The NHS.

During my 24 years of life I have had 2 MRIs, one CT scan and approximately 15 X-rays. I’ve been seen by cardiologists, stroke specialists and physiotherapists. Within the next 5 years of my life I will see psychiatrists, gender specialists and therapists.

I’ve been rushed into hospital once in an ambulance and I’ve called 999 to get an ambulance for someone else in excess of 10 times.

I have prescriptions for an acid reflux problem and asthma and will (hopefully) be prescribed testosterone in the future.

Eventually, I hope to undergo a double incision surgery to remove my breasts and a series of complex surgeries to give me a functioning penis.

All thanks to the NHS.

Yes, it is sometimes difficult to get a doctor’s appointment. Yes, prescriptions go missing. Yes, people have to wait a while in A&E before being seen. Nothing in this world is perfect.

The NHS is, in my opinion, as close to perfection as it gets.

I’ve just watched a recent episode of “Hospital” which focused on a trauma unit responding to the Westminster Bridge terror attack.

It wasn’t an eye opener as such because i am aware of the phenomenal work that the NHS does on a daily basis but it was a reminder of how appreciative we should all be.

Every single member of the NHS works tirelessly, with strained resources, to get the best possible outcome.

999 call responders in the control room, receptionists behind counters in rural GP practices, porters in every corridor of every hospital all over the country. Nurses, cleaners and doctors. Midwives, lab technicians and paramedics.

I have the upmost respect for everyone in the above list and those NHS staff that I haven’t mentioned.

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London.

Last week, I saw a video of people running away from the area where the terrorist act took place.

One of those people running was a woman wearing a hijab.

She was running for her life.

She was running for her life yet some people will say that last week’s terror attack was an act carried out in her religion’s name.

No.

I am fed up of hearing such things.

Every day millions of Muslims go to work and school and live their normal lives. They forget to get petrol on the way home and they help their kids with their homework and they fall asleep midway through a programme and have to watch it all over again. They tread on an upturned plug, have to untangle their headphones and they get crumbs in the butter. They miss work deadlines, get caught out in the rain not wearing a coat and they take their unwell pets to the vets.

They lead normal fucking lives.

Muslims are not terrorists. Muslims are people who believe in Islam.

Terrorists are morons who do not represent a religion.

No more intolerance. No more easy scapegoats. No more fear.

More love, support and unity.

Fear.

“Does that frighten you?”, my therapist asked me in our reflective time at the end of our session.

“Yes.”, I replied; without even contemplating it.

“Good. It should.”, was her response.

Fear drives us forward.

Today, I’m driving and I’ll be full of fear. I’m doing a rail replacement bus service in London and I’m terrified. I was talking to a colleague about it and he said “You get a buzz; the unknown roads, knowing you might get lost. It’ll spur you on!”. There was a hunger in his eyes.

There are only flashing danger signs in mine.

For me, fear is very social based. Fear of rejection. Fear of not being good enough. Fear that someone will realise that I’m 23 and basically just winging it.

You can’t wing London.

I want the love they’ve got.

Recently, me and my boy (not my boyfriend, let’s be clear. And not my son either, I had a rather troubling dream last night about looking after a child so I’m clearly not fit for motherhood.) went to see The Killers at the 02 Arena. Well we went to see Tegan and Sara but it was mainly a Killers gig so…

Anyway.

A little while after we got there a woman turned up and sat a space down from me. We had a brief chat and then she started to read her book. I instantly thought how cute this was; she had come to a gig by herself and was now reading.

I would say she was in her 30s with long brown hair. She looked nerdy but in a really sweet way not in a showing off kind of way.

About half an hour later a man appeared and she screamed his name and flung her arms around him. He kissed her on the cheek and they sat down and started chatting.

Me and my friend came to the conclusion that they were old friends who hadn’t seen each other for a while because of the way that she seemed so thrilled to see him.

However, I overheard the fact that they were married and noticed them holding hands. I was surprised to say the least as I had originally thought that they were just friends.

When The Killers really got going they stood up and waved their arms around and danced like they were the only people in the room. I admired that because nearly everyone else was dancing in the same way; leg jolting, hands punching in the air. But they were swaying and turning at the hips as if it was their own private concert in their living room.

Then the sweetest thing happened.

The man sat down, clearly shattered from his rave, and watched his wife as she danced. She couldn’t see this but he was just smiling, grinning even and you could tell he was so proud and just thinking “That’s my wife.”

So why have I told you this? Well for a multitude of reasons really. The first is because it’s been a while since I’ve blogged and I feared that I might have been forgotten a bit and I feel like I’ve abandoned you. Secondly because that’s what I want out of life. That is how I want to be. I want to be so comfortable with someone so I can thrash my arms around and sing out of tune and shake my head and look like a complete idiot and know that someone, somewhere is proud that I’m their wife. I want to have a relationship where I am excited to see my partner and where the love is obvious. Not in your face, overly affectionate kind of obvious but “wow those two are made for each other” kind of obvious. I want that so badly. I want the love they’ve got.