…And one big step back ⁰

by Kari Rose • General

It’s been ten days since my last blog post and things in my life have gone from bad to worse. I’m currently on the world’s worst rollercoaster which is constantly on a loop and has no intention of stopping for quite a long time. During the quiet spells on the ride, I can sit and reflect upon what is happening then as I’m being raised miles upon the ground I become so scared that I barely recognise myself and as I plummet downwards, I want to cry uncontrollably and end this journey that I call “life”. Rinse and repeat.

Last Wednesday I got a bunch of muddled up text messages from my Mum persisting to know if I was alright. I was confused because yeah, I was alright so I replied saying that she must of been texting the wrong person. After realizing that the original text didn’t send, she urged that I phoned her as quickly as possible – a phonecall I wasn’t really prepared for.

Mum and I have the best relationship that a mother and daughter can have. Not only is she my mothering parent, she is also my best friend and I often argue that she’s brought me up in the best way possible and we are so open with each about anything and everything. However, there was a slight hint of hesitation in her voice when she told me “Now, I don’t want you worrying yourself..”, followed by a long pause.

Back in early 2011 I was sent out a letter from the National Health Service (NHS) telling me to book an appointment for a pap smear test as I was due one, being a young adult who has been sexually active. I put it to the back of my mind and ignored the letter until a few months later, where another one was sent out specifing it’s importance. A pap smear test is when the Nurse takes a small scraping from your cervix to test for cervical cancer. I decided to face the music and took the screening, receiving my results a few months later stating that my cells were ‘abnormal’ and I’d be monitored frequently for check-ups. Whilst having contraceptive coil inserted back in December, I suggested to the Nurse to take another smear test while she was up there and because I was soon to be due another.

The results to my second test came back, the reason why my Mum was on edge – abnormal. Yet again. The letter explained that I would be admitted to hospital for a colposcopy to check for cancerous cells. I felt sick when she told me, mostly because ‘cancer’ is such a harsh word. “Cervical abnormality” sounds a lot more positive than “cervical cancer”, right? Mum reassured me that she would be with me every step of the way and if I do have cancer, they will be able to cure it with a high success rate. Regardless, it’s not something you want to hear.

My hospital appointment came through on Friday morning, admitting me in the following Wednesday (1st February). I’ve spoken to many people about their colposcopy experiences and for the most part, I’m trying to think positive about it. I blogged about my coil experience and knowing that this is up the similar street, I’m not looking forward to being prised open for internal inspection yet again.

I’m hoping that my next bacth of tests will come back as normal and I can continue on a care-free life not having to worry about little cancer bastards harvesting about in my cervix. That said, I’m bracing myself for the bad news and have looked into the procedures of removing the cancer, none of which are pleasant. I’m not going to lie, I’m scared, nervous and on Wednesday morning I’m going to be a train wreck. My family assure me that they’ve got my back and my Mum is taking me to the hospital and will be on the other side of the curtain to offer a hand to squeeze.

I’ll be posting up a documentation of my procedure for any young girls out there who may find themselves in a similar situation to me. What I’ve found slightly uneasy is all the colposcopy experience stories online are mostly by older women and as I’m only 21 years old I find it harder to relate to. Fingers crossed, eh?

I’ve had a great amount of support from the sextoys.co.uk Forum community who have given me extra confidence and positive vibes, so thank-you. It’s reassuring to know that I’m not alone and that I’ve got people to talk to about any hesitations that I have. I’m a strong-minded individual and although I know I’ll be fine, that slight fear will always be there. I’ll be keeping everyone posted on my status though. Wish me luck <3

One step at a time ⁰

by Kari Rose • General

Is it me or is time just passing far too quickly? We’re nineteen days into the new year and when I reflect, I have achieved very little. I can’t believe that I used to blog every day for two years…

The Scottish weather, as per usual, has been dreadful. We’ve recently had the worst hurricane-like winds which has caused devastation up and down the country, including destroying our glass greenhouse at the family home. Truthfully I’m just looking forward to the warmer weather and hope that summer 2012 is a lot better than last year. In fact, I hope that 2012 is a lot better than last year but as you’re about to read, I’ve had a bumpy kick-start.

The first party of the year was the annual staff gathering which is hosted up at our partner hotel in Perth. Co-workers and friends alike will know that I’ve been excited about it for months and ensured I had the perfect outfit. Brocade 28″ black corset over a custom-made red pencil skirt with a massive bow sewn on the back, complimented with striped tights, patent red Doc Martin style heels and pin-up influenced make-up. Unfortunately, on the day of the event, everything went topsy-turvy and within 20 minutes everything that could go wrong – went wrong. Unpacking my outfit, I tried on my custom skirt to discover that it wouldn’t fit alongside the corset as it high-waisted. This resulted in me having to wear a different skater-style skirt which wasn’t what I had intented so bam, instant disappointment. I had purchased lip tattoos from an online beauty retailer, cheaper replicas of the famous ‘Violent Lip’ collection. With my makeup station set up, I started cutting out the design and following the instructions that I was oh so familar with. However, when it came down to the application, the cheap design resulted in a bad lip print which chipped off almost instantly. Another failure. The third and final downflaw – because everything happens in threes – was my corset. I loosened it up as I normally do and as I adjusted it around my frame, the clip got caught on my left nipple piercing and as I lifted it up, it tore quite brutally, leaving the jewellery hanging on by a couple of cells. I just stood in shock as my nipple was torn from right to left, blood running down my stomach as I called out to my partner to offer assistance. Thankfully he was able to remove the piercing and after quickly cleaning the wound, I was pulled into my 28″ waist corset and had to instantly jump into the car for a lift across town to the bus to take us to Perth. It’s fair to say that I was unnerved for the rest of the night and feared the true damage of my nipple. I sat in the corner of the party all night, not drinking, not speaking to anyone, feeling sorry for myself.

A week later and I was cursed with the worst flu bug that I’ve suffered since summer last year. I was bed-bound for six days and popped a countless amount of pills to try speed up the recovery time. Yep, things haven’t been great.

Three days ago resulted in the removal of yet another piercing, my tongue web. I’ve been undergoing standard dental check-ups and after being told that my tongue web was a criminal for harbouring bacteria, it’s been on my ‘to-do’ list to get it removed. Whilst at my latest appointment the hygienist took it upon herself to remove the piercing herself, a procedure involving two pairs of pliyers, a lot of strength and a very sore jaw. Eventually the ball popped off and the minute barbell was removed much to the joy of me and all the staff who crowded around me who had never seen a tongue web piercing.

With a sparkling clean mouth, I’ve finally got the motivation and creativity that I require to change the things that upset me about myself. I’m going to spend the next few months battling against my weight and have already started focussing on healthy eating and planning up a work-out regime. The intention is to downsize from a UK size 14 back down to a size 10 – borderline 12 – by the summer. I’ve also decided that I want a change of style and have intensions of bleaching the lower half of my hair and gradually working to fade it to a white silver with hints of lilac throughout.

I am also working on taking life less seriously and trying to ‘love’ myself. My main goal is to become more of a smiley/happy person because being a “sour puss” is not an attractive trait. One step at a time, I guess.

Normally I hide away from the camera so I’m slowly conquering my fears by allowing my friends to take photographs. I argue that I’m not photogenic and until I lose the desired weight, I will continue to say so but above is one of the few photos that I can tolerate and publish online. The girl to my right is Sarah (Smyles) – the best person I met in 2011 – and this is one of my favourite photos of us together.

I need to let my little cloud of troubles just float away and learn to become more positive. Too many strings are holding me down so 2012 is the time to lighten and liven up! The era of a brand new me!

What’s going on? ⁰

by Kari Rose • General

I hate Christmas with a passion, partly because I’m not religious and it’s an overly hyped holiday where you are forced to pay a fortune on tacky gifts, and if your like me – in the hospitality trade – you can’t get the time off work because your busy hosting parties and catering for the local drunks. Don’t get me wrong, I love the idea of a so-called perfect Christmas; snuggled around the fire with the family, drinking wine, having a massive festive feast, exchanging gifts, taking photographs with the silly paper hats on your head and gorging your body weight in chocolates. Unforutnately for me that never happens and this year is no different.

Unlike the vast majority of people out there, I don’t have an extended family. A quick fact is that my Dad isn’t my real Dad but since he’s brought me up from such a young age I do consider him one. However, his parents (would-be grandparents) don’t consider me his daughter per say, and thus I’m treated like I don’t exist. They know nothing about me and for the most part, that’s fine. On my Mum’s side, I have 2 aunties, 2 cousins and grandparents, again who treat me (and the rest of my family) like we don’t exist. An on-going drama has been going on but likewise, we are considered outcasts and not included in any family event. This year my brother and I received a gift from one of my aunts – the only one who isn’t really involved in the drama – and we didn’t even receive a card or a text message from our grand-parents or cousins wishing us a Merry Christmas. While I argue that it’s fine, deep down I’m still a bit upset.

On the run-up to Christmas I’ve been working really hard to ensure I had bought gifts for everyone who mattered in my life; parents, brother, partner, his parents and best friend. I also had two Secret Santa events that had a combined budget of £30. In total, I managed to spent approximately £500 of my hard-earned wages, keeping in mind that I’m still on minimal wage, not getting my gratuities and with winter being a quiet season, not many shifts. Presents were then wrapped accordingly and handed out on Christmas Day.

I woke up early to get ready for work and gave my present to my parents to open. They were delighted, gave me a hug and gave me permission to open my presents from them. I got a lot of surprises, my favourite being my Hello Kitty cosplay onesie suit and burlesque erotica. I watched as my brother opened his present from me, a brand new video-game, and tosses it to the side mumbling “thanks”. Two days later and my present to him has been shoved in a drawer, probably with little intention of being played.

I leave to work with a bag of presents for my best friend who opts to open them later. There follows a busy work shift of serving hungry customers their Christmas lunch, a delightful dose of bitching from people who can’t say stuff to my face, and after clocking out, it’s finally time for me.

Arriving at my partner’s house I discover he’s already opened his gifts and given my presents to his parents. No thanks was given, nor any gifts for myself. Understandable I got emotional, granted that I’ve put in so much effort to ensure everyone had a little something and I get nothing in return, not even a card.

I’ve tried to be a good friend/partner but I’ve ended up failing miserably. Nobody – besides my parents – appreaciated what I purchased for them and nobody was able to say thank-you instantly, it was only after I made a well justified Facebook rant that people started saying it. I’m not a selfish person, honestly, but when the supposid most important people in your life can’t make the effort, then you begin to question why you bother. I understand that some of my friends don’t have the money, but when they are going out drinking I can’t help but notice that yeah, they do have money, they’d just rather spend it on themselves than me.

Christmas has now passed and it no longer matters. Giving a guilt-gift after the event is pointless and I don’t expect nor want it. I’m just upset that people cannot give me the effort that I think, as a reliable, honest, dedicated, loving, caring, always-there-for-you friend deserves. Bottom line is, how hard is it to say “Thank-you”.

I’ve learned that being nice gets you nowhere and the saying is true; “nice guys finish last”. I look at some of the people I know and they are rude, ignorant and demanding and do you know what? They always get what they want. Me? I never ask for anything and because of that, I don’t get anything. I feel that if I was a complete bitch, manipulated people, didn’t come out unless people bought me drinks, demanded that people drove me from town to town at crazy-o’clock, etc, that life would be just grand and people would fall over backwards trying to please me.

The people of the Internet tell me not to change and to continue being myself but that’s not working for me too well. I’m just finding myself feeling isolated amongst those who are meant to be closest to me and feeling more alone than ever. I can’t give anymore, I’ve given everything I can but it’s not enough. What am I meant to do?

I had to walk 6 miles through the countryside at the early hours of this morning after a horrible work shift, in high winds and heavy rain wearing anything but a skirt and thin hoody because once again, I was let down. I can handle legit excuses, but when someone favours alcohol over friendship, then somethings just not right. This isn’t the first time, but it’s certainly going to be the last. I’m done.

Do you know what ran through my head as my feet bled on my stormy journey home in the pitch black, only guided by the shadows of the night? How I couldn’t let anyone down. My parents expected me home after I finished my shift and because of that I had to get home. Staying at my work with the rest of the drunks was not an option. At no point dare I phone for a lift because I couldn’t bear on being a burden on anyone. No taxis were available because it was the middle of the night so I braced the elements, carrying nothing but my dignity and independance on my hoody-soaked back. I made it home and didn’t let anyone down. The only person let down was me.

2012 is just around the corner and some things need to start changing. Either people start wising up or I join the band-wagon and turn into a complete prick. I’ve learned however, that I can’t rely and trust anyone but myself. I’m just so glad that Christmas is over and once the New Year celebrations are done, I can finally start moving on. 2012 will be the year that I finally move away from the hell-hole called Fife, away from the low-life scum, away from the bitchiness and the on-going drama. I’ll move to a place where nobody knows my name and if the saying is true; “good things come to those who wait”, maybe with some luck I’ll find some people who appreaciate me for who I am.

My Mirena coil experience ⁰

by Kari Rose • General

Just over a month ago I ranted about changing my life and focussed on the methods of contraception that was causing my misery. Followers on Twitter have patiently put up with my non-stop discussions from booking the appointment to the run-up of getting the Mirena coil inserted.

My previous form of contraception – the injection, wore off sometime last week and I’ve been going through Hell as the artificial hormones wear off and my natural ones come into play. I’ve had the worst mood swings, chocolate cravings and spontanious sickness. The horrible thing about it all? I had zero control.

After an awkward appointment with my Doctor about getting the Mirena coil, I was handed a prescription to pick it up, along with the date of Monday the 19th of December to get it fitted. With a week to prepare, I just stared at the massive packet that the tiny coil comes in, fearing the worst. Thankfully, I got some really reasurring emails from people sharing their experience stories and offering advice which was very much appreaciated. For the most part, this kept me calm.

Yesterday was the day and as you can imagine, I was sick with nerves. I was at the local surgery with five minutes to spare, clinging onto a bag containing the coil package and shaking like a leaf. My Mum came with me to offer further support and when the Doctor peeked her head into the waiting room and shouted out “Corinne?”, I shrieked loudly in fear and whimpered under my breath as I followed her into the Nurse’s room.

I was introduced to the Nurse who quickly explained the procedure and asked some routine questions regarding my health. Asides from the mini panic attack that I was having, I was fine. The curtain was pulled around the benched table and I was requested to strip down and use the large piece of tissue paper as a modesty panel. I came prepared, wearing a maxi skirt that I just had to lift up so the only removal of clothing was my underwear. I followed the instructions, hopping up onto the high table, laying down and covering up my dignity with a piece of paper.

My Mum was on the other side of the curtain and able to hold my hand (in case I needed something to squeeze), and the two women entered the booth bringing an industrial sized lamp, along with a trolley of medical tools and opened up the Mirena packet. As I was laying down, I couldn’t see exactly what was going on but they were quick to get the procedure over and done with. My legs were parted and as I died inside, I allowed them to do a quick check to ensure my womb was healthy and suitable to host the coil. Using a speculum, they opened me up for easy access, a strong discomfort as my eyes teared up and clinged onto my Mum’s hand. Local anaesthetic gel was rubbed in, a weird feeling, comparable to the aftermath of really rough sex.

The next stage was the insertion of the coil and was told that it would be uncomfortable due to the fact that I’ve never had kids. Yes, it hurt – I mean, a white stick was being shoved up my vagina into my womb! It was a sharp yet intense pain as I squealed out, arching my back and gripping onto my Mum’s hand for dear life. They kept telling me to relax but that’s easier said than done as I tried to breathe deeply and think of happy things like Hello Kitty and clouds. My eyes filled up with tears as I scrunched my face up, unable to speak as they told me that the procedure was almost complete.

I was told that I would feel a cramp-like pain and sure enough, like pressing a button, I endured these god-awful cramps deep in my gut, causing me to almost knee the Nurse in the face! I gasped out and was told to prepare for several more cramps, which I did and after a few more minutes – that seemed to last forever – it was over.

I curled up my legs and whimpered as the congratulated me on being so brave and gave me the privacy to get my underwear back on and compose myself. I was shaking a ridicilous amount that I almost fell off the table, eventually emerging with tears dripping down the side of my face. It was explained that I was likely to bleed and offered a sanitary towel or a tampon. If anything, tampon or penis, dare enter my fragile nether-regions, they are at risk of being violently torn apart.

My next check-up is in 6 weeks and I leave the surgery feeling sorry for myself, on the verge of full-on crying. Mum treats me to a box of chocolates for going through with it but I just want to go home and have a nap. I’m very much aware of something being up there and at certain points, I can feel it jabbing into me. A quick nap, followed by my favourite dinner and several more painkillers and I’m feeling worse than ever. Fever, the shakes, sickness and cramps that must be worse than contractions. Back to bed.

A night of hickups, non-stop cramps and waves of sickness and only now, 28 hours later, feeling a tiny bit better. The pain has eased off but I’m still not feeling myself. I’m following the Doctor’s order by relaxing and staying in bed which suits me fine, but with Christmas only a few days away, there’s still things I need to be doing like wrapping presents. All I want to do is sleep because it means I don’t have to tolerate these cramps.

I’m glad that I went through with the procedure and just want to thank everyone for being so supportive. I’ll keep you updated if I suffer from any further side-effects and how it affects my hormones in the near future. The things us females have to do, eh?