longish post time! And a trigger warning

People say to me: You have a beautiful voice! That voice sounds similar to Callas! I’m like, Oh. Thank you, with a nervous laugh! I do get nervous when Onstage, until I start singing. I seem to develop the psychosimatic cough before I go on. My confidence has not always been like it is now. For years, I stopped singing. I stopped singing back in 2017. The pain of not hearing a voice as good as what it was before stopped me. The pain of people saying, you looked beautiful in that dress. You can’t wear them now. You’ve lost too much weight. The other students and housemates at the university where I was at the time, stopped me. Well, the thought of them saying Shut up! That’s awful! I had that feeling in Hereford as well! Even in school before that, people would threaten to cut my hair! Say to me: My ears are bleeding with that screaching! I couldn’t sing. I didn’t want too! For that fear. Then there was the loss of weight, 34kg. Not my doing, the keppra I was on for my epilepsy made me that way. Even then, my mental health was down the pan. The fact I got into a cult. A cult that told me I would die like Lina Zavaroni, Karen Carpenter. All those singers who had anorexia nervosa! Something I had put on my records by the cult telling a GP. A false diagnosis. I was not harming myself by not eating. It wasn’t something I did on purpose. It was happening and I didn’t know how to stop it. I knew I had to eat. But I couldn’t! Because of some psychological induced thing that the Keppra was causing. There were the threats. The rages I had. The threats from the cult, if you don’t eat your tea, you’re not going out with the support workers tomorrow. The not being allowed to use my own money. The coercion into talking about vulgar stuff on live radio as it was after watershed. I was uncomfortable.

2018 and after I got out of the cult in question, I came home. The road to recovery began. It started with the rescue, done by Rachel and Andrea Starritt, my 2 best friends who I’ll never ever forget and stop supporting. Rachel, my accompanist and friend who I helped in Hereford then the tables turned. Andrea, her mum, for allowing me to spend time with her lovely family and her. I loved every minute. They rescued me from the cult, with the help of my Nan who alerted them.

The release of the trauma began in Rachel’s house. What happened? Music. I went to her piano. I just sat there and played and played, until I couldn’t think of anything more. Just notes, flowing that were forming some kind of symphony but I never recorded it! That night, I cried myself to sleep. A mixture of shock, needing comfort and anger at myself. Anguish because I couldn’t complete my degree. The trauma of being told I’d die like Lina Zavaroni and other singers. Threats and verbal abuse. Now there was the relief that I was out of the cult. The fact I was safe. It was over. I could be free. I wished I had someone who’s comforting arms I could burrow intoo. Who I could hug and just let the tears flow. Let the loud sobs out and my emotion flow. I was angry at myself for having allowed them to take me from University, having let people down. Having let myself down. It was a mixture of emotions. They were visseral. Cut deep inside. Like grief. But the mental pain was there and I felt it! I had been released though. Thanks to Rachel and Andrea. I was going home. The long road to recovery was starting.

The long road began. In 2022, I got my long awaited singing teacher. I have been working with her for 3 years. I’m blessed to have her. I’ve entered the guild again! I’m back where I belong! I have a fiancé who adores my singing, lots more support. My church family! I expect my guild family will develop too! I’m back where I belong! Every time I go to think of doing a job, I’m knocked back. It’s not meant to be. God has decided where I’m meant to be. Onstage, recording. Singing! My great Grandad, Brigadeer Buttler and Mrs Buttler supported me with my singing. They will be proud of me now! With their help, my teacher’s help, my church Family’s help, Nan’s help, my Fiancé’s help, I’m back. Listening to my beloved music once more! Opera, Crossover, people who I fell in love with vocally, Maria Callas who I first heard as a young child, but wasn’t appreciative of for many years. Andrea Bocelli, who I met twice. Lesley Garrett, who I met. I love them all! The film Maria, whilst it doesn’t quite portray her life accurately, made me cry! But not sad tears! I knew some of Maria’s pain! The pain of being tormented. Belittled. Emotionally abused! And not domestically. But from the cult! I knew the pain. I knew the long road to recovery, that wouldn’t be smooth! That would have it’s ups then its brutality of falls! Its painful falls. visceral. . They cut deep! But when you have some people to rescue you, including God, including our blessed lady! The saints. You’re lifted up, out of the water you’re drowning in. Out of the rough seas. Of the crests and freezing troughs! Onto dry land, where you can start to recover. That I have! And I will carry on! Guild 2026 is on its way and I’m ready!!! Ready to prepare! To put my whole strenth and being into it! I’m hoping next year will be my year!!! That cleveland in my hand! Thank you to the supporters who supported me last year in the audience and online! You’re all wonderful very kind people! I’m honoured that you supported me! I thank you a lot! It means a lot! I have just finished practising tonight too. I hope everyone has a nice evening and Onwoods and upwoods! Life is brilliant right now!!! I have my singing career to think of! The dream that I had back in 2008, to the present day! It lives on!! And I will fight for it to happen! I love you all!! 🤗🤗🙏🙏🙏🙏📿📿📿

It appears there are fake accounts going round again! I have blocked a few today. Well, nevermind. Just listening to the chase.

Another day. I was on Twitter, browsing through the posts, when a post from HeadWay caught my attention. It was about a programme that was to be shown on BBC3, entitled “Me and My New Brain” detailing the lives of young people, who have sustained TBIs, (traumatic Brain Injuries) It showed the rehabilitation they went through, speaking, walking, learning to put their head up, to keep it there, standing, sitting, eating, feeding yourself, washing, brushing teeth, making decisions, coming to terms with your brain injuries, the after affects, consequences, what life will hold now, and most of all, getting rid of the barriers. I suddenly decided, “Wow! I’d love to show people how to use things again, to speak, to walk unaided, to stand properly, to be able to think of the right words to form phrases properly, to sing, to appreciate things, to pick things up, hold them, would love to share their joy at their achievements, be there for them, when they take a few steps back, feel their frustration with them. Help them come to terms with their conditions, even helping them with emotion etc.” I immediately emailed someone I know very well, and asked them, would that be a good path to go down? seen as Neuropsychology seemed visual, and slightly harder for me to get into? The answers, were: something along the lines of, that it would be a good option yes. I could still do my BSC(Hons) that I’m doing right now, then do a masters in psychotherapy and psychoanalysis, as well as a PHD, in something to do with Epilepsy, PNES, etc. I would also love to study, along the side, a bit to do with speech, so that I know, if I was to teach people how to speak, how to do it correctly. Surely you don’t need a whole degree for that? I’d rather not.. 🙂 I’m at an advantage anyway, as I have my acute sense of hearing, as I do not have vision, so I’m able to hear if they are not forming the vowels correctly. I can pick up accents extremely well, mimic them very well too, and can also sing. Perhaps even, my musical ability will come in useful with them too. Singing, would help them to build up on tone of voice, instead of the monotonous tone, that in my opinion, can be fixed, or at least, worked around. I know though, there is a condition called Aphasia, where people can’t speak properly, get stuck on certain phrases, will say certain phrases over and over, in a monotonous tone. They know that it’s happening, they can hear it, but find it difficult to control. It must be hard for them. I wonder what life is like, for someone with a brain injury? We see it on the television, but we don’t walk with them, follow them everywhere, go where they go, watch or in my case listen, to how they do things, how people react towards them. We should. Actually make the effort to go with someone one day, where ever they are going. Follow them, listen, observe. Ask them questions, if they want too, they’ll answer. Help them when they request, or seem like, they need it. Observe how members of the public are towards them. People should not be excluded and should be tolerated. Yes, they may have suffered a TBI, but does that matter? They are the same as we are. Exactly. Their brain, is just, well, different. Different, but cool, and interesting. Let’s go on the exciting adventure, that is, interacting with them. I don’t see it as a challenge, I would see it as, something interesting, and exciting. Perhaps, it would lead to new friendships if we let it.

Yesterday; a normal day. I headed off to vocal lessons, and was in the middle of my lesson, when there was a tentitive knock at the door. “Who is it?” I asked, and the room was silent. The person walked in, and began to speak. The voice, distorted, almost in one pitch, but rising up and down, in a way that told me, something was not quite right. It was slightly incoherent, slurred, and fragile. Her tone, rising and falling, with strenuous and intense effort. It was as if, she had to be concentrating intensely. The syllables strung together, with difficulty. Articulation seemed difficult, and I gathered, her Broca’s area, was not working too well. O goodness! I thought. I immediately knew the signs and symptoms. Perhaps, she’d had a stroke, or suffers from vascular dementia? This was a “crash course” for me. I was now learning, in those few minutes, how time can change someone, from the person I once knew, even briefly, to who they are now. Fragile, weak, slightly incoherent, still somewhat with us, but not totally. Knew what they wanted to say, managed to convey it, but with great difficulty. I felt a sense of loss. A sense of loneliness, sadness, that the person was rapidly vanishing. Time has done so much, changed them for the worst. My emotions changed, from happiness, to deep empathy, warmth, sadness, and loss. I was almost on the verge of tears. The atmosphere, slightly uncomfortable, colder, unnerving, slightly strained. I did not know what to think, what to feel, what to say. Those few minutes, had taught me so much, and now I had to sing. Emotional still, over what I had just heard, as the door closed, and the room became silent once more, I waited. The door, like an end to a scene, but one, that will stay with me, for a while. For a few seconds, the silence was all too present, then, it was interrupted by my vocal teacher, “Come on then.” then his playing resumed. I began to sing, one of the most loved songs, “Time to Say Goodbye” Perhaps that lady walking in, was meant to be, perhaps I was meant to be singing this, to her? perhaps, I was meant to feel like this? I was meant to do something. Feeling that sense of loss still, I carried on, and at the end, said goodbye, and left with Nan. I thought to myself, what a difference time can do. What a difference 3 or 4 years makes. How time, can change things. What a sense of loss.

This was taken from my older blog on blogger.

A lot of people have asked me such questions as: How do you know what colour is? Can you see light? Can you see at all? How can you read? How do you write? How do you get around on your own? I couldn’t do that. Do you dream? Do you dream as we do, or differently?

I’ll tell you.I have lived with my Grandmother since about 3 months old. When I was a baby, she would get toys that had a sound to them, such as rattles, even teddybears with different fur or teddies that sung, or even teddybears that rattled, or had a scent to them. I particularly remember one, that had coco beans in it. Thus, he was named, Coco. He was a mini teddy, so was roughly about a foot tall, maybe less. His fur was fluffy, and longish. He sat on my dresser, next to my shelving. When it came to night and day, Nana would tell me: “It’s night time, when there are no birds singing, and there’s no traffic going up the road. The air is also colder.” This, I understood to be night. Day, I established, was when Nana came to wake me every morning, to take me to school, or to my aunts, as my Aunt would take me to school, while Nan went to work. The task for Nan was not that difficult. At least, she never made it so. She had plenty of experience. Her nan went blind, but due to macular degeneration. She knew colour though, knew night and day, knew sun rise and sun set, knew seasons changing, knew lightning, knew the colour of the sea, the colour of grass, of the sky, but I knew nothing of this. I only knew it, through texture, smell, touch, hearing, and taste. Nana was going to teach me the seasons, via smell and texture, as well as touch. It was a cold September morning, and I remember heading over to my Great Granddad’s, where we would receive a lift to school, and she said to me: “What season do you think it is now? We’re walking through crunchy leaves. It’s cold, what can you smell?” I replied “Autumn?” Spring, was the coming in of April, and the April showers, as well as flowers blooming, lambs being born, and other things. Summer was the hot sunny weather, (usually) ice-cream vans, playing Green Sleeves as they drove past, with a Doppler effect, Autumn, was the falling of leaves, and conkers, as well as the smell of old trees, Winter was the crisp frosty days, ice cold winds, snow, and of course, Bonfire Night, and Christmas, as well as the end of the year.

The way Nana taught me colour, was again through texture, and all my other senses. Grass, was the smell of the grass, which was Green. The water of the sea, represented blue, it being cold, and blue was a “cold” colour. Yellow, was the sun, a “warmer” colour. Black, a sort of dark, “miserable” colour, associated with mourning, rain clouds, storms, and other things. Grey was a dull day, with no sun and just clouds. Meaning it was cold outside, or rain was on the way. Orange, was obviously an orange. Purple, was a moody kind of colour, representing stress, or anger, or frustration. It was also quite a bright colour too. Though i would not know “bright” in the sighted world’s terms. White, was just like clear transparent glass, see through, smooth in texture. It could also maybe be white chocolate? Brown, was the colour of chocolate, but also a mucky kind of colour. Red, meant Danger, heat, and anger. It was a threatening kind of colour.

In answer to the question, do I dream in music? I would not know, but if I hear a piece of music on the television or radio, and I seem to have a deja vu kind of feeling toward it, then yes, I suppose. I might say: I remember hearing that, even though I may never have heard it before.

It’s not that hard to get around on my own. I use a cane, but do not get much assistance. I have to ask for it. I keep saying to those who have lost their sight, please, remember this. You knew colour, you knew peoples’ faces, knew the sea, could see the waves rippling across the surface of calm glass on nice sunny days. I never could. I never will. You had something, you will miss it yes. I can’t imagine losing something you depend on, but you just have to move on. Speak to people who have lived all their lives without any light perception, without any sight at all. Not even the colour black, nothing. Just opaque purly mist. All those with sight, blind fold yourselves for a few hours, walk around, without any light perception at all, and see if your mood changes.

Dedication

To my lovely Nana, without you, I would never be the person I am today, and that I mean. I would not be doing a university degree, I would not be reading braille, writing on a computer, I would not know colour, or be able to tell seasons apart, would not know as much as you taught me. You never cried out for help, you just learned yourself. Got on with the task. Thought of your own strategies. I thank you from the bottom of my heart. I mean this very much. Still now, you urge me to keep doing things, being more independent, relying less on others, even with the added epilepsy, but even that you don’t let worry you. You could stop me going out if you wanted, worry I’ll have seizures, even though they are controlled, or worry that I might bash into something, but you do not. You just have faith, knowing I have enough common sense. I love you always. I always will. Thank you.

Samantha 🙂

Another year and another journey to my happy place! July 23rd and off I went to liverpool, to meet up with my friend who would bring me to the airport the next morning, ready to meet up with the rest of the pilgrims to fly off to Lourdes! The day arrived. Up at 3 AM sharpish. We got ready and waited to be collected by my other friend’s husband, who would bring us all to the airport. Ange, Helen and me. We arrived and chaos ensued. Where was everyone going? Who’s bags were who. Did they receive lanyards with the right passport holders. Who was going where. All the usual chaos before the flight to Lourdes. We finally went through security and were able to sit in dpartures, to wait for our flight.

After boarding, off we went. Over the sky of Liverpool, out to sea, over the English channel and into France. Tarbes was our destination, after an hour and 50 minutes, we arrived. Tired, Hungry, and thirsty, we waited to leave the plane. We went through passport control, where they stamped our passports and checked them, allowing us into the country. Well… You’d hoped for that while they were checking! Eventually, onto our coaches we went! Me and my fellow St Frai pilgrims, tired, needing rest and hungry, were off, on the half hour drive toward Lourdes and the St Frai, the hospital kind of hotel for pilgrims needing extra assistance, monitoring because of health conditions and general care. The st Frai came into view. Large with an ornate facade, with a huge canopy over the roof. Here we were. We’d finally arrived.

Upon arrival, we were ushered up to our floor by people who were waiting from the Liverpool esplanade team. This team of people were to be on security duty, both in and out of the St frai. Keeping an eye on where we were going with the youth team, as well as who was coming in and out of the building. Floor one was our floor this year. Up in the large hospital style lift we went. Premiere etage was announced. First floor in French. We got out and were brought to our rooms. I had the fortune again of sharing with the lovely Theresa. A 91 year-old lady who has shared with me for 4 years now! After this, we were taken to Lunch. A packed lunch, which wasn’t that nice, but it was food none the less. I ate the crisps from mine and got a couple of biscuits. It was all I liked out of it, so I ate it. Later, it was time for a rest! We didn’t do much because we’d just arrived.

That night, i could not sleep. I had made the mistake of going to bed early, meaning that I did not sleep that night. I would pay for that the next morning. The next morning, it was up at 7:15 AM sharp. Woken up, had a morning cup of tea, got showered and dressed then off to breakfast before going off for a tour round the domain and the path that St Bernadette took in 1858.

Later, it was time for the first mass. The blessing of the sick, also known as the annointing mass or the heeling mass. This year was unique however, as we were celebrating the miraculous cure of John Jack Traynor who was cured of illness and injury back in 1923. The first ever Lourdes pilgrimage from Liverpool. It was not recognised officially by the church, until this year, on the 18th February 2025. Here we were, 102 years later, finally recognising this inspirational man’s cure. Not just that, but remembering a man who didn’t just help himself, by praying and bathing in the baths at Lourdes, but afterwards becoming a brancardier and helping others to make the same journey he did. This year, some of his family were with us. They also had his rosary beads which after 102 years, have become warn and broken. They would have been used a lot by him over the years.

The church was full to the brim. The annointing mass had begun. We were at the front, as the sick and disabled often are in Lourdes. Some may not like that, but I do. For me, it shows we are included. Accepted. For once, we are accepted for who we are. Included in everything that is done, not shunned away by the rest of society. We are shown love and compashion. It was time for the annointing. This is done by a priest, who annoints your head with chrism, by making the sign of the cross on your forehead, then doing the same on the palms of your hands, all while praying. For me however, I was to get the old-fashioned treatment. The priest came up to me, took my head in both his hands from the side then prayed. I was a little startled at first, as I had never known this type of practice. After relaxing, I was annointed in the way I was used too. It always feels calm. Serene and peaceful when it’s done. The worries you have, if any, dissipate. I felt lighter. Comforted.

After that beautiful mass, we were taken back to the st Frai. This was to have tea. Tea every night was to be a slightly annoying afair, as the food was mostly inedible. The soup was like water. The food was not food we were used too and it lacked salt, as well as taste. I was not the only pilgrim here, who was complaning. That night, I went out. My favourite cafe. Singing with Alain, the singing waitor. If you have never been to New Orleanes cafe in Lourdes, you should go. Alain has a brilliant operatic tenor voice. The food is also great!

After having yet another brilliant time out, I was brought back. My only gripe about the st Frai, is the rules and regulations. Back for 10 PM. Signing yourself out etc. Still, I guess because it’s like a miniture hospital, they have to be there. The next day, it was up and out, again for mass but this time in the morning. That day, we were off to see Vision, the Musical Story of Lourdes. It was definitely a mixed bag of reviews. I found it quite loud, but did like the music and the way it was done, however, some of the baby boomer generation, did not!! Vera wouldn’t stop going on about her disapproval all night. I found that pretty funny! Bless her. Later, it was time for a sing-song. My friend, Mike Cromby, was there with his trusty guitar as usual. Along with some of the youth. As well as some others making up the team. Including me. It was my annual singing time. I’d prepared 2 songs, the Ave Maria from Otello by Verdi and after that, My Life belongs to you by Novello. I only pray now, that someone has a video of it, as I didn’t record it, neither did Mike.

The next morning, it was up at 5,15 AM for the grotto mass, which started at 8:30 AM. We were up at this time, to get everyone showered, dressed and have breakfast. I knew the routine from previous years. Something was bothering me though; I was getting pain in the top of my chest, just under my collar bone. (clavical) Hoping it would go away, I did not mention it. The mass was lovely as usual. Following that, we went at 5 PM to the blessed sacrament procession, followed by a service of benediction. That was lovely. We all sang the Tantum Ergo. Well, everyone except me, as I didn’t know it. That evening, I enjoyed spending time with some of the other pilgrims and staff out on the atrium.

The next day, we were up a little later. 7,15. Again, out for mass. I arrived at mass and survived the first half. I say survived, as I was extremely tired. I could not focus on the mass and was falling asleep. I knew this was going to be impossible to fight, so I left mass early. Annoyed and embarrassed for myself, I went back to the st Frai. I indeed, had a long sleep. I think the 5:15 start had caught up with me from the day before. I asked for communion when everyone got back and father Dominic obliged. Along with Barbara and Theresa, I received communion in the ward I was in. It was just the 4 of us. Father Dominic quoted the scripture in which was quoted, Come to me and I will give you rest. I was satisfied then, that I had not annoyed anyone, for leaving mass early. it was beautiful, how father Dominic had done it. A little gospil reading, followed by prayers for my heeling and renewed energy. I thought it was beautiful.

On the tuesday however, I struggled. I went to breakfast, with the pain starting again. I left early and went straight to the healthcare team. They proptly took me to their little medical suite, where they proceeded to do thorough checks on me. This ended up with me about to enter the French healthcare system! This would be an efficiency I would never forget. There was just one problem, insurance! I had my own travel insurance, but how did I make a claim? What was I to do! What would I have to pay at the front desk. All these thoughts were racing in my head on the drive up to the hospital, about 10 minutes away from the st Frai.

The hospital was quite small, rather like the old hospital back in the 90s and early naughties on the isle of Man. Me and the lovely nurse who came with me, walked down to the Urgence. A&E department for us. Upon arrival, they asked for my insurance details and passport. I had not brought my passport with me, which prompted another outburst of anxiety from me! The nurse got on her phone and asked for a photo of my passport to show the reception. After a while, we were brought into a corridor where I was examined. Bloods, canular and ECG were all done within one sitting. That was totally different to the UK healthcare system. No way would you be having those all done in one sitting and you may not even be given a canular there either. My respect growing, Iasked the nurse her name. Her name was Deborah. She spoke some English, but what helped is I tried my best to communicate in the Highschool level French that I had. I thought to myself, if I was only in an Italian hospital, perhaps my Italian would be somewhat stronger. Later, I was given the blood results, which were all normal. After that though, came the CT scan. I was on my own! No one there to translate. But me, alone! How would I do here? I had to trust my own level of French and in our lady and St Bernadette to get me through. Well, here we go, I thought. Just go with it.

We arrived in the radiology suite. The CT scan of my thorax. This was to check for aortic anurism. The nurses told me in French that they would be putting me in the scanner and using contrast. They asked me was I alergic to it. Not understanding at first, I questioned them. What are you saying? I asked. I don’t understand. I pointed to the canular in my hand. They said they were putting medicine into it. I said, for the scan? They said yes. I then comprehended. Contrast. I said No I’m not alergic. Having to think of the past tense of the verb Avoire, to have, very fast, I then said, I’ve had it before. A few years back. My french was slowly coming back to me. They then instructed me to sit on the bed for the scan. After understanding a little of their instructions, The scan started. They disappeared from the room. I knew the scanner was going to tell me to breathe in and hold my breath at some point, so waiting for the French instruction, I did as I was instructed. Eventually, the lady reappeared. She informed me in French, that she was about to inject the dye into my canular. She was not the most gentle of people. It stung as it went through. As I remembered, it gave you a feeling like one had wet themselves. Eventually, the scan was done and I was brought back to the ED. This system was faultless! Compared to the lack of care and compashion on the Isle of Man. The gaslighting and nasty behaviour of some doctors here. There was none of that in the French healthcare system! Eventually, after a day being wasted, I was discharged. The hospitality team from Liverpool had taken it in turns to sit with me, so that I was not alone. That was lovely of them.

Upon arrival back to the st Frai, I was welcomed with cheers and clapping! I told everyone after that, it meant so much to be accepted by everyone and to be cared about that much. Catholic people are so caring and understanding! After that, was the torchlight procession. It rained again! After walking around the domain, saying the sorrowful mysteries as it was a Tuesday and singing the Lourdes hymn in multiple languages, we went back to the St frai. Wednesday was our last full day in Lourdes, which culminated in the thanks giving ceremony and our last mass, before people started leaving to return home. We left on the Thursday morning. Our tiring journey home was a long one. Up early, Mass, then getting ready to leave.

We eventually got our coaches once more. Leaving behind the beautiful town of Lourdes. Leaving the basilicas, the church bells, the beautiful music. The foothills of the pyrinees behind. Off again to the airport, followed by our journey home. I thank you Liverpool archdiocese as well as God. Thank you for another great pilgrimage! For the miracle of John Traynor! Until next year, we were pilgrims of hope. Until Next year. Until we all meet again in our happy place. Lourdes.,

In the airport, we were in wheelchairs and being guided toward the plane. A Bowing 737. After about an hour waiting to get everyone onboard, we were off. The plane went up, leaving the lights of Liverpool and over the sea, towards France.

Upon arrival in Lourdes, I was guided into a wheelchair. It had 2 wheels. The French customs officer asked: You going hospital? What? No! Erm, no. I was told the saint frai! Help! Rescue me! I’m going to the wrong place! Where is everyone? I can’t hear them! I was on my own, in a wheelchair, and being taken to the wrong place! Or so I thought. The coach drove off. The tiredness getting the better of me, I fell into a somewhat deep sleep. The engine making its monotonous noise, it wended its way through the narrow streets of Lourdes and pulled up at the Saint Frai. A huge facade with an arched roof and very high canopy. A modern building inside though, with lifts going to the upper floors, with a huge circular atrium on each one. By now, I was in the lift and being taken upstairs. The familiar hospital smell all around me. Voices all around me, then the electric doors opened and I was wheeled out into a large corridor with rooms on either side and a circular balcony on each side, seperating the corridors from each other.

A ward came into focus as my ears told me I’d been brought to a very large, but rectangular room just like a hospital ward. Beds on both sides, a shower cubicle, or room on both sides too and toilet rooms next to them. The beds were as I expected, like hospital ones. The table with wheels next to it spanning the bottom of the bed, with a cabenet and dresser with a wardrobe next to the pillow end. I was helped to unpack and my stuff put away, I sat on the familiar matress. Waiting for the meal time, I ended up falling asleep.

Excuse me, I mumbled. A lady came up to me. Hello Sam. She said. Are you awake? I said yes. Is it time for tea? When am I allowed a cup of tea? Or do I have to wait until the meal time? No no! She said, I’ll get you a cupper.

Later, I’d begun to realise, this place had no rules. It wasn’t a hospital, but a hotel designed for disabled and assisted pilgrims.

Tea time arrivedand I was guided to the dining room. I sat down and began to cry. I had no idea why I was crying, or what I was crying for. When I’d calmed myself and regained my composure, I began to eat.

Later on, I started to come out of my shell then mixing with people, but burst into tears a few times.

The next morning, we were up bright and early. Mornings in the saintFrai I began to realise, were chaotic and quite organised. You were woken at about 05:30 or there abouts, maybe even 6:30 some days. You were given a morning drink, in my case, a cup of guess what? Tea. After that, you were all assisted with showers if you needed one then after that, taken to breakfast. You had to be rather quick at eating, as after that, you had a little time to make sure you had everything for that day. Sun cream on, your bag that you were given for the week to bring to mass, which included your stuff, for me, my phone, my recording device, euros and a bottle of water which we were given when leaving the building. Leaving the building was again, another organised routine. Everyone was put into their chairs and lined up at the lifts to be brought downstairs to the main entrance. We were then met by the youth team, wearing yellow polo shirts, to bring us down to the mass or where ever we were going that day.

Heading off to mass, we were wheeled off down the narrow streets toward the sanctuary. That meant about 20 or 30 chairs were being pushed down one pathway, which wound its way down the narrow streets. Past cafes, bars, shops which played Ave Maria with the doors open allowing people to enter and get souvenirs should they wish. The path then opened, leading into the square, which housed the basilicas and the tunnel into the underground basilica. At the other side, taps for getting water and a bridge which took you across to the other side of the square.

That Saturday afternoon, it was time for the blessed sacrament procession, which was to be one of the highlights of the whole week.

The procession begun. I could hear drums playing at the start, then trumpets accompanying them. This was then followed by The announcement of the beginning of the procession in 3 or 4 different languages.

We were wheeled by the youth pilgrims, down to the basilica, which was underground. Feeling the air changing, the music growing louder, but the expanse becoming wider, I was wheeled down the tunnel and into the huge vast basilica. Seating just over 25,000 people, it was a huge vast room. Though it seemed never ending. The echos punctuated with the organ and choir, brought me to tears. I could hardly speak. The slight anxieties I had felt that day, because of trolling on social media, vanished. I was lifted out of my chair, and brought upwards to the ceiling above! I felt warm, calm, serene. I could feel the tears flowing from my eyes. I struggled to breathe, beginning to cough, but only able to utter the words: This is beautiful. Just beautiful.

Again, during the torch light procession I was the same. The lights from the candles I could not see, but I could imagine them. The candles being held up into the sky. Forming one huge light of about 1000 candles it seemed. Immaculate mary being sung in many languages. The whole thing making me cry as I joined in the singing. Although I could not see the light forming above me. The warmth in my heart was as strong as it was before and gaining in strenth.

The heat on the morning of the water gesture was immense. 43 degrees Celsius. Okay, I thought. The water will be quite warm then… How very wrong I was! I was brought into a cubicle, where I stripped to the waste. A nun put a warm towel around me and I was lead out into the main area, where the water was. Suddenly, the towel was taken, only to be replaced by a freezing one. I gasped. Struggling to breathe, I regained my composure and was lead down the steps, into the fridgid water below! I began to hyperventilate. Trying to hold my breath, I walked down to the statue of our Lady. Every step fridgid cold! I continued, still gasping for air. Eventually, I got there and we said a few prayers. Alan had been right! The water was cold after all! I did not let that stop me though. Worrying about my breathing, they quickly got me out and into the warmth. But where was the water? I was dry. A miracle of Lourdes!

My week in Lourdes that year was spectacular. One I will never forget. I’ve met lovely people since then in 2023, as well as last year. Hopefully this year I’m able to go too! In 2019 though, when leaving Lourdes, I felt a kind of grief. I was leaving my happy place. The place I could let go. I could find peace. A place that had touched my soul in a way I can’t even explain! It does every year! Something happens that even I can’t explain why it does. It just does. I grow stronger in my faith, but I also meet new people. Make new friends, but strenthen my friendships I have already made! It’s a shame I can’t be there to celebrate the 71st miracle of Lourdes, John Traynor’s cure back in 1923 of his epilepsy and paralysis. But I will be listening online and attempting to sing along to all the Lourdes favourite hymns. I will, for an hour or so, be taken to my happy place! Until July of this year, that is. God willing I get there this year! Back to my happy place! The beautiful sanctuary of Lourdes!

In answer to my prayer, this year I am going! I managed to save up and am able to go. There are now only 9 days to go, until I will be heading off to my happy place! The beautiful town of Lourdes! Thank you mother! Thank you God!

Was just looking back at singers from Britain’s got Talent! I remember getting the chance to audition myself. I got through the 2 producer rounds, but then wasn’t accepted for the 3rd round, which I’m guessing was the judges’ round. Now I think about it, I usually say that they never thought I was photogenic enough. But back then I was tense. I didn’t relax when singing. Or at least, I didn’t realise. Not because I was nervous, but I just didn’t. My jaw was tense. I didn’t know how to drop my jaw properly. I would try and try, but fail. I think because teacher after teacher would try to explain how to do it, but I never grasped it. Not until I had the teacher I have now. She’s bringing out more resonance in me and warmth than I’ve ever heard in myself! I also just looked at singers who broke down on bgt as well. Hollie steel being one. O my goodness, I felt for her. I remember watching that performance too. Now I listen as a more vocally experienced singer, I still feel for her. She was singing with a forced technique. Her voice was and still is good, but they were forcing her. I even now, worry about breaking in a performance. It happens to the proes probably! Although we never hear about it. I wonder if anyone like Callas, Sutherland, etc have broken in a performance. I will have to do some research. I have broken in a performance before, and did not handle it well! I never cried onstage, but I did afterwards! Infact, I behaved like a total Diva! The lovely Rachel, my accompanist that day, helped me through it. Okay, here’s the story. Rachel, I’m sure you remember!
It was Christmas at RNC. I had planned out my day. Leave lectures early, then head for the hall to rehearse. Unfortunately, my plan did not happen! I was in the restaurant, having coffee, which I should not have been having, as Caffine dries the cords. Although I can have tea which is strange! It never affects me. Anyway, I got a voicemail saying I was late. The rehearsals had started! I legged it over to the hall, unsettled and breathless, as being late, really unsettled me! I was now unsettled vocally and psychologically! This wasn’t going to go well! Infact, it didn’t! The rehearsal went fine. Perfect infact. The kiss of death for a performance! Well, in my view it is! If the rehearsal goes well, you’re scuppered! Your performance is going to be fluffed! Anyway, it was time. I started to sing with lovely rachel accompanying me. My mind suddenly blanked. I couldn’t remember the words at all! I stopped, in my head panicking. What on earth do I do now! I must go on, but how? How do I get the audience onside. What the heck do I do! Help! I just turned and said, Erm, I think I can do better than that! To my relief, I was received with laughs, clapping and “aww” from the audience! I started again and managed the whole song. Although that psychologically broke me! I was knocked to the floor! So what do I do? I could feel the tears welling in my eyes for the rest of the concert. I had to leave! When it was over, I ran! Pushing past people who were trying to congratulate me! I couldn’t speak through my tears! Couldn’t speak because of the lump in my throat and because my breathing was not controllable due to crying! I finally ran to my room. Burst in and shoulder charged the door shut! The vibration echoing through the building! I sobbed uncontrollably! That was a disgraceful performance! I was thinking to myself! If people paid for that, it was a waste of money! I take performances seriously, as if I was a pro! Even now! So I thought of the scathing reviews that would come out in the likes of the guardion, the times, the New york times culture section, the opera magazines. What would they say? Samantha broke onstage. It was a waste of a performance. Her voice was terrible! Oh and what else? I didn’t know! I then went into Rachel’s room. I turned to her and said: I’m sorry. I ruined everything! She gave me a hug and said, in her soft welsh accent and voice: No no. You didn’t! Again, I burst into tears into her shoulder! There you have it! An overly dramatic Diva side of me! Lol! But if I’m not careful, that can sometimes happen! If I do something wrong technically and I know it, or lose rhythm or words etc, I feel it. I have to try and tell myself, there’s room for inprovement! Carry on and settle!!! I still ring my hands sometimes, if I know I’ve gone wrong, or an accompanist has not followed me etc. I need to tell myself, calm down! Settle yourself! Stay still and breathe! It’s all about the breathing in singing! And support! Well, there you are. The anxious side of me! Lol! I don’t come onstage thinking, I’ve got this! Let’s do this thing! Bring it on! I always feel nervous, slightly scared and thinking only of my technique, the words in my head and the accompaniment! I don’t think of the people watching me. I can’t see them, but I can hear them! I know their eyes and ears are on me. Yes, there is pressure. You have to overcome that! Once I sing, that’s it. The nerves disappear. But I’m still concentrating. Concentrating on emotion, being in character, being technically correct. And my stance. I do know though, how it must have felt for Hollie. I’d probably have done the same! Asked to start again and cried when I couldn’t. It’s not having a tantrum, it’s the fact you know you made a mistake. You want to correct it so badly. And people know what happened. You’re exposed everywhere! You want to eraise that from their memory, but it won’t ever be. And you know it. I remember going into the hall for a recital back in RNC days. My eyes almost welling with tears. Because, who is watching? The Unidentifiables? The ones who constantly made fun of me and my singing? Their friends? I don’t think of that nowadays. If they hate it, take a run and jump. There are lots who don’t! If you don’t like my voice? The door is there. Exit! There you are. Lol! On that note, I’m sitting in the garden, with a weather alert of showers going off. Hopefully I don’t get rained on!!! I’m going to continue watching the film about Callas later with Nan! A harsh voice, but an inspirational one! She had strenth. She had determination and also an attitude. ERM, Rather like mine in the early days of my singing. Lol! Thank the lord that’s disappeared. Well, I hope it has anyway! Have a good day all! God bless! xx

Well, I think it’s time to warn people about a certain person. Some of you know them. And their family. This person was friends with me since 2016. We fell out a bit but then made friends again. In 2024 they started asking me for money. Small things at first, but then said they needed the roof doing on their house, which would cost £900. After that, there were more small things they asked for, which added up to about £10000 when we added it up. My family found out about it just before my graduation last year. It nearly destroyed our relationships. It was my fault, as I hid it from them, rather than telling them. In about march this year, this person messaged me stating they wanted to be civil. I stupidly accepted their apology, and became friends with them. They said that they didn’t want my family to know we were speaking. Their mother and father offered me the job of PA to them in the Uk, knowing of my interest in healthcare and medicine. Eventually, the money thing started again, with them buying stuff on Amazon. The mother included. The father then joined in, saying why don’t we make this person’s birthday special, with him putting £500 in and I do the same thing. Eventually, I told my aunt, knowing of course, that she would find out about what they were doing. I have since blocked said person and their family everywhere. Followers of this person, do you not wonder where their gifts come from? Do you not wonder why they always say on posts they can’t afford things, or they’re struggling to find things at reasonable prices? Do you not wonder why they always have the most severe cases of epilepsy, needing oxygen cilendars at home? Airway kits at home? Why they asked for money from a crowdfunding page in 2017 for a private neurologist to see them? But used the money on a chair instead? Why they asked people to send videos of their seizures to their own neurologists for opinions? Why they didn’t accept they might not have epilepsy, or other illnesses? Why their amazon wishlist was up on the page? Why they’re so ill all the time. From being a sports science student at college, to suddenly developing cardiac problems, which lead to epilepsy, but severe epilepsy, which then lead to gastroparesis, stomach paralysis? Which lead to liver imparement? Which lead to suprapubic catheters? Illness after illness? To make people feel sorry for them? When reading the page think carefully! DJ is the enicials of said page! I would think carefully about interacting with this person and their family! I made this mistake 3 times and I’m not about to go down that road again! They are a bunch of 2 faced individuals! Be careful! Thank you so much to my fiance for being so supportive, even though I tried to hide it from him. To my friend Lynn, my friends Iona and Lauren for always being there when I’ve made mistakes. To my family for again supporting me and picking up the pieces! To everyone else, please be alert!!! Link for blocking
https://www.facebook.com/share/1A8annT5js/?mibextid=wwXIfr

To everyone who thought I’d be a spinster. To everyone who thought I wouldn’t ever have a partner because of my so-called attitude. Because of my apparent trolling. Because you wanted to troll, this is how very wrong you are. To those who thought you could get me off social media, by calling authorities, you didn’t succeed, because I did nothing wrong. Here is how very wrong you are! I indeed have a partner. I have a very gentle kind fiance, who is blind like me. That does not matter. He is my protector and defender. My comfort when I need it. I in turn, do the same for him. Yes, those who wish to know, his name is Robert Godridge. One of I am assuming, the best 78Rpm record collectors in the UK! Yes, we are engaged! And here’s the proof. I love you Rob. So to those who tried to destroy my life, you’ve lost. Bigtime!

yesterday, I listened to a podcast about the deception of Kelly Turner. Doctors were too quick to accept what she was saying about her daughter. Instead of doing tests and everything that they should have done, they did unnecessary surgery and things on her. When I listened to it, it did trigger me alittle. People like myself with chronic conditions, get gaslit and accused of faking our conditions, or we’re told it’s anxiety. When ever I go to the doctors now, I get nervous incase I’m wasting their time, or I’m bothering them. I always apologise. When I go for my cardiology appointments, I’m not asking for an ablation for the sake “of having one. Why would I? I understand the risks. I understand that it may not work. I understand it could give me more cardiac problems. It’s a last resort treatment for IST. Ivabradine worked, but it would mean coming off my citalopram, which I’m a little nervous to do. Would the outbursts come back? What would happen? It’s doable, but who knows. It’s people like Kelly etc who make us get acused of fabricating our illnesses. We are always told, we’re just anxious young women. Or our weight is used. IST is a recognised condition, that was discovered in 1979. Whilst I understand it will not kill me, the debilitating tachies every day are annoying and leave me tired and at times, short of breath and with pressure in my chest. Ivabradine caused chest pain hense why I was taken off it. That leaves one more option. Or 2, do nothing, or ablation. I have become tolerent to the Verapamil. I can’t have betablockers, as they trigger my asthma. The other CCBs did nothing. People should read the medical journals. As well as this, I’m not going to ask for tests I don’t need. For example, I’m not going to ask for an endoscopy, or colonoscopy, as I don’t need them. I’m not going to go in to the gp and say, refer me to gastroenterology, as I have gastroparesis. I’m not going to do that. But with cases like IST, it’s difficult to control. Very difficult! Paramedics don’t understand it. ED doctors do not understand you. Anxiety is on my records from the past, so they’ll use it against me. Also, what are they writing about me behind my back on my records? Nurses and doctors can do that. It’s been known. Please listen to us IST patients more! We’re not just anxious women! We have a real heart condition! A condition that is difficult to treat. Like I said above, it’s people like Turner and others that doctor shop and make it difficult for us! People online too, who are chronically ill themselves, sitting accusing others of faking, asking them to show their medical letters and proscriptions. It’s none of their business! There are communities on redditt that stalk others, watch their social media. 24 hours a day. Accuse them of scamming. Making up their illnesses when they have no proof. Just because someone is sicker than you, doesn’t mean they’re faking. You are not doctors yourselves. You have the conditions yes, but you can’t judge or diagnose others. People have trolled them. Mocked their looks, their hair, their conditions. It’s wrong and the hate needs to stop. The judgement from other chronicly ill people in the community both on facebook, tiktok and redditt needs to stop. Stop with the stalking, harassment and abuse. Stop watching them constantly. Obsessing over their lives. Laughing at them. You’re adults. Act like them.

In order to start this post, we have to travel slightly back in time.

2011 and I was at a college in Hereford. So far, I’d been reported for doing stuff that society considered to be unacceptable. Not adjusting to change, for example when my friends wanted to do something else, I would get frustrated and annoyed, doing everything I could to sabotage their plans. I had had enough of being summoned to the office almost every single week. For one reason or another. What was going on? I can remember a few examples. But vaguely. I was brought in for many a strange thing, listening outside doors? Using the key in my corridor to enable me to get to my friend who was upstairs to talk to her. Speaking out of turn. But… What was out of turn? Not understanding why people did not like my views. Trying desperately to protect my friends when they were going into potentially bad situations. But what was protective and what was too far? Why did I protect her? Was it fear or was it the fact I could tell it wouldn’t be good for her? Or was it simply my experiences alone making me want to protect her.

I was having CBT with a counsellor, to try and figure these things out, but they were struggling. They were trying everything in their power to help me understand. I simply wasn’t understanding. I would agree with her on the techniques we tried, trying to remember how to do things better, or not to say things that would incriminate me or perhaps get me into trouble.. But there was just no getting through. Not there anyway. It was about the 10th time of being summoned. I walked in, knowing already that I was in for it. For starters, the manager did not like me and the feeling was mutual there. I did not like her either. Not at all. The usual start of the conversation was the whole spiel about doing what ever it was I’d been reported for. Then they’d ask me did I know that was wrong or did I know how that person would feel. I would say yes, but cry at the same time, perhaps because I felt some sort of remorse or because it was possible that I couldn’t understand but could not verbalise this? Or express it? A lot of the time, now looking back, perhaps I did not understand how what I was doing could have hurt people or how it was wrong. I thought people were getting at me, always on the attack. This time at college was about to change things. They assessed me for Aspergers, now known as high functioning autism. It turned out I did not have this, but was there something else? It would take almost a decade of sheer hell and trauma to find out the mystery to my behaviour and one that would be a shock to many, but a huge relief to me.

Again, we have to move slightly back and turn the hour glass just a few months before that meeting in late 2011. Summer of that year, and my friend had started to notice changes in me. He was on vacation and doing Russian homework at the same time. My brain perceived it as, if you are on holiday, why work? You should relax. My friend was not one for relaxing. His studies were important. Likewise are mine. This day would turn into a nightmare. One of many that would test our long-standing friendship to its very limit and push it over the edge, potentially breaking it for ever;This day I flew into a rage, shouting at him, at the top of my voice, just because he was doing his homework. It culminated in his grandmother telling him to end the call. It took a while for me to calm. We didn’t think anything of it, but the rages and mood swings kept on coming. With ever more virulence.

Something was wrong, but we had no idea. No idea that a superstorm of electricity was building in strength in my brain; and when it came, it came with catastrophic consequences. That storm was epilepsy.

Now we return to late 2011 when the first seizure struck. It was a few months later, into 2012 when things were more noticeable. My behaviour was more destructive, my ability to understand the bigger picture as some call it, to empathise and reason, were impaired. The seizures were not frequent, but more came in 2012, 2014, 2017 and 2018. My impulsiveness was stronger and at times, destructive. The anger was worse, with violence. The relationship with my friend was strained. We were being tested to the limit, something was going to give somehow.. But what was all this? Why had this all happened? There was a cause. But what was the cause? At the moment people did not know.

In 2018, I had a neurologist appointment. Looking at my records, as previously mentioned in a post, he mentioned about a haemorrhage in my right hemisphere. I did not think I had one, until I was told by the GP that I had indeed, had a haemorrhage in my right hemisphere. This was also where my epilepsy originated. Before generalising.

I started then to wonder myself, was there a connection?

Then this year came, with lockdown. This year was also when the friendship with my friend was pushed over the edge. It was then that we made the connection between my brain injury and my epilepsy. Yes, my MRI scans are normal and show no evidence of the haemorrhage, but my GP informed me that it has left invisible damage to neural pathways and cognitive ability. The epilepsy has in fact, changed my personality and slightly affected my ability to empathise and reason. Now we know, what caused these rages and unexplainable moods. From the highs, to the severe lows. The lows that would make me feel suicidal. The lows that would make me not even realise I was feeling suicidal. Now my counselling has taught me to become more self aware of things, to employ more strategies, as well as joining some groups for people with brain injury. I am now very relieved as I understand my little quirks and how I can somewhat rectify them. I have a better support network of people around me, who remind me of my techniques and help me. Explain when I may be wrong and how that will impact others. It may take a while for me to understand but I am getting there. I am also going back to my studies of psychology with the OU. Open University. I have decided I would like to help others with ABI (Acquired brain injury) like myself and potentially go into the neurorehabilitation area of things. I have finally accepted it is my ABI with the epilepsy that has changed me. I can fix some of it, but not all. It’s the acceptance now that has to come from others, but it will come. Eventually. I will still be curious. I will still ask questions about my own brain, because I’ve always been curious about it, ever since my epilepsy developed. Hopefully now, this means my life will have changed for the better and I can move on, onto pastures new. As they say. To help others, not just myself. I do hope you enjoy reading my posts. I apologise for the lack of updates. May you all find something informative in my posts. Even though it may be hidden.

The other day, I went to the doctors, regarding joint pain. Because of my ehlers-danlos sydrome, my shoulders are now hurting, as well as my knees and ancles. That is why at times, like when I’m in airports and when I’m in Lourdes, I use a wheelchair. It’s easier for me to navigate round and also it doesn’t cause much pain. It took a while to getthe diagnosis of EDS. At first, they wouldn’t diagnose it and ignored my joint pain. They tried sending me to physiotherapy for years, but it did nothing, except perhaps, strengthen the joints, but that was all. I’ve finally now been validated by a doctor. He understood my EDS, as his daughter has it. He was able to tell me what I already knew, although I didn’t say, that it would get worse as I got older. That the joints would become more unstable and painful. I guess I’ll just have to accept that and accept that in the future, I will have to rely on the likes of Co-codamol or other pain relief more than I used too. I don’t like that idea, but oh well. I guess that’s just what will happen. I just want to thank that gp for doing the best job I’ve seen in a long time! Listening to his patient! In other news, Robert is coming over in April and after that, he is getting an engagement ring! In 2 years, there will be wedding bells! I hope!!

Good morning all. A few days ago, I had yet another crisis when it comes to rejection sensitivity. Iwon’t go into what happened, but it’s safe to say I got worked up and bombarded people. I usually do that if I don’t know where I stand or if I upset them, I try very hard to fix something that in my head, isn’t fixed, but in reality, it wasn’t broken. Friendships are the big one for me. It was my partner who noticed last night and wanted to try to help me. I thought in the past thanks to some other people, that I may have EUPD, which I didn’t want to accept. People usually run away, very fast from people with that diagnosis. Trolls used to say I have a personality disorder, but I used to think, if they’ve said that and it turns out I have one, they’ve won. They’ve got what they wanted. They would have people running away very quickly. They have that already. People telling others about me. Telling people I’m a stalker. I’m not. I would never stalk people. If I’ve had a misunderstanding between us, yes, I will probably message a lot, which I know I shouldn’t, just to find out where I stand. Their voices are another thing that upsets me. Are they cross? If they are, how can I fix said problem. Nan just tells me off, rather than working through said thing that might have happened. Kind of glad I can get someone who can, rather than her own mental health assumptions. You’re obsessed, you’re a stalker. You’re weird. I hate that! I’m now going to speak to gp tomorrow about being re-referred back to psych. I don’t want the dbt in groups though. I’m hoping I could have it one to one. I just want to thank my partner, Rob for standing by me, validating me last night, and offering his support. His defence saying I’ll defend you always. Thank you Rob. That means a lot. So, GP tomorrow morning and hopefully a referral to psych. If not, ! I will try myself

I just thought I would give you an example of stage anxiety that I get before going onstage. I have mentioned this in previous posts, but I will do so again.

It starts at the rehearsals. The night before, it’s difficult to sleep, whether it be with excitement, nerves or just difficulty in general. Your brain is buzzing. Vocal technique. Words, music. What am I to do in this part? How do I execute that high note? Then there are the usual. What if it cracks? People will hear it! I’m exposed! No hiding from anything! Verdi does not have Mercy! You execute, or you fail! The familiar competition will be there too! I have to set the bar high. The clock is ticking. 5 days, 4 days, 3 days. Accompanist rehearsal, which is even worse if it’s someone you do not know. I do not feel at ease. What is their temperament like? What if I fail? Will they put me at ease? Will they be scathing. OR will they just be silent? Do I tell them what to do? Should I dictate the rehearsal? Accompanist follows the singer. Yes, but in some cases, you follow the accompanist. If the accompanist is someone I know, I still feel anxious, but not as much. In my head, I hear the words of Adrienne. Quieter here. Remember vowel modification here. Not too much pressure here. Not too much weight. It helps that I hear her in my head. It’s strange I know, but I like to imagine there are singers from the past in spirit, listening with their keen ears too. Callas, Freni, pavarotti. What would they make of the performances? Where would they guide me? What would they say about my technique. My inspirations, would they be keeping their students calm? Would Callas have been patient? Would she have been quite severe? With a blind student? Perhaps not. She may have understood that I can hear better and understand things, but probably would have got slightly put out if I questioned her on her own methods. Purely for my own execution.

Today I was going through older recordings of my performances. I could hear the weaknesses. The pressure in certain parts;, No longer was it painful to hear, like it was in the past. In the past, it was painful to hear my older performances. It was painful to have my appearance described, knowing I was too painfully thin to wear what I wore then at the time. It used to bring me to tears. I feel different now. I feel more secure vocally. Although when people say they can hear little bits of Callas in my voice, I take it as a compliment. Yes, oh yes please! Thank you very much!

There were times though, when I almost panicked onstage. The time I lost my place in a christmas concert, because of the fact I was thrown off guard. The concert had started early and I wasn’t told. I’d planned my day but then received a voice mail, saying I was late to the rehearsal and could have missed it. That made me very unsettled. When you’re unsettled before a performance, it has the potential for disaster. Sure enough, there was one. I arrived at the second verse, only for my mind to go blank. My accompanist stopped. I stopped. what am I to do? Where do I go from here? I started to feel sick. Oh goodness! If these were paying audience members, the scathing remarks would be everywhere! The guardian reviews would be disastrous!! I must keep going! I told myself, compose yourself! Think! Keep going! I took the audience saying: I think we can do better. Let’s try again! Shall we? To my relief, they were quite affectionate and I received warm murmers of “Awww” and applause. I got through it, then rushed from the hall! All I wanted to do was run away from that disaster! That was terible! Awful! People were trying to speak to me, but I pushed past them! I couldn’t speak! I couldn’tbreathe properly! If I spokeeatears would burst from my eyes!! I had to leave! Running into the residential building, I opened my door. Walked in, then shoulder charged it closed! Enraged at myself, I began to cry! I sobbed uncontrollably! I couldn’t console myself, even with the fact I’d got through it. I’d still done it. I then walked into Rachel’s room next door. My brilliant accompanist. I sat next to her, then yelled: “I’ve ruined everything” I’ve let you down! I’ve let myself down! I’ve let my audience down!” I’m sorry! The tears were still flowing from my eyes! Not even a hug and a consoling voice from her, telling me I didn’t let anyone down, was calming me! For me, failure is not an option. The psychology of failure is far too much to bare! I have to achieve perfection in a performance and if I don’t, it’s like a psychological kicking to the ground! All those times working, for nothing! I struggle to take it. I’ve never been one for failure. Even though people tell me, you still did well. That makes no difference!

For me, I will be excited when Robert comes to see me singing again. When he records me at our home. When if I fail, he will be there to console me. The warmth of his hands around me, and warmth of his voice, telling me: Sammy, don’t beat yourself up. Sammy, stop. His pullover getting wet with the salty tears from my eyes. But the hug and strenth of his voice and comfort will help me. But if I become professional, I’ll definitely ask him to be my manager. I’m pretty sure he will get rid of nasty press. Shielding me from their scathing glair. Shielding me from their stabbing remarks. From the scandle that may hit the headlines from the past they would dig up! And there is plenty. I will admit. The stress will be there yes. Yes, I will have to protect myself neurologically and psychologically, but I can do it. With the help of friends, my partner and family, I could do it if it was to be that I become professional. With the support of my vocal teacher, who I have already asked to keep me when she retires. I need her knowledge. I need her calmness before performances. I need her guidance. I do have confidence, but it’s slowly coming back. There is a strong person there, waiting to emerge into the spotlights of L’ascala, of the met, of Covent Garden. If only! Maybe? Just maybe I might one day sing there? Who knows. Possibly? I had the dream years ago, which is still there. Who knows.

Today, as I write to you after midnight, I will again recount my own memories of Lourdes. This is because today, in Liverpool, a very special celebration is going to be held. There was a man back in 1923 who was completely cured of his illnesses. Article with this information will be posted here.

https://www.bbc.com/news/articles/c878d2eeepzo

For me, this is beautiful! Lourdes is a place I had grown up having been told about. I was lower church of England back then, or anglocan as it is known. My Nan had been given a little statue on a cushion of st. Bernadette, from a friend who had gone to Lourdes, but I wasn’t to feel this until I was about 15. By then, I had started to think about becoming catholic, due to conversations I had been having with my then vocal teachers from Italy. We would do my vocal lesson, then afterwards, have a conversation about God, our Lady and catholicism. With each conversation, my faith started growing. Back then though, I forced the conversion to Catholicism back to the back of my mind, as my family would have probably not approved.

I continued using the rosary beads I had been given to calm my anxieties I had at school. I held them and with every time I held the beads, which were from Rome, my anxiety eased further. Yes, I was frightened of my support worker. What mood would she be in that day? What would the bullies do that day? What shouting at was I going to get? There was also the homework I had not done either! My rosary would sit in the inside pocket of my blazer, and every now and then, I would squeeze the beads tightly. I then progressed to wearing the rosary around my neck, with the crucifix close to my skin. Touching it infact.

Fast forward a few years later, I was going through RCIA. My journey to becoming a catholic had begun. Nervously, I was sitting in the church, waiting for the mass to start. By then, I’d started to memorise some of the responses. The confetior, the gloria, some of the other responses in the mass and the various other parts that came with it. One person in the congrigation had persisted in asking me: “Are you going to Lourdes this year? No, Alan, I said. I have told you, I’m not able too. It’s going to cost about £1000. So his persistance continued. It grew ever stronger. ‘until one day, he announced very proudly, You’re going! Oh no! I thought. Latin masses that I don’t understand. Chanting which I’ve not learned yet! I’m going to be very bad at this! How on earth can I get out of this one! Should I fain having a cold or something? What can I do? There was no getting out of it. I had to go! Nervously I got on the plane, after being put in my place at Liverpool airport. I was with people I knew. I’ll be okay. I thought.

Upon arrival in Lourdes, in 2019, I was guided into a wheelchair. It had 2 wheels. The French customs officer asked: You going hospital? What? No! I was told the saint frai! Help! Rescue me! I’m going to the wrong place! Where is everyone? I can’t hear them! I was on my own, in a wheelchair, and being taken to the wrong place! Or so I thought. The coach drove off. The tiredness getting the better of me, I fell into a somewhat deep sleep. The engine making its monotonous noise, it wended its way through the narrow streets of Lourdes and pulled up at the Saint Frai. A huge facade with an arched roof and very high canopy. A modern building inside though, with lifts going to the upper floors, with a huge circular atrium on each one. By now, I was in the lift and being taken upstairs. The familiar hospital smell all around me. A ward came into focus as my ears told me I’d been brought to a very large, but rectangular room just like a hospital ward. Beds on both sides, a shower cubicle, or room on both sides too and toilet rooms next to them. The beds were as I expected, like hospital ones. The table with wheels next to it spanning the bottom of the bed, with a cabenet and dresser with a wardrobe next to the pillow end. I was helped to unpack and my stuff put away, I sat on the familiar matress. Waiting for the meal time, I ended up falling asleep. Later, I’d begun to realise, this place had no rules. It wasn’t a hospital, but a hotel, designed for disabled and assisted pilgrims. I started to come out of my shell then, mixing with people, but burst into tears a few times. The next morning, we were up bright and early. Heading off to mass, then later, the blessed sacrament procession, which was to be one of the highlights of the whole week. The procession begun and we were wheeled by the youth pilgrims, down to the basilica, which was underground. Feeling the air changing, the music growing louder, but the expanse becoming wider, I was wheeled down the tunnel and into the huge vast basilica. Seating just over 25,000 people, it was a huge vast room. Though it seemed never ending. The echos punctuated with the organ and choir, brought me to tears. I could hardly speak. The slight anxieties I had felt that day, because of trolling on social media, vanished. I was lifted out of my chair, and brought upwards to the ceiling above! I felt warm, calm, serene. I could feel the tears flowing from my eyes. I struggled to breathe, beginning to cough, but only able to utter the words: This is beautiful. Just beautiful. Again, during the torch light procession I was the same. The lights from the candles I could not see, but I could imagine them. The warmth in my heart, strong as it was before.

The heat on the morning of the water gesture was immense. 43 degrees Celsius. Okay, I thought. The water will be quite warm then… How very wrong I was! I was brought into a cubicle, where I stripped to the waste. A nun put a warm towel around me and I was lead out into the main area, where the water was. Suddenly, the towel was taken, only to be replaced by a freezing one. I gasped. Struggling to breathe, I regained my composure and was lead down the steps, into the fridgid water below! I began to hyperventilate. Trying to hold my breath, I walked down to the statue of our Lady. Every step fridgid cold! I continued, still gasping for air. Eventually, I got there and we said a few prayers. Alan had been right! The water was cold after all! I did not let that stop me though. Worrying about my breathing, they quickly got me out and into the warmth. But where was the water? I was dry. A miracle of Lourdes! My week in Lourdes that year was spectacular. One I will never forget. I’ve met lovely people since then in 2023, as well as last year. Hopefully this year I’m able to go too! In 2019 though, when leaving Lourdes, I felt a kind of grief. I was leaving my happy place. The place I could let go. I could find peace. A place that had touched my soul in a way I can’t even explain! It does every year! Something happens that even I can’t explain why it does. It just does. I grow stronger in my faith, but I also meet new people. Make new friends, but strenthen my friendships I have already made! It’s a shame I can’t be there to celebrate the 71st miracle of Lourdes, John Traynor’s cure back in 1923 of his epilepsy and paralysis. But I will be listening online and attempting to sing along to all the Lourdes favourite hymns. I will, for an hour or so, be taken to my happy place! Until July of this year, that is. God willing I get there this year! Back to my happy place! The beautiful sanctuary of Lourdes!

Hello all. Here are some more extracts from my autobiography attempt. I started writing this years ago. I do hope you enjoy. Yes, I would still love to get noticed as a singer. Here is how I felt back then. You will notice my love for opera which I still have. Also note, my writing style changes.

Part one: Written in 2009.

On the 28th of June 2009 I sang Ave Maria in St George’s church in Douglas.
When I went up to sing my heart started hammering in my chest.
It stopped as soonas I started singing.
You could hear a pin drop, the room was suddenly so silent.
When I’d finished the applause was so loud.
It was so lovely.
I was nearly crying.
My nana was in tears nearly too.
Now I have found myself a proper teacher on the Isle of Man so I do not have to use the one on the laptop.
I wonder, Will I have found the key to open the door to my dream? The door to the stage.
The door to world wide tours.
If so now I just have to find the right key.
And slowly climb up the staircase to my dream.
It will come with hard work my nana keeps telling me.
I know that.
Hard work and dedication.
Doing voice exercises and resting your voice before lessons and concerts.
Also having honey before you sing.
No lemon, Just honey.
Resting your voice means silence.
I found that out in Andrea’s autobiography.
Silence, not even speaking to anyone unless you really have to.
Drinking plenty of water and staying off caffeine because it dryas the vocal cords.
So there you go, there is the list of things singers have to do also people learning to sing have to do it too.
I am learning to sing, so I have to do it.
All of it in order, for me to reach my dream.

Have I found the correct teacher?

The singing lessons commenced.
I was taught the Italian vowels, singing words, like Maria to open my vocal cords.
I was told, if you co-operate with your vocal cords, they will co-operate with you.
Your voice will tell you how much air you need when you are singing.
Your voice doesn’t mature until you are about thirty years old.

So, I have finally found the teacher I was looking for, I thought I had.
The one who could help me.
The one who could help me towards my dream.
Singing with Andrea Bocelli.

My vocal teacher wanted to discuss my future for singing.
She is going to talk with my nana about me going to music college to study singing.
In four years time.
Little did I know, however, my voice was about to take a risky move which would push it in to dangerous territory.

Chapter 7
A vocal nightmare.
There are only two days to go until I am doing another concert in the same church.
I have been rehearsing and things were not going very well.
On the day, my heart will be racing and all the adrenalin will be there once more.? The feeling that everything is magnified, the feeling of your heart hammering in your chest, in your ears and your throat.
Then you take the first breath, calm is restored once more.
then, if you have to hit a high note, the adrenalin returns.
once you do it calm, is then restored.
When the audience applaud, your heart suddenly pounds with happiness, because you have done it, you have achieved it.
Afterwards, if you are asked again, the pressure mounts because you have to do better than you did the first time.
It is the eve of the concert.
I now have to remain silent all day if i can and again tomorrow.
Now we will see how Andrea has inspired me when I perform.
This time, I will have to sing four songs.
There is more pressure, pressure to do well.
So now we wait.
Now tomorrow will tell us whether I’ve done it.
So here we are.
Today is the day.
I haven’t been speaking to anyone and my voice is on good form.
So now we shall see.
We shall see.
The time is ticking.
I am now waiting for my vocal teacher to come and get me ready.
The concert is for the royal artillery.
I was asked to participate in it.
So the hours are ticking bye and the adrenaline is starting to return.
My inspiration has wished me luck, so now I have to not only impress the audience, I have to impress him as well.
I went up to sing my first songs, they went well.
By the time I went to sing my last two songs, things took a turn for the worst.
I started to sing AvE Maria, but I had started without relaxing myself, without breathing deeply, and that messed up the first few notes, causing me to start panicking.
My vocal cords had had enough.
My voice cracked.
i started to struggle and tense up.
i was worried.
My voice was cracking in live concert.
i felt humiliated, defeated.
i felt I no longer had confidence.
i could not do it.
I could not sing properly.
What was happening! What was going on! Tell me! Tell me! Please! Tell me! Help me! Please! I no longer felt any use.
What was happening to me! What was happening to my voice! why was it cracking! Why! Why in live concert! I wished Andrea could be there.
I needed him, needed him there to calm me and help me through it.
No one was there though.
As i continued, my voice was getting worse.
My diaphragm wasn’t supporting me.
Why was this happening in front of a live audience! Help me please! Someone! Help me! My heart pounding, my hands clenching, a voice told me come on! Pull yourself together! Get back on track! Get back on track! I argued with this voice, I can’t! I can’t! It’s getting worse! My throat is sore, my voice is making this grinding sound, when I hit high notes! I knew I had to.
With what courage and strength my vocal cords had left, I struggled on, with my hopes fading and this nightmare getting even worse.
My breathing increasing in speed slightly, between songs, I tried to relax, but I could not.
My knees were shaking, my heart was pounding.
I thought, “Someone save me! Save me from this nightmare! I can’t go on! I can’t! I can’t do this! My voice is breaking, my throat is sore, goodness knows, how it sounds and the audience, what are they thinking? The echoes are making it worse! They will not be enjoying it! Not at all!” My knees were becoming tense, my hands started to become tense, I was ringing them like a sponge.
From one fist, to the other and digging my nails in.
My throat felt as dry as anything, dry with pure fright, panic and worry over what was happening, with my voice.
I knew it.
My fears came true.
Fears of my voice cracking.
Fears that this concert wouldn’t go well.
I needed someone to help me but time was running out.
It was too late.
When I got home I burst in to tears.
I knew it was horrendous.
I knew I could have done better.
I felt utterly defeated.

Why was this happening now!! Why! All I could do was to sit and rest my voice, a voice which felt hard, rough, tired, tense, sore and completely drained of energy and support.
Still I could not contain my emotions.
I felt silly.
I felt I had done utterly horrendous.
The thought of it was still there when my vocal teacher reminded me of it on the day of my singing lesson, which also happened to be the day of my GCSE, General Certificate of Secondary Education Examination results.
I started to get stressed out in my singing lesson which was no good for my voice.
It was tired, getting even more tense, sore, stretched slightly, I don’t know how to describe it.
How do you describe a voice which is, unknowns to me, is being unsettled and in a dangerous place.
I did know though, it was getting worse which was not helping.

This was written just before I had found my vocal teachers in Italy, who as you will see in the next part, were a lot stricter and caused my voice to undergo radical changes and developmental changes.

Potential damage.

I started to get worried because my voice was cracking.
I couldn’t do my vocal exercises.
What was going on? Had I damaged my voice? What had I done! No! No not this no please! Why was my voice going from one place to another! Why was my throat dry and sore! Why couldn’t I reach my usual high notes! Also, my throat felt sore, tight, tense, hard, I could not sing without my voice breaking.
It knocked my confidence.
When I was singing, my voice would crack and immediately, I would tense up.
My breathing would get slightly faster. Why is this happening? Tell me!! Please, what is going on! What is it? I sometimes felt my heart racing and I was shaking with that feeling something is wrong.
Something is wrong.
Also, My diaphragm would not work properly.
Had my vocal teacher damaged my voice? I knew something was wrong but did not want to admit it to myself.
Part of me was saying It is just your voice maturing.
It will get better, but, it did not get better, it got worse.
I was crying.
I did not want to sing, for fear of the strong criticism and the fact, that I knew, my voice was getting worse.
It caused disputes and me and my nana had rows.
Why! Why! Why! What could I do! I needed desperate help.
Someone with classical experience! There was no-one.
Someone please! Help me! Save my voice from damage! My voice was cracking all the time.
Sometimes I wondered, what is the point! I cannot do it! I cannot handle this anymore! What has happened to me! Tell me! Please! Then the biggest thing of the night happened.
I rang my friends on Skype.
I told them I was worried and stressed.
They agreed to help me.
They are Italian and they run a music school in Italy…
They told me that my voice was not settled and that they would help me to sing.
I was so happy.
Finally after a year of trying I found the right person.
So without waiting I eagerly began the breathing and vocal exercises which are called the Vaccai method, which I have studied briefly.
It settles the voice in the right place.
We are meeting every night and my voice is improving and feeling better every day.
I might have made a breakthrough with nana pleading with her to let me study with them in Italy she said see how it goes.
So I might have done it after all.
We’ll soon know.
It’s annoying when you have someone going on saying they’d be worried or that I am not old enough or that I do not have the independence.
My voice has improved according to my lovely Italian singing teachers on Skype.
Now, definitely I think i really will succeed.
.
Persuasion is the way to go.
I have had a breakthrough.
My nana said I could go to see my Italian teachers in Genova when I am seventeen years old.
I’m so happy it is all working out.
However, my teachers on Skype, strongly advised me not to do the concert on the fourth of October.
I feel awful about letting them down.
But it’s for the best.
I want the best for my voice which is in the critical stage of growing still and needs to recover from what damage and unsettling it has had.
Also, it needs to be moved again back to the right position.

there you see me trying hard to discipline myself. I am still hoping to this day, I do get heard. My teacher I have now, Adrienne, is brillient. My voice now is a lot stronger and more mature. I am able to sing the likes of some Verdi and Puccini. My inspiration is still though, Maria Callas. La Devina. We both have a lot in common. She was the same kind of weight as me. Quite a fierce independent lady. I am also the same. I do get stage fright I suppose you could say. The thing you will notice with me is the cough. I also get snappy and on edge. When the time comes to sing though, It goes. I can relax. I hope you enjoy these little extracts. More will come. I am singing in the Manx Music festival this year too. This time though, My Fiance will be listening. He like me, loves his opera and older singers. I cannot wait to hear his verdict.

Afternoon all. Recently I’ve bought the Ray-ban meta smart glasses. They have helped me a lot. I have been able to read mail, to hear descriptions of people on the tv screen, as well as identify pacages and other various objects. As well as this, I have been able to take great clear photos and videos. This enables me to fit in more with those who are sighted. I feel very proud to own a pair of these glasses, which use AI (artificial intelegence) to give you answers to your questions that you ask them.

My vocal lessons are going well and I’m practising for the manx music festival. I am also getting engaged to my partner Robert. I am very nervous, but excited as to what life will hold. There will be lots of singing in the Godridge household, when the time eventually comes. We both enjoy the older tenors and soprani, like Maria Callas, Jone Sutherland, Richard Crooks, David Whitfield, Mario Lanza, Beniamino Gigli and many many more. We have similar things in common as well. It’ll be brilliant to see what life holds. He is very sincere, quite protective of me in a good way and very egar to defend me, should the need arrise. It’s going to be interesting, being that he’s my first and hopefully, only, husband to be. Now I just have to build up my independence skills. I did have skills when I was at Rnc, but I never practised much after I left for home. In Preston I was nervous to practise them so again, I lost them. Now is the time to resorect them.

I saw an article yesterday, about a blind person on the iom doing a podcast. She is able to get more help and support at school than I ever did. It feels quite frustrating, as I paved the way for her. I was the first child born blind, in 13 years on the iom in 1993. There was no sensory support service over here. My nan had to fight along with other people, to get such a service established. The teachers had learned braille alongside me. They brought the books along into the classes. I had psychological, physical, as well as verbal abuse from a support worker for 12 years. It took 12 years, for the head of the support service to do anything about it. No one listened. No one listened to me, my Nan, or the teachers who reported it. I was never allowed to interact with the main-stream teachers. If I didn’t understand anything, they were not allowed to help me. The education minister at the time, failed me. I was placed in SEND class at the iom college. The then minister refused to pay for me to go to RNCB. In hereford. Now, this person is getting everything! Help regarding braille technology. IPads. Help from her drama teacher. I was never allowed to do drama properly at school, nor my musical tallents to be nertured. Yet people fail to recognise that I paved the way. My educational life was nothing but a failure! I have been failed by our current government! No employment, due to epilepsy refusal! Insurance rubbish! Health and safety! You expect me to be happy for this person? Yes, I am. I hope she achieves her dreams. But it makes me feel very hurt, and upset when I am not recognised for how much I was a guinneapig for the iom education system and the government at the time in general! I did not do my Open University degree with help from them! It was no thanks to you! It was thanks to a charity! So no, I’m not happy that the BBC and douglas council are recognising this. Where is my recognician! What did I do? Go through educational hell! That’s what happened! I went through hell and experiments! My life hasn’t been easy! It still isn’t! I can’t get a job, because of insurance rubbish, as stated above! You think that’s okay? The only thing I can do is volunteer, but even that’s restricted! You think that’s okay? Employers refuse to acknowledge my CV, or even agree to try to do anything, and say the software isn’t accessible! You think that’s okay? no!!! But here we are! Think about who paved the way! Think about what would be the case if I had not been your guinneapig. I have a BSC)hons) psych)open) cert)he) but no thanks to you.

Well all, it’s a windy night here. Hope everyone is well! I’m excited as my friend in the US is going to be going through RCIA and onto a new faith journey. It’s going to be exciting watching his growth and experience. I’m going to mass on Christmas eve, so hopefully, will have a great service. Mass is very good and for me, clenses the soul. I’ve not been to confession in a while though. I did go in Lourdes which was about 5 months ago” I still can’t remember the full act of contrition yet though. I love going to mass and seeing everyone. I love speaking to them and making new friendships too. I feel so accepted both at st Anthony’s in Onchan IOM and street Pauls in west derby Liverpool. It’s so nice to have such a huge community that helps one another! I also enjoy going to Walsingham and Lourdes every year too! Thank you to everyone who comes with us all! And to Liverpool archdiocese for organising the Lourdes pilgrimage every year! I feel part of one big family! I hope Nick will feel the same. On another note, I have had both my cardiac monitor and blood pressure monitor tests over the last 2 weeks so now am awaiting the results. Next year, I have to have my left eye scraped. The calcium is coming back. They couldn’t get all the calcium off it from the first time because it was buried too deeply into the cornea. It’s now building up ontop of that now, so it has to be scraped again. They did suggest EDTA drops but they are too difficult to manage independently and having to rely on someone to put them in is a pain! Especially when you have to do it 4 times a day. Plus, they are not easy to get over here. They have to be specially made in Scotland then transported here, which is difficult, due to the weather and boat disruptions if any. So that on repeat is just impossible! I said just scrape it. He was like are you sure? It’s going to be painful. I was like, I know that, but it is just the most logical and easist way. Just get it done. Same as last time. General anaesthesia and keep me in for 2 days, if the last time’s pain is anything to go by. I hope everyone has a very good Christmas and a happy new year for 2025. Who knows, one day I’ll get to meet Nick and Siena over across the pond. God Willing! 🙏🙏🙏

Yesterday, I ended up crying due to the tachy. I don’t normally, but yesterday, I’d had enough! My heart has been dropping into the 40s while asleep, and going up to 147, just while getting dressed. It appears that the verapamil I’ve been on for about 6 years, is not helping! I’ve asked to speak to cardiology and have my appointment on 21st expedited! I would like an EPStudy, electrophysiological study of my heart, to see if there are any extra pathways that should not be there, but because I feel very frustrated, I feel like asking them to just ablate and pace! I hate the chest pain, the tachycardias, the bradycardias! I just hate it!! They’re making me shaky, I’m getting ectopics, and struggling! I can’t even walk down a corridor without getting breathless! It keeps going in and out of tachycardia! I hate this! I really do.

It comes from within. The deep anxiety of being told, can we have a word?
Nausea, tachycardia, the temperature turning ice cold around you, but the clammy feeling is there too. Then the memory’s The echo stairwells, the voices, the leaning over you, the pulling of your ears, the quick footsteps of the clip-clop shoes she wore. The perfume, Sherevienne.
That familiar, Samantha ash!

Being trapped in the room with nothing you can do! I’ve done nothing wrong! You can’t answer back. She’ll threaten you otherwise. Will she carry it out? It’s you against her. Just sit and let her go on! The bullying from other students. Pulling your hair. Pretending to cut it. The throwing of salt. Phones near your ear. Bells being rung next to your ears on purpose. When you ar put next to the school bells to wait for the start of your lesson.

One form of trauma I have been through, but there are others.
Conflict with people at home. Shouting, smashing of Glass. Telling them: Stop! Stamping my feet, thinking they would listen and hear, but no! They didn’t. They carried on. They then split in 2002. Grandad’s voice breaking with emotion as he left the garden for the last time.

RNC. Hereford.
Main trauma? Residential halls and my first ever seizures. I was diagnosed with epilepsy. The students though went one step too far! A group of boys would ring my doorbell at 1 AM or just after, to wake me up on purpose, but one night they took things further! I heard the scrape of a key in the lock of the door that lead into my corridor. The voices, is Samantha Ash in there? Three of them lingering outside the bedroom door; What would they do when entering? I stayed very quiet and still. Trying not to breathe. I waited and for what seemed like an eternity, they leftt. I wasn’t sure what they would have done had they gained entry! Would they? Would they try? Would they sexually assault me? I still wonder that to this day. They would have I think if they could. They would have gained great pleasure in that.

UCLAN.
The lectures were good, but the residential side was not.
Students accusing me of violence. The disciplinary hearing which caused a small seizure.
That day being brought in front of the Dean.
The room went cold. The head of faculty reading out the accusations and evidence. I sat, sweat on my head. But not sweat you could see. Sweat you could feel coming from within. The clammy feeling was there, like all those years ago.. Was my future on the line? I wasn’t answering the head of faculty. I wasn’t paying attention. I was tense. Sat in the chair thinking of what would happen. What the people doing this to me would do once they had won their battle. Battle of kicking me out of Uni. The assignments I had failed. The tutors I had let down. Nan, myself. Then what?
Still he went on. The evidence shows that… What can you understand? Is it wrong to do this? And again! He still pursued his point.
A few weeks later, they did a fitness to study plan. This is it; They’re kicking me out! The assignments I’d failed had come up. Straight away I had a panic attack. I never had them often.
There was then the trauma of people taking control of my healthcare, treating me to eat or I do not go out. This was in Wales. Eventually I had had enough.

I tried to ask permission to go home, but was stopped. I was told I was impulsive. That my family were evil. How could I get away?
Eventually I was taken to my friend’s house.
When I got there, the flood gates opened. A wave of nonstop crying. I was shaking uncontrollably. Was this cognitive freezing? The relief I had been rescued? Saved from those who were potentially very bad for my future. But also from the exams I could never now sit, as they made me withdraw from my place at the University. The mixed feeling of anger, anguish, relief, and pain!
Pain because I couldn’t complete my course that I’d wanted to do so much. Couldn’t have the chance to resit the assignments I had failed. Could not enjoy the lectures I had enjoyed with the people who were so lovely to me. It was a deep numbness. A deep pain that I cannot even explain. But Visceral.

There were also the visits from the police. Again, accusations of harassment, of fraud, which I would never do. I sat in bed, struggling to breathe. Breathing in air was like breathing through a straw. It felt like my airways had closed. The stridor loud and distressing to hear from an outsider’s point of view. WOULD I be arrested. What would happen to me then? What would I do? Who would defend me? Would my family support me? Who would? The next day, I spoke to the officers, but my brain couldn’t handle it. It triggered an epileptic seizure. A tonic-clonic.

Yes, These are examples of some of the traumas I have gone through in my life. My own conflicts with my nan where I lashed out. I’m not proud of it. But at the time, I was taken over by anger, frustration and defence mode. But why? What was going on in my brain? Afterwards comes the amnaesia. What happened after the row? What happened before it? Time was going bye so fast, but in my head, it had frozen. The flashback of the row continuing to play like a record on loop! Again and again and again. What could I do? It was my fault! I shouldn’t be here anymore! If anything happens to her it’s my fault! So I planned it. The pills; I knew where they were. All I had to do was go to my box, open the packs and take all of them in one go! But I couldn’t! The rational part of my brain had kicked in. No, you can’t Sam! That’s not the answer! Taking your life is never the answer! So I waited. The amnaesia still there. The events going like a blur. Who said what was a blur. I couldn’t remember anything, except the main event. Me lashing out. That’s what trauma does! Your brain shuts down! The cortizol floods round your body, thanks to the amygdola setting off the alarms of threat! Cortizol, adrenalin and noradrenalin are rushing round your body, to make the major organs work harder to fight off the apparent threat. This is the sympathetic nervous system.
Can you deal with it? Yes. But in my view, as was Skinner’s viewand the view of other psychologists, to deal with the trauma after effects, you have to face it head-on. It won’t be nice. But you must. then dissect every part and learn how to put it into the back of your mind. I recommend reading books like What doesn’t Kill us by Prof Steven Joseph. Researching the psychology of survival. It is very interesting when I have researched it myself. I would love to help people with traumatic brain injury, but not just on a psychological level, on a hands-on level too. With speech, language, support, to understand their brain, to help their carers learn what to say, how to say it, what not to say. To support the surviver in walking, holding things, and helping them from their journey out of coma, to the community and in it. I myself have an ABI. I know some of the frustration. I know some of the social difficulties. I would like to help.

Was just watching a rerun of one of my favourite police programmes. Frost! Starring David Jason. The episode featured a young teenager who in my opinion was displaying symptoms of autism as well as schizophrenia. The actor who played him was brilliant. The portraying of the meltdown was executed excelently. My Nan understood after that how autism can be for some. I explained them to her and what happens in Their head. The guy kept walking toward the door while the police were badgering and pestering with questions. He didn’t feel safe as it was. Eventually, he overturned the desk and was shouting etc. I knew right from the start of the interview of his agitation. You could tell. His obcession with the ISS (International space station) and UFOs was there too. He could detail every single potential sighting he’d read up on. perhaps the police, instead of badgering and questioning him, should have asked him the questions but after asking him about his models and how he knew so much, as well as asking him in his own space at home, rather than trapping him in an interview room; as he was not a suspect! If they then believed he was, he should have been released, not trapped in a cell! His parents tried to tell the officers, but they would not listen! The police even now do not have adequate training in these areas. People with brain injury also have trauma response like that and should be treated a lot more gently. Not patronised and talked down too like a child. Like: “Oh hello. Would you like to tell me about this? Or, Hello, are you alright? in a patronising manor! You’re talking to an adult! Yes, if they have cognitive difficulties, change your explanation, but not voice tone! Do not trap people in rooms. Do not keep them in cells and expect them to comply! If you believe they’re suspects, release on bale, but into a home they can be in with a carer! Not keeping them in a small compounded space! Explain why they are there, what for if they understand, then help them to understand, if they don’t. I would like to help people with SEnD and ABI. Would like to be there with them from when they wake from their coma, to when they’re out of the hospital and on their onward journey. Once they are with me, they would not have me leave their side. I would help the carers too. People need to understand what is going on in our brains, not tell us off, restrain us, Shout at us, and patronise! Authorities need to think twice before doing anything like that! You know better! Don’t just sit there in training mode and use your macanical voices! Talk to us, Actually talk! Not just talk in the macanical, question, response, question, response, oh, maybe they need comforting, I’ll just hand them a tissue as that’s all I’m allowed to do! No, they need a hug!!! You know, the form of human contact we need when upset? That one? Yes! That one! Tissues yes, but not that then just sit back and wait for the next answer! That’s not empathy! That’s not a caring person! That’s just a macanical person who’s just using their training in their way they were taught! Use it like a human!!! Not just a machine!

I remember that day! About 8 years ago. A tutor said to me, why not try the Open University. I was stubborn. I did not take his advice. I mean, surely you need qualifications? GCSEs? ALevels? I had none! Well, not that were University standard! That was it. My ideas of a degree in any kind were completely dreams of the past! The student in Highschool being told, you won’t get to university. Your examinations are too low to even get into 6th form. The work was never done on time. Lied about doing it and finding any excuse not to hand it in, even before deadlines! Deadlines not the same time as her sighted counterparts! That was it then! No university degree! So off she went to the local college. No, nothing there either. Well, perhaps some city and guild qualifications, but that was scraping the barrol. The royal national college would give her further qualifications, but… Still not university standard! After all, they want straight As! Or AStars! No, she had none of those! Except one, in Spanish. Where would that get her? Nowhere. The tutor said: Have you thought of the Open University. No, she said. She was not intending too! A year later, someone else asked her again. Fine, she thought! I’ll have a look! But there they were! Degrees! Degrees she had no chance of getting! Because, you needed qualifications, right? Wait… They are not asking for entry requirements? No ALevels? What? So, there’s a chance? She kept pressing her arrow keys, further and further down the screen. There it was, psychology. Should she? The cost… How would she fund that! She enrolled on the degree, psychology with counselling, but waiting for the news, we can’t fund it from the government, she was then told, someone is organising the funds! Her degree could start! A stormy night of october, 2014. In bed, she sat, looking at her module work to do! Her degree had begun! A BSC! The year went by. The work, so far was pretty easy. Things were going to go up a level in 2016. At this point, she’d flipped between Open degree, health sciences? Finally, Psychology! Level 2 started! The step up was huge! The rope she held ontoo, to stop her falling free-fall off the cliff eddge was there, but she was closer to the edge. She had to stay on the face. She couldn’t slip, into the abiss below! There was no way of getting out and back up! Level 2 came to the end, but level 3 was starting. The edge of the face was precariously close. The first failing of assignments. That was it. Freefall! Should she give up attempting to climb back up and attempt the rest of the walk, up onto the platform beyond? Or just hang here, with the perylous water below! But there was help. The OU’s help, and a mentor she had found. Back to the metaphor. There were people calling out to her from above, and hands reaching down to pull her up. Come on Sam! You can do this! You’ve come this far! You are within distance of your degree now. The journey end is in sight. Keep focused, keep going! The metaphoric climb is coming to an end! You can get to the summet. The years passed, the last year, the dissertation year had arrived. No help from tutors, she was on her own; Finding the participants, interviewing them, analysing the results. All without tutor support! She had her mentor, but that was all. She was sure by now, this would be the failing year! She passed, but scraped through. She thought to herself, I’ll just accept I’ll get a third class. It will still be a degree. Fastforward to Lourdes, 2024. This student, from all those years back, is me! Nervously opening my email, for my DE300 results, I waited. The wifi was slow. Pleading for it to hurry up, I waited, holding my breath! Waiting for something like 40%, but there on the page, was 57%. Now, the degree classification is coming. What would it be? Nervously the next day, I kept getting my phone out. After a while, I saw it. 2.2 Lower second class with honours! What? A 2.2? That can’t be!!! Is this a dream? It probably was! It will be over the next morning. I’ll wake up and it’ll just be a 3rd! The next morning, I checked. It was still there, 2.2! I still can’t believe it to this very day! Now, my graduation tickets are booked, I’m in the process of looking at gown hiring! I never thought this moment would happen! I never thought I’d get a BSC(hons) Psych(open) Finally, it has happened! The degree I never thought I would get! All thank; to the Open University! Thank you for believing in people, who struggled like myself! Long may this continue! For those still going, there is hope! The light is at the end! Your degree is within touching distance! You will get there!

Well last night’s UK election. What can I say? A historic victory for Labour! Rather like the Blare victory. Although I have high hopes for Sir Keir! A very quiet, calm figure, he sat back and waited. Waited for the public to place their trust in who ever it will be. Sunak. Or Starmer. A lonely figure perhaps, Sunak waited and with bated breath, but the disasters just kept on coming! Labour, labour, labour, labour and yet more, labour seas of red as the news put it. Sunak’s party, the conservatives, who had ruled for 14 years, of hellish torment, were finally being beaten! Beaten by the party for the working class, for the working members of society. For those who live and work without welth. For the poor, for the disabled! Finally, a new era had begun! I woke to a labour government! Although there’s one problem, I live on the iom, who have their own government, which right now in my view, is very highly torie. People have suggested I stand for MHK, member of the house of keys. Yes, in all my career interests, I never thought I would perhaps consider it! After watching all the times I’ve been rejected, all the times the healthcare system has neglected me as a child, with the band keretopathy as well as other things, when I hear on the radio about people having to fundraise. People being evicted from their houses for no reason. The council being sneaky with means tests. Invading privacy asking what income people get and savings. That in my view, is totally wrong! Waiting lists must be cut and recruitment sort! That means IOM students training over here, as well as in the UK. Learning over here about trauma etc. Our hospital becoming a fully fledged trauma centre. With surgeons being trained here as well and the UCM being upgraded with their medical degrees. Partnering with medical schools such as Liverpool. Insentives such as technology being given to them, voutures etc, stuff they would need. University phees scrapped. Education is something people get for free in school, so why not at university? Why must students have debt. They shouldn’t! Why should they have to pay to study? They shouldn’t! Why should disabled people be rejected by employers because of their disabilities, or because they can’t be bothered forking out money for adjustments that must be made, but they don’t want to tell their prospective employee that, so they lie! Yes, I know that system! I’ve had it done to me! The red tape safety policies must be scrapped! You want people to contribute to society, yet on the other hand, you stop them? Because of red tape! Corrupt and disgraceful! The ederly are not getting adequate care, so instead, they are bed blocking. Through no fault of their own. There aren’t enough beds. Yet beds were found so suddenly in the pandemic? There weren’t homes available, but were in the pandemic? Why so freely in the pandemic, but not for those who went to war, faught for our country, then retired, or those who worked all their lives, and now live without dignity? Because they only get £400 or less to live on? The government thinks that’s enough? Because they can line their own pockets with homes in Spain or other places that are hardly used! They should be treated better! And not as shockingly as they are on nhs at times! GP appointness are dier! Waiting 3 months or more? Shockingly bad! Again, doctors need to be trained on iom, right from ALevels and University application. The hospital has many buildings that are wasted because people are not using them! Tax the millionaires who live on the island and force them to pay for the training and upkeep of said buildings! As well as to those in poverty. Or who are unable to work because of long-term illness! There is a lot that this chief minister needs to think about changing and isn’t! It’s about time, like the UK, the iom voted for change! Yes, I suppose this is like a mini manifesto even though I’ve not the means to stand, but I’m seriously considering it! I would primarily focus on help for the disabled, elderly and inferm, and those waiting on long unnecessary waiting lists. They say they don’t want to pay for people to go across, but that’s because there’s lack of trust and lack of availability, because they fail to keep their staff! Why? Look at past cultures. The statistics do not lie. Unless people are endeavouring to manipulate them? As I have said, Change needs to come from the public and more need to stand! Especially disabled! Yes, if I did stand, I suspect I’d be slaughtered, but I would try! The best way to gain experience in politics, is to try and not give up! Listen to your people, not the papers. Listen to those on the streets, not just civil servants. Mix with people around you. What do they want? Give it to them! Don’t just say, leave it with me! That’s the, I won’t do anything attitude! The, I CBA attitude! The, I don’t actually care about constituants’ issues, attitude! No, you deal with it there, in front of them! So they can watch you! They might be at rock bottom, depressed and thinking of ending things! If you can save their life, by helping them with this one thing then do so! Sit with them, talk to them! Check regularly on them! Being in politics for me, wouldn’t just be about government and running my constituency, it would be about the wellfare of my constituents. About their feelings. About their lives! Their wellbeing! How can we help them! Not just sit and argue with other back benchers, or MHKS, or MPs, about issues needing dealing with! You deal with it now! You don’t argue! Unless it’s for your constituent! Unless you’re fighting for them! Or what is right! What’s right in your heart. Like I said, the IOM need to follow the UK! It needs to change! And change it can! We can! Together as one! I have made enamies. I made mistakes. I crossed boundaries I shouldn’t have! I upset people. But if I can redeem myself by being there to help you! To change lives for the better, I will. With every ounce of my being. To the best of my abilities. For you, not for me.

Wow! Continuing with Dr Hartman’s book! What an ausome guy he is! He totally had the same issues with social interaction I did. And still do. The walking in on inappropriate situations with a cheery voice, He says in his book, that blind people are stereo-typed with beggers from the old” days, and things like that. That they’re usually associated with helpless people wanting help to get to other places. Well, yes in the world of employment, at least in the UK we are! Oh, you can’t, you’re blind! Then there’s the ridiculous insurance policies that need to get thrown out of the nearest window and burned! Sorry but they’re ridiculous! No, he didn’t say that, but I am. You should all read his book. White coat, White cane! It’s very very good! I’m reading with diligence! I will fight tooth and nail to get into med school! Even if it is in the US or Canada.

Today, after yesterday’s nasty emails and threats, I have decided, every person stalking me shall be blocked. Every person stalking and manipulating others to stir and work people up into a frenzy shall be blocked. I am fed-up with the highschool antics of some. I hope eventually, friendships and hope I can rebuild bridges from the past. I know some will struggle with that, but like I have previously said before in other posts, life is too short. I know I made mistakes. I know I said things I shouldn’t have. I always say that, and I am not going to say sorry because I already have. There are certain people I will not forgive ever. They know who they are. Their threats to others, their disgusting language, calling me the C word on their posts. Making fun of my teeth and looks as well as voice and speaking to me via fake email accounts and tiktok accounts. I hope everyone is well at least. To those who recently walked away because of being manipulated and influenced by others, I feel sorry for you. That you’ve lost a potential friend. I hope you will realise that.

Finally, after 6 years of study, the end of my degree! I handed in my dissertation last week! From the hesitant student 6 years ago, who was debating on taking a degree. Who was struggling with accessability, to the student who has finally handed in her dissertation! I can’t believe that! From struggling with academia to struggling with writing and with fatigue, I have finally overcome it and am about to graduate! I am hoping for either a 2:2, or a 2:1. I have finally overcome the trolling from people who don’t like me. I hope today, that everyone is well. I have also begun to take photos of things, purely for the interest in the descriptions I get given back to me from Be my Eyes. It’s very interesting. It’s my birthday on Saturday, so I’m going for a meal on Friday to celebrate.

We all know the love that our parents give us, you know, the normal hugs, when they give us a hug good night That feels good and warm, but then there’s this thing called love, romantic love! When my partner comes into the room, I don’t get the classic heart racing or butterflies, like straight away. I get excited, like hello, how are you. But today, after meeting for the first time in 20 years, he hasn’t changed Just like he always was. But my first relationship. So, how do I feel? Well, it’s rather strange. Tears, but happy tears, or tears I can’t really explain. You see those movies where people fall in love and it’s all huggy huggy, smoochy smoochy. But I don’t believe in that. I kind of think you should take things slower than that! Like the people did in the 40s. The songs they wrote, were totally different. Singing about seeing you on street corners. How they feel about the person they’re with. Looking out of the window and they can see them. Hugging them when they walk in. Yes, they talk about their lips meeting in a kiss, but that’s it. Not really any further. But I’m kind of anticipating things. What will I feel? How will I feel when a guy kind of eniciates something? I don’t normally like it when people do that. I don’t mind the whole parents giving you hugs, but guys are different. This is totally different. The reality of things has kind of hit. It’s real. Things are happening and I mustn’t kind of anticipate them. I mustn’t let my nerves take over. It’s all very interesting. But very strange. Kind of hard to comprehend. But I must. It’s all very new New, but exciting. Who knows Who knows what the future will hold.

Good evening, I thought it was time to document the experience I had with the calcium removal.

The day of the 14th of March came. I got out of bed at 4 AM, had something to eat, then waited for my transport and HCA to pick me up. We finally arrived at the airport for 6 AM or there abouts. A short while later, we were boarding the plane for Liverpool. Half an hour later, we arrived at the airport, waiting for my taxi to the Royal Liverpool University hospital for the operation.

After about 20 minutes, the ECLO, eye clinic liaison officer, arrived to show me around the theatre admitions unit, TAU. Once that was complete and I’d met the staff, we then went to the ward, 6B, where I’d be staying overnight, to recover from the anaesthesia and to be monitored.

Finally, the operation came. The anaesthetist was very kind and let me feel all the tools they were going to use to intubate me. The boujie and the endotracheal tube, that would be going into my trachea to monitor my breathing. ‘ I finally arrived in theatre, after being spoken too by one of the surgens, Matteo, who was very kind. Ross, the anaesthetist and a nurse, prepared to anaesthetise me. The canular was put in and the proprofol given. Within about 30 seconds, as he predicted, I was out and the operation could begin.

I finally came round in recovery. I was then informed that my friends had arrived to see me once I was okay and out of recovery. That was going to take a long time. I suddenly felt the pain! Pain that I’d never felt before! A strong pain in my eyes, making both of them squeeze shut, so hard I couldn’t open them. I couldn’t concentrate on the words being said by people around me. Couldn’t tell where I was. Couldn’t ‘feel anything else, but the pain in my head, pain in my eyes and my nose! Again, I couldn’t open my eyes. I suddenly felt the tears start to come out of my eyes, but sideways. Like they were struggling to come out. I don’t normally cry out in pain, but this time I did. I couldn’t communicate in verbal form, but kept trying to press my eyes! Trying to tell them to give me something to stop the spasms. Stop them squeezing shut so hard that I couldn’t focus on surroundings or people, or even the ability to speak. The doctors and anaesthetists were trying to talk to me, but I couldn’t responde, except to cry out like a baby. I tried to say that my eyes can’t open. Except it came out something like: They’re shut. Squeezing shut. I can’t… Open… Then it trailed away.

The on-call doctor decided to proscribe morphine. And codine. I was worried at first that it would make me sick, as I’d never had it before. Waiting for the nausea to start, I braced myself, but fortunately, it didn’t come. When I was finally stable and the pain subsided enough to be able to communicate in full sentences once more, I was brought down to the ward. At the same time, I was anxious, as my friends who I go to visit had been kept waiting, because of my severe pain! I was wheeled up to the ward on my bed and brought into the room. Yes, I had my own room, with an ensuite. Unlike our local hospital. It was 5 star luxury compared to our hospital.

I was introduced to everyone on the ward and shown where my table was and finally, I was able to see my friend, Helen. She came with a lot of gifts from everyone, including chocolates, molteezers, troughals and heros. I was also given a small rosary, by my friend Beryl. I didn’t know that would be needed later in the night, when the pain would return, as severe as it was in recovery. Overnight, I had to keep buzzing for help. The pain came back, just as bad as it was in recovery and IV, Intravenous paracetamol was not cutting it! Neither was codine. It was trips too and from my room, by the lovely nurses and HCAs who took care of me throughout my stay, that helped. The one who held my hand and tried to wipe the tears coming out sideways from my eyes. The one who stopped me trying to press into my eyes with my hands. The one who said: Do you believe in God, to which I responded, yes. She then gave me my rosary from off the table, saying: He will help you get better. Just be brave! The next day, after a very rough and exhausting night, the HCA on the morning shift came in to see me. She was surprised at the state I was in. They phoned ahead to the st Pauls ED and explained I was in severe pain again, and could they do something about it.

I was meant to be discharged that day, but it was decided by the on-call ophthalmologist, who was one of the surgeons I had, that I stay in another night to be kept comfortable with the pain management. Eventually, I was able to go home on the saturday, however I was still in pain and my bands around my corneas, had both come out, due to the spasm of my eyes. eventually, slowly, day by day, I am starting to come down off the pain meds. I’ve just come off the oromorph, liquid Morphine, hoping to be off the codine, and stepping down to the paracetamol level, which I will hopefully not use. I would like to thank the eye surgeons, the ECLO, the HCAs, doctors in recovery, nurses, the anaesthetist, HCAs in ward 6B, the day and night staff on the ward for their excellent care and outstanding kindness and compassion. Thank you so much! I have a follow-up in 6 weeks, so we will know more about the calcium removal then. We do know though, that they had to remove 30 years of calcium build-up in both eyes, as our hospital did nothing until my optician found it and pushed for something to be done! I have now asked for my ophthalmological care to be in Liverpool, as well as my cardiac care.