‘I can’t believe I’m doing this. I can’t believe I agreed to this, what was I thinking? I’m not sure I can do this mum’?
This was me yesterday at approximately 11.30am, as I finished getting ready to go to a physios in posh leafy Wilmslow. I was truly ‘bricking it’ as they say. Why I hear you ask? Well, as some of you know, I currently suffer with OCD and emetophobia. This trip would involve four tram rides, two train rides and several longish walks.
Even though I was dreading this trip, at the same time I was excited by it. From a mental health perspective, I have been trying to push myself of late doing certain exposures, so this trip seemed like a good step forwards if I could manage it. From a pelvic pain perspective, I was desperate to see a physio that specialised in the pelvic region. I have had pelvic pain issues for over nineteen years and am fed of just putting up with it. I am fed up of telling disbelieving people that this condition of mine will be helped if only I could see the right person.
I had only been walking for about ten minutes to the tram stop, when I almost walked in an absolute pile of dog poo. In fact, I may have even walked in a little bit of it on the road, but the RATIONAL FIGHTER in me fought it. I couldn’t let this incident stop me going to this physios I thought.
I managed on the trams OK and finally made it to Manchester Piccadilly Train Station. This was where my anxiety was rife because getting on a train would be the hardest bit of this trip. Manchester to Wilmslow would be at least seventeen minutes on a train. This would be the longest I had ever been on such transport in over eight years. I put my music on to distract myself and did that silly fake hard walk I do whenever I’m nervous. I was puffing my cheeks out looking like a cocky wanker, when in reality I felt like a scared little kitten. I was truly petrified but I needed to make the next leap with my recovery. More so though, if I wanted this pelvic pain sorting out then I had no choice but to step on a train once again.
Beforehand, I decided that for my first trip there and back, that I would stand up on the trains, i.e baby steps. I had only been on the train for about five minutes when I got this disgusting smell, it smelt a lot like sick(my phobia). Five minutes after, I smelt it again but stronger this time. I immediately panicked and started ruminating where it had possibly come from? I had not sat down anywhere though so it can’t possibly have come from me I thought. Did I fight it and not let it stop me going to the physios, or did I cancel saying that my OCD had overwhelmed me too much? I am pleased to say that I chose to fight it. The emotional support that I got from my mum here(via the phone) was truly incredible. I really will be indebted to my dear mother for the rest of my life.
Finally, I made it to the physios. I was soooooooo chuffed I had not let my OCD demons beat me. The appointment went better than I could ever have expected. The physio had a lovely friendly manner about her and really, really knew her stuff. After examining me both externally and internally(yes that bit made my eyes water), she told me that my pelvis was in spasm and that she could put a treatment plan together for me.
I came away with exercises to do at home and agreed that I would go and see her again in two weeks time. I was so happy that I had decided to go and see this specific healthcare professional, even though the journey there had been extremely testing at times. I was going to do it again though because I want to get better. In order to fight my OCD I need a strong motivation, therefore this remains mine.
The train ride back went a lot better than the one there and no funny smells were smelt this time. It felt so good to feel ‘normal’, to do an activity that loads of people do everyday without giving it a second thought. My walk home from the tram stop involved me pole vaulting over another pile of dog poo, but even this couldn’t dampen my enthusiasm about the day I’d just had. Once home, I was absolutely shattered but overjoyed that I’d coped with my OCD. I had not let my OCD win when I so easily could have let it. Ultimately, I guess my Mr RATIONAL refused to be bullied by my Mr IRRATIONAL!
My day had been a success, a day that had involved four trams, two trains and jumping over two piles of dog poo……….THE TRIUMPH OF A TESTING DAY!