Truths I rarely share.

It is no secret that I had a major operation in April 2015. If you don't know that I had my rectum removed and my anus sewn shut, then it's likely that you haven't been my friend for very long, because one thing I am not, is secretive about it. It is also no secret that I have been taking very strong prescription pain medications, which I am currently trying to wean myself off. My life is an open book. I share stories and photos regularly online about what is happening in my life on a day to day basis.

Except it isn't, and I don't.

I share what I want people to know. I post the photos that I want people to see. I tell the story that I want people to hear. I am "open" and "honest" to a degree.

About a year ago, I shared a photograph entitled "Batch cooking". It was of an array of dishes that I had spent the day preparing for my family and a friend who had had a premature baby. There was an obscene amount of food. This photo gained likes, and comments galore. It told a story of a woman who has her shit together, so much so that she can cook 2 weeks worth of food in one day.

That picture also tells another story. The story that I don't tell, don't share.

The story of a woman who cooks two weeks worth of food in one day, because that is possibly the one day out of the month that she will be well enough to cook. So she fills her freezer.

In the past 21 days, I have cooked from fresh, 5 times for my partner and I.  Our main evening meals have consisted of pre cooked meals from the freezer (some batch cooked by me, others by the supermarket), take aways, sandwiches, cereal & porridge, cheese on crackers, crisps, biscuits, yoghurt, or nothing at all.

My children have a home cooked meal most evenings, however they mainly consist of things that I can take from the freezer and throw into the oven - pre cooked lasagne, sausage rolls, chicken nuggets (home made, batch cooked, and frozen), or pasta with bacon pieces and tomato sauce, always cooked in bulk so they can have it for more than one main meal. Convenience isn't a luxury, it's a necessity. And I have learnt how to make healthy, child friendly, convenience foods, in bulk. I've had to.

My partner is not so fortunate, or well looked after.


It also hasn't been a secret that I have started performing again. I appeared in Jesus Christ Superstar last April, Rent in December, I wrote and performed my play, Kat's Bag of Crap in February, and I am appearing in  Bad Girls The Musical next week.

What I haven't shared is my partners reluctance in my committing to all of these shows. He was worried, and continues to worry, that I have taken on too much. That I wouldn't be / am not well enough / strong enough to manage the rehearsals and performances.

Of course I fought him on it. Insisted that I was fine. That I was getting better. That I could cope.

He was right to be concerned. Because I am barely strong enough and managing. I am holding on by the skin of my teeth.

Although I am making it to and through rehearsals, and I am enjoying myself immensely, I am also in a considerable amount of pain during and after each and every one.

 The thing is, I am used to being in pain. On any given day, my pain level ranges from 2/10 to 7/10. EVERY SINGLE DAY. My baseline, my normal pain level, where 0 is no pain, and 10 is unbearable - take me to the hospital now because I am about to die kind of pain, is 3/10. This is with two different types of kick ass opiate pain relief that I am constantly on. I am almost NEVER pain free. When I hit 6/10, I take something to help me, otherwise, I just get on with it. Pain is normal for me.

I am currently in bed, doing nothing but type, and my pain is at a 5, but I'm happy because an hour ago I was at 6. So yes, I am rehearsing three times a week. Yes, I am taking part in a show. I am also taking OPIATE pain relief before, often during, and always after, each and every rehearsal and performance.

I haven't told anybody this truth. I am petrified that I won't be able to make it through the 8 performances I have to do next week (11 if you include dress and technical rehearsals.) I know that once I am on the stage adrenaline and excitement will get me through each show, but I have to make it out of my bed, into the shower, out of the house, and to the theatre before the adrenaline can do its job. Today, I have struggled to get out of bed to use the bathroom.


Another non secret is that I am looking better than I have looked in decades. My exterior is banging right now. Curves in all the right places, hair behaving, tummy decreasing. I have a waist. My levels of narcissism are rising at an alarming rate. Constant selfies, flooding your timelines, of me in lovely dresses, off to church. What I don't share, is that I dress up, go to Church, leave Church, go to my Mum's house, change back into my pyjamas, and sleep on her sofa while she cooks lunch. I wake up, eat, sleep some more, drive home, give my children a light dinner, put them to bed, and go back to bed myself. Every single Sunday I spend from 9am - 12pm looking fantastic. 3 hours. That's it.

I have had to have a nap every single day this week. Why my partner puts up with my lazy ass is anybody's guess.

With all that said, I maintain that I am getting better. I am happier than I have been in years. My good days may not have increased in quantity. I may still spend a third of the year in my pyjamas, unable to function due to crippling fatigue. Not able to shower, dress myself, cook for my family, leave the house, often not able to lift my head from my pillow. Even though I often still have to use a commode in my bedroom to urinate, because the stairs are too much for me to manage. Even though my partner has to remind me to shower, and to eat on the days when all I can do is sleep. Even though my bedroom is often the only room I see for days at a time, my quality of life on my good days is the highest it has been in decades.

 I am no longer simply surviving, I am living.

 Sadly though, it hurts to live.