

I headed over to the x-ray wing feeling hope for the first time in three years, and was waiting for no more than five minutes before I was called by the radiologist. I was taken to a changing room, where I was told to remove my dress and bra and put on a hospital gown, although I was allowed to keep my leggings, shoes, and glasses on. I learnt it's not dangerous to be wearing an under-wired bra or other metals during an x-ray, but they can get in the way of the area being scanned, potentially obstructing areas on the x-ray images.

I had three different x-rays taken standing up, and had to stand still while various technical-looking x-ray machinery was placed in the right places, and the x-rays taken. Again, the radiologist was very friendly, kind and patient, so it was a relaxed experience. It all took about five minutes, and I was then left to take a seat for another five whilst she left to check the x-rays had come out fine, after which I was able to go redress and I was free to leave.

I left with an open mind, and for the first time in three years, I left a medical appointment with hope. For the first time in three years, a medical person hasn't tried to patronise me, tell me to "just get on with it", or used my "young" age as an excuse not to help. He hasn't made me feel lazy or like it's my own fault that I'm house-bound, he hasn't made me feel like a hypochondriac, or dismissed my pain as nothing. For the first time in three years, I was listened to, taken seriously, and not ignored. I guess money really does make a difference to how you're treated in this world.

I can't believe how one ten-minute consultation could be so different to all the appointments I've had with the NHS in three whole years.

I've lost count of how many times I've begged GPs and specialists for help, only to be ignored, and told "to just get on with it" at every appointment.

I've lost count of how many times a doctor or physiotherapist used the phrase "you're young" as a reason why I shouldn't be in this mess, and as a reason why I should get on with it, or a reason not to help me. (News flash people, just because a person is young it doesn't mean they're invincible; bad things happen at any age, and everybody deserves to be given proper care no matter their age).

I've been told the pain is in my head, and that it's not as bad as I say.

I've even been told by my physiotherapist if I don't get myself better I'll never get married or have kids!

I had no idea I was living in 1952. Apparently my life would be over if I never became a house-wife.

I've had doctors say I shouldn't be on any medication; one took me off everything cold turkey, resulting in three days of severe withdrawal symptoms and an emergency call to the doctor at night. I've never been so ill in my life. My body was evidently addicted to Tramadol. And still is. Needless to say, I never went back to that incompetent doctor again.

I've come home from many appointments in tears, overwhelmed by their words, their attitudes, the lack of help, and the pain.

You could say, I've not had the best experience with the NHS over these last three years. And I know I'm not the only one.

Two day later, and I already have an appointment for that MRI scan- early this Saturday morning! It took me two and a half months to get an MRI scan on the NHS, but this time it was arranged in less than 24 hours with the appointment less than three days after I spoke with the Doctor! Now if that's not efficient, I don't know what is!

I'm already freaking out a bit at the thought of the scan. I'm claustrophobic and last time I had a panic attack in the machine, which pissed off one of the technicians. This time, however, I'll be having an open MRI scan, (which I made sure to ask about), which isn't as enclosed as the closed MRI scanner, so hopefully I won't have any reason to freak out when I'm in it. If I can see I can easily escape, I should be alright. I think I'll blog about the experience, too, for anybody out there who might want a patient's account of what MRI scans are like.

I don't know what the future holds for me, but I'm starting along this new road with hope; and that's something I didn't have three days ago. What ever happens, it won't be easy, but after three years of living in pain with my life on hold, I know I can get through anything that this new journey throws at me. I can't let my parents down, and I'm not planning on ever giving up! Who knows, maybe I'll be able to get my life back one day, after all!

A Fever You Can't Sweat Out

Lately, I've been struggling with a severe case of cabin fever and it's been so bad that for a few days last week it was really getting me down. I don't succumb to it often and I'm usually absolutely fine because I'm comfortable with my own company and have enough to keep myself busy with, but sometimes I do find it difficult to be stuck in bed all alone, living this Groundhog Day life with searing hot pain screaming at me and not backing down.

Last week was one of those weeks. I was far too aware of how much I am missing out on in life, and all I wanted was to get out and go live it.

My Mum realised how miserable I was at some point (I usually keep those kind of emotions hidden well) and got me out of the house for a bit on Thursday afternoon last week. It'd been about ten days since I'd last escaped captivity; if I'd remained indoors for much longer without a reprieve I would probably have started pacing like a big cat trapped in a tiny cage at the zoo.

We ended up driving over to a garden centre not far from Oxford, for a wander around their interiors department and farm shop. It was such a beautiful day, all blue skies, sunshine, and a really muggy twenty degrees, so we decided to first take a stroll around the animal pens outdoors.

This garden centre isn't a typical garden centre. It's set out in the country on a generous amount of land, with its own pick-your-own farm that grows everything from strawberries to pumpkins, depending on the season. It has a well-stocked farm shop with all kinds of interesting and expensive goodies, a craft shop, an interiors department, a maize maze in the summer, and even animal paddocks set alongside an enormous lake lined with lush green trees.

Sadly, the lake isn't accessible from the garden centre and it's probably privately owned, but it can be seen from the path around the animal paddocks, and it makes for the most scenic, tranquil walk. I'm a big animal lover, so I always enjoy having a wander down to see them. Yes, I'm just a big kid at heart!

My Mum was armed with some carrots from the farm shop, and as soon as these Jacob's Sheep saw them, they all trotted over to us in a synchronised fashion from where they were lying in the shade!

This greedy little ram wasn't shy in asking for more carrots.

He also did a spot of modelling for the camera...

They have two Kune-Kune pigs and this grunting little dude came over to say hello. Doesn't he have a face like Ludo from Labyrinth? Just me? Okay, then.

This pony spotted the carrots from a hundred feet away, and trotted over, demanding food by tapping her right hoof a few times. There's was a sign saying not to feed the ponies, but it was hard to refuse such a polite / cheeky little pony. We did sneak her a little piece.

I fell in love with this cheeky little bull. He kept sticking his tongue out at us! And would you look at his hair cut; such a handsome boy! If I could've taken him home, I would have!

In the next paddock along were two fluffy white alpacas, and a solitary bull.

Right at the bottom is a paddock that's home to three rheas, which, if you're not familiar with them, are emu-like birds, but smaller. I got the impression that this one wanted to hurt me.

This one was much more docile, and was contentedly sitting on a nest right at the front of the fence, methodically adding more straw from neck's reach. Thankfully, there's a big enough gap between the fence of the enclosure and the fence surrounding it, to stop people harassing him off his nest.

The path continues down a little further, but the rheas are the last animals to be seen, so we turned around and headed back in the direction of the garden centre. On the other side of the path is a gazebo which over looks the lake, and we popped in so I could take a few pictures and have a quick rest.

I immediately noticed ripples dancing on the water close to the shore, and after watching them for a few minutes, I eventually spotted the large green-brown fish that created them darting about in the shallows. I think it was a trout, but my knowledge of fish is mostly limited to those kept as pets, so really it could've been anything.

The view from the gazebo is absolutely breath-taking. The lake is surrounded by banks and fields of lush green grass which stretch down in to the countryside. You can see fields of sunny yellow rape seed just beyond the trees in the distance, and all kinds of trees line the lake and the land around it; including several willows which have always been my favourite. The lake is so calm and serene, and home to all sorts of water foul including various ducks, swans and geese.

This is a view I would love to sit and paint. There's something very Pride and Prejudice about it; I can almost see Mr Darcy riding in on a horse in the distance. Instead there was just an old guy fishing from the opposite bank.

The farmyard is also home to several goats which were sheltering from the sun, and some guinea pigs. All the animals look healthy, happy, and well cared for, although the guinea pigs always seen to be stuck in their hutches even though they're in the middle of a decent sized grassy pen. The poor things should be let out and given the room to run about and graze.

I've come to the conclusion that I would be quite content to have my own little farm like this; only for pets- I wouldn't have the heart to actually send anything off for slaughter, and I couldn't kill anything myself. It would probably end up turning in to a rescue centre for every wraith and stray, so it's probably best I don't go down that road! I'd be the crazy old lady with a thousand pets!

After that ten minute stroll, I had to rest in the car because I was so wobbly. The walk had taken a lot of effort and left me feeling like the little old lady from the Tweety Pie cartoons. Haha! I did manage a quick browse in the garden centre and farm shop, though, and came out with fresh bread, strawberry shortbread (yum!), Reece's Pieces, and a really handy measuring glass for baking, so I'd say it was a successful little outing with my Mum. It cured the cabin fever for a while, anyway!

That visit made me miss the days when I studied animal care at college. The campus was on a little farm  in the middle of nowhere, which was home to sheep and cattle, and the college's animal units housed all sorts of weird and wonderful critters from bunnies and budgies to snakes and axolotls. It involved a lot of hard work (biochemisty and mircrobiology- eurgh!) but I loved those two years. I still regret deciding not to go to uni at the last minute; I'd planned to study a foundation degree in Newquay in 2003 but got cold feet a few weeks before, and started working full time in the pet shop I had a weekend job with instead. I've regretted that decision ever since, although I enjoyed that job, but I couldn't see a way out of the rut I got myself in to.

If I ever recover from these pesky disc injuries, I want to get back in to animal care, even if it involves going back to college (or uni) in order to do so. Working with animals made me happy and content, and the eleven years of regret tells me all I need to know. I just wish it hadn't taken eight years and a back injury to wake me up. Although, I suspect, if I hadn't injured myself, I would probably still be stuck in that rut today, trapped there by fear of the unknown, and I'm thankful I got the wake up call I needed.

Do you regret any of the choices you made in life? Or the chances you didn't take?

Polka Spots and Freckle Dots Turns Two!

My little blog, Polka Spots and Freckle Dots is two years old today!

How on earth did that happen?

I can't believe that it's been two years since I created this blog, and sent my first post in to the virtual world. I can still remember how much my heart was racing when I published those introductory words; I was scared of putting myself out there and revealing my true self online. I'd kept Livejournal and Tumblr blogs before, but apart from the odd photo on Twitter, I'd never really posted photos of myself online where strangers could see them. It was a frightening concept.

During the six months leading up to starting this blog, when I first injured my back, I'd discovered the world of body positivity, size acceptance, and plus size fashion blogs through Tumblr. I was so inspired by these women who were unashamed and confident in their own skin, that I began to see myself in a different light. I began to accept myself for who I was a little more each day and this new found body-confidence continued to grow as I continued to read these blogs day after day.

By March 2012, I'd passed the sixth month mark of living with disc injuries, and I was bored. Six months of being house-bound will do that to you. I was constantly coming up with new ways to keep myself busy, and one night I decided I would start a blog where I could share my outfits and personal style. My outfits were playing a big part in raising my spirits, so I simply thought it would be fun to document them, and work towards accepting myself whilst beating boredom. Simple as that.

I didn't start with any expectations or aspirations; I didn't expect to gain a single reader. To be honest, I assumed I'd just end up writing sporadically for myself, as I did with my old Livejournal blogs, before eventually abandoning it.

I could never have imagined the impact that little blog would have on me and my life over those two years. My blog has been a life line for me to cling to while my life has been on hiatus and I've felt dislocated from the person I once was. It's kept me sane during those long hours spent in bed and occupied me through countless waves of insomnia. It's been there for me when I've felt isolated and alone, lost and let down, frustrated and angry, upset and fed up. More than anything, it's been an enormous distraction from the pain and provided me with a purpose day after day.

My blog is never far from my thoughts, and I spent most of my time during the past two years working on it. There is always something to be done; a post to write, photos to edit, comments and emails to reply to, products to research, improvements to be made. Thanks to blogging, I'm always busy. And I like it that way. I like to be busy. I don't want to give myself enough time to reflect on the pain or what I'm missing out on in life.

This blog has also helped to raise both my self-confidence and my body-confidence. I'd spent twenty-six years of my life hating myself, my body and my appearance, but blogging has helped me to start accepting myself. I'm still on that yellow brick road to self-acceptance, but thanks to this learning curve, I'm now further along the road than I ever thought was possible.

I've learnt that life is far too short to waste hating yourself and the skin you're in. It's funny that it took a back injury and the loss of my freedom and independence for me to realise that! I owe my injuries a lot!

While my blog hasn't become famous or gained a large following, I've gained a lovely little readership, some amazing regular readers whose support means so much to me, and I've made some wonderful blog friends. Every comment, tweet, and email of support means the world to me, and I love being part of such a fantastic community of inspiring  women.

I've learnt so much and have been blessed with some amazing opportunities.

I've published 615 posts during the last 730 days, rarely leaving more than a day or two between posts. That's a lot of content!

I've shared a countless selection of my favourite outfits, as weird, wonderful, or dull as they may be. Anybody would think I favoured a certain style...

I shared a glance at a handful of my make up looks. I'm addicted to colourful make up, and only wish I'd managed to share more of the looks I wore. I want to work on bringing you more of them.

I featured a variety of my manicures and wrote nail polish reviews. I wore a rainbow of colours, and tried my hand at a little nail art here and there. This blog has turned me in to a nail polish addict!

I've shared glances in to my wardrobe, dressing table, handbags, and collections. I've talked about my shopping hauls and reviewed clothes, accessories, cosmetics, and books. I've spent hours putting wish lists collages, and Serendipity Sunday favourites together each week. I've shared snippets of my life. I've talked about living with disc injuries, and blogged about a plethora of other topics. It's seems crazy to look back on it all and see where it has taken me!

I think my blogging style has improved a lot over two years, but I still have so much left to learn. I'm not the best writer or photographer in the world, or the best blogger, but I enjoy giving it a shot, and I'm constantly trying to do the best  I can.

Polka Spots and Freckle Dots has become more than just a blog to me; it's become a life line and a life style. And I owe it so much. I owe every one of you who reads, supports, and visits my blog so much! I can't express just how much your support means to me, but I want to thank you from the bottom of my heart, you truly fabulous people!

I honestly believe that the last two years of living with disc injuries would have been far more horrendous without this blog to throw myself in to. I don't even want to think about where I would be now; I don't think it would be a pretty picture. Thankfully, it has been there and kept me afloat during the most difficult time of my life so far, and I can't wait to see where it takes me over the next two years!

Here's to another two years of dresses, polka dots, animal motifs, novelty handbags, colourful eye make up, rainbow nail polish, product reviews, shopping hauls, wish lists, Serendipity Sundays, grainy photographs, fan girling, rants, musings, and randomness!