So… Apparently I have PoTS. And Orthostatic Hypotension. Brilliant. Tiny problem… I hadn’t got the faintest idea what either of those actually really meant and how those conditions are going to affect my life going forward. When the cardiologist first said “PoTS”, I genuinely thought he’d said pots. As in… Flower pots. Plant pots. The sort of thing you buy from B&Q because you’ve convinced yourself this is definitely the year you’re going to become a gardener. Spoiler alert…

There are certain moments in life that stay with you forever. Your first kiss. Passing your driving test. Buying your first house. And then… The day your feet decide they’re auditioning for Avatar. But I’m getting ahead of myself... By the beginning of April, I’d completely hit the wall. Not a gentle little bump. A full-speed, face-first collision. After months of telling myself I was “just tired”, my body finally staged a full-scale rebellion. I was signed off work for three

So… By this point I’d accepted that my body had become… quirky. You know how every family has that one slightly eccentric relative? The one who microwaves fish in the office, owns fourteen ornamental owls and still pays for everything by cheque? Well… Apparently my nervous system had become that relative. Completely unpredictable. Slightly embarrassing. And absolutely refusing to behave itself. The thing that really started confusing me was the fact there didn’t seem to be an

So there I was… Completely convinced I was just taking a little bit longer than everyone else to recover. Because that’s what we all do, isn’t it? We compare ourselves to absolutely everyone. “Oh, Susan at work had Covid and she was fine after ten days.” “My neighbour was back at the gym after three weeks.” “My cousin ran a half marathon six weeks later.” Brilliant. Good for Susan. Well done, neighbour. Congratulations, cousin. Meanwhile I was celebrating the fact I’d managed

Weekly Weigh-In: Week 51 - The Scales Have Chosen Violence! Well…It finally happened. After 156 days of what can only be described as surviving rather than living, the scales have looked me square in the face and gone… “Excuse me, we’d like to lodge a formal complaint.” +6.6 lbs. SIX POINT SIX. Honestly…I’ve had less dramatic break-ups. Now before anyone starts dialling the Mounjaro Police or revoking my membership to the GLP-1 Appreciation Society… Can we all just remember w

Right… I think it’s only fair that before anybody says anything… I say it first. Yes. I know. I’ve completely abandoned you all. One hundred and fifty-six days. ONE. HUNDRED. AND. FIFTY. SIX. Honestly, I’ve ignored this blog for longer than some people stay on Love Island before getting dumped. Babies have been conceived, cooked and born. Governments have probably changed. My herbs have died, been replaced and died again. Even Facebook has probably assumed I’ve forgotten my p