'Back' to the story

2019 was a big year for us; we were getting married. 

We had a wedding venue booked for 19th September, we had sent out the wedding invitations and I was full blown excited bride ('bridezilla'?) mode. 

2019 has already started off as an unlucky year for us - in January I broke my ankle whilst running in order to lose weight for our impending wedding. In March, my beloved cat Jasmine passed away at  the ripe old age of 24 - to which I was absolutely devastated.

Later on that spring my husband was a victim of identity fraud and around the same time my brother was in a big car accident but luckily managed to come away unscratched and unharmed. 

2019 was looking like an unlucky year to get married - but it was only the beginning. 

Father's day 2019 started off as any other special occasion in our house. My husband had a well deserved lie in whilst I busily dealt with the twins, getting them dressed, fed and ready for the day. 

My husband made his way downstairs where I had prepared a full English breakfast with all the trimmings and he opened his card and presents from the twins, where we all joined in pretending that they, at two years old, had gone to the shop and bought it themselves. 

We later dropped off the twins at my parents house late afternoon, which was normal as they usually took care of them on a Sunday and Monday to help with the childcare. 

We arrived home and I was just preparing a special Father's day dinner, with candles lit and bottle of red wine breathing on the side, when suddenly the most intense and agonising pain spread across my lower back. I couldn't stand up straight and I called for my husband, who was both concerned and hungry - and carried me up the stairs to bed. We presumed it was muscle pain (stupidly) and so applied Deep Heat to the area, which made our bedroom smell like a footballer's changing room for a whole 24 hours. 

After a sleepless night, I was in tears and vowed to make a doctors appointment as soon as I could.

My husband drove me to the train station so that I could get the train into London for work without having to walk - I couldn't sit down due to the pain and the journey was agony, I thought I was going to faint from the pain. 

As soon as I got off  the train at Fenchurch Street, I phoned for a doctor's appointment - I managed to get one that afternoon, so after lunch I hobbled from my office to the doctor's surgery in Fleet Street. 

The doctor there was lovely - she checked me over but had no answers for me as to why my lower back (which at this point, felt as if it was on fire) would be in the pain that it was. 

I had just had my boot removed from my ankle that had recently just healed from the injury back in January and I (again, stupidly) asked if it was something to do with that -  needless to say, it wasn't. 

The doctor presumed my problem was spine related and therefore referred me to a consultant in London Bridge who was an expert in neurosurgery. 

Luckily, I managed to get an appointment that evening and my husband travelled to London to be with me. My mum had agreed to stay at our house late to look after the children (my mum is an absolute diamond, which you will discover throughout this blog). 

The consultant was fantastic, with the most soothing American accent  - she asked me every single question you could possibly ask a person which made me feel confident that no stone would be left unturned. 

I was referred for an MRI scan and had numerous blood tests taken there and then. I also asked her for a doctors note for my employers - as the journey to and from London and Essex was unbearable with the pain in my back. 

For the next couple of days I was in terrible discomfort, the pain was not easing and I was becoming more and more concerned. It was like nothing I had experienced in that area since my contractions in childbirth. 

I had the MRI scan - my first full body MRI scan - I'd only just had my first MRI scan that year, back in January for my broken ankle. 

The MRI scan was long and uncomfortable . I had to lay directly on my back, where the pain was - my legs elevated to ease pressure but I just 'knew' something was there, in my back, hiding and ready to come out. 

I was advised to close my eyes and try to sleep during the scan, they also asked me what music I would like to be played through the headphones. Being more concerned that I was about to lay inside a tube for the next forty minutes, I asked them to choose on my behalf. 

I don't know if you've ever fallen asleep inside an MRI scan, but it was like trying to fall asleep on a building site. 

With the banging and grinding in the background, the pain was becoming more and more intense - I was worried about the pressure on my back and what impact that would have inside my body; I had images of a worm, from the jungle in Cambodia, now a pensioner and living inside me with it's family - I wondered whether the people reading the scan in the room nearby would be able to see the worms and think I was revolting. Would I be in the newspaper as the girl with the worms in her bum? 

More importantly my bladder was full and beginning to burn - could they see my bladder filling up? - do they come in and say 'I can see you need a wee - please don't wee all over our big expensive machine.' 

After what felt like ages, my time in the machine was up and I headed straight for the loo. 

A few days later, my blood test results came through - my consultant informed me that there appeared to be an inflammation and high infection - I was prescribed with antibiotics. 

The MRI scan apparently (key word) showed that the issue lay in my uterus (or somewhere at the front of my pelvis). 

The American consultant kindly provided me with names of various gynecologists' which would lead me to the next step of my journey. 

I chased her again for my doctors note as it hadn't come through - I never did get that doctors note.