Things are looking up!

A few years ago, I decided that I wanted to go back to university and try, for the third time, to actually complete a masters, because my body has just not always been willing to get me through. I had similar issues regarding my health, when trying to complete my undergraduate degree, too. It seems that third time lucky has been the way things would work!

When I actually passed 2 of my A-Levels, nobody was more surprised than I was. I had only been able to attend for about 6 months out of the 18 months of teaching I should have been in school for - and that was in sporadic hours here and there as glandular fever, and then what was diagnosed back then as post-viral syndrome took hold.

I'd always been expected to go to university, to do well. I was the academic one, and I felt a hge amount of pressure around this - so, when I managed to get a place through Clearing to go to London Guildhall University to study Modern Languages, I grabbed it - even though I'd actually wanted to study pscyhology and criminology, just hadn't got the grades. Oddly enough, I hated the psychology I took as a minor, and the language classes - but I loved the European history we were forced to take.

When I went home for the summer, after a year where I had gained about three stone due to comfort eating, depression, drinking too much and dabbling in drugs to try and self-medicate myself from the pain, the extreme fatigue and the depression that started to rear it's head because I just didn't seem to be able to get well. I plucked up the courage to tell my parents I couldn't go back. I hated living in London. I was sick and miserable, and I didn't want to waste their money only to fail. I had expected them to shout and rant and rail at me - but they sat there, silent, looks of disappointment on their faces that were soo much harder to bear than the yelling would have been.

But I tried to convince them that I had a plan, and I told them that I intended to go and train as a nurse. I'd always wanted to be a doctor, and given that I hadn't got the grades to do that, I figured it was the next best option. My sister was already training at the University of Hertfordshire, and she was loving it - I prayed I would be as happy as she was. I wasn't, and I did my back in - so, I vowed never to go to university again.

I knew my parents were unhappy about this, especially as I then ended up working in pubs, and as a care assistant - jobs I loved, but they thought weren't worthy of my so-called intellect. But, I tried to ignore it.

Yet, even though I loved what I was doing (when I was well enough to do it) I wasn't happy. I worked all the hours god sent, mainly so I didn't have to spend much time at home, and eventually I realised that my parents were right (to some extent - working as a community carer is bloody hard work, more skilled than people realise and massively underpaid), I needed to be using my brain.

And so, I headed off to college to do an Access Course, to improve my chances of getting in somewhere I wanted to go, to do something I wanted to study. I made it to Leicester University to study Ancient History and Archaeology - and I loved it. Right up until a minor car accident sent my back into crazy spasm, made all my other stuff flare and meant I had to take a year out.

Unfortunately, when I finally did gradaute with a 2.1 and my dissertation published on the site of the Trireme Trust, I searched without luck for work in archaeology or heritage. It was a time when there were so few jobs that what had once been entry level positions for people with GCSE's were now being snapped up by people with PhDs and so I accepted defeat and went to work in an office (where I met Aidan, which was at least one good thing to come out of it!)

My intention had been to earn enough moeny to go and do my masters, but I never got there. I got places - at Sheffield to study osteology and at Southampton to study Maritime Archaeology as I couldn't decide which I wanted most. But, I didn't take up either one. Like a sappy fool, I feared my new relationship wouldn't last, us being so far apart, and felt that I couldn't ask Aidan to up sticks and move just for a year.

So, I accepted my fate and, not surprisingly as the stress of doing jobs I hated grew, working for idiots who seemed intent on making me as incompetent as they were, my body broke down completely. The symptoms that I had managed to just about function around since I was a teenager now were permanent. I quit my job, and prayed that I would work something out.

And I did, accidentally!

We were going to buy a house in Stowmarket, and so I enrolled on a holistic therapies course at West Suffolk College in the hope of meeting people in the local area. Unfortunately the house purchase fell through, but I was already on the course by then - and I loved it!

I spent 14 years working part-time, from home as a complementary therapist. It was great. I could choose my hours. I got to help people feel great - and some of the stuff I learned was actually quite useful for me too - but I always felt like I had a big 'what if' hanging over me. So, I chose to go back to uni.

I thought I wanted to study boats, to return to my love for the ships and seafaring of ancient civilisations - in particular Athens. It turned out I didn't! Every assignment I could, I made it about health and diet and I knew I'd chosen the wrong course - even though the Maritime Archaeology and History course at Bristol University was excellent!

So, I came back and accepted the dream of academia was over. Right up until I started writing for a living. I thought it might be useful to go and get a Masters in Creative Writing, to hone my skills and learn some new ones. I managed a year, before my health collapsed (and to be honest, I simply wasn't impressed by the course.) I convinced myself that a postgraduate qualification wasn't something I needed or wanted, so it was ok.

I plodded onwards. but like it had been before I went to Leicester, I felt something nagging at me. I wanted to prove that despite the brain fog, the being easily confused, the constant exhaustion and other symptoms that I could achieve something amazing. So, not only did I decide to give it another go, but I decided to switch from arts subjects to science - and so, I am now studying Biological Anthropology at Bournemouth University.

Which is why I wanted to write this post today - because I wanted to tell you about my wonderful lecturer, Sally, who knowing I've been having a really tough time of it this week, let me attend my lectures today via Skype - from the comfort of my own home in Essex.

I cannot tell you how much such support means to someone with chronic health concerns. So often we feel we have to force ourselves to attend lectures and seminars, because otherwise we might be failed - or even worse, have to flunk out. The whole department at Bournemouth has been amazing, helping me to find way so that I can achieve my Masters, ideally without having to half-kill myself in the process.

And so, today's post is for all those amazing lecturers (especially Sally and Ellie) who go above and beyond for their students, and for the institutions that ensure disabled students get all the support that they need. It should be commonplace that disability is catered for, but the sad truth is that accessibility is still not as widespread as it should be. Us disabled folk are not asking for special treatment, all we want is to be able to access the things everyone else takes for granted. Hats off to the people and places that make this happen.