Latest news with #GP
Yahoo
2 hours ago
- Health
- Yahoo
Bolton's best and worst GPs as rated by patients
The best and worst GP surgeries in the borough as rated by patients have been revealed. A total of 96 per cent of patients at Halliwell Surgery 2, in Lindfield Drive, rated it either 'very good' or 'fairly good' in the 2025 GP Patient Survey, up from 77 per cent last year. The practice finished above last year's top performing practice, Dr Zarrouk & Partners, also known as Bradford Street Surgery, which has moved down to fourth place with a still impressive 92 per cent of patients rating the surgery good. Dr Awan Abbas, of Halliwell Surgery 2, said: "We are incredibly honoured to be voted the best GP surgery in Bolton. Halliwell Surgery 2 on Lindfield Drive was voted the best by patients in this year's GP Patient Survey. (Image: Google Maps) "This recognition is a reflection of the hard work, dedication, and compassion shown by every member of our team - from our reception staff and admin team to our nurses and doctors. "We are deeply grateful to our patients for their trust and ongoing support. "Our focus has always been to provide safe, high-quality, and patient-centred care, and this recognition inspires us to continue striving for excellence in all the services we provide to our patients." Meanwhile, the 3D Medical Centre in Deane Road, finished in last position with 52 per cent of patients rating the practice as "good". READ MORE: A total of 2,721,415 questionnaires were sent out nationally, and 702,837 were returned completed between December 30 last year and April 1. This represents a response rate of 25.8 per cent. Across the country, 75.4 per cent said their overall experience of their GP practice was good, an increase from the previous year. A total of 92.5 per cent said they had confidence and trust in the healthcare professional at their last appointment. However, just over half of respondents said that it was easy to contact their GP practice over the phone at 52.9 per cent. The GP Patient Survey was carried out by NHS England with Ipsos. Patients were asked a range of questions about their experiences of their practices including accessing appointments and accessing online services or out-of-hours services.
The Sun
17 hours ago
- Health
- The Sun
TV doctor Hilary Jones skips the NHS waiting list for surgery – and you can too with little-known trick
TV DOCTOR Hilary Jones travelled 180 miles for surgery to bypass his local NHS wait list, which would have left him in limbo for over a year. The popular GP, 72, from Kent, underwent a second hip replacement in a hospital in Birmingham, using an NHS referral service to fast-track the op. 3 3 Now, he is speaking out about his own surgery to show others waiting for treatment that they can also fast-track themselves - as long as they're happy to travel. Hilary was told he had moderately severe osteoarthritis in 2018, after suffering from hip pain. He had his right hip replaced weeks later on the NHS. But in October last year, the GP found out his left hip would also need surgery, after struggling with mobility. When he was told he'd have to wait over a year for hip replacement in Kent, he took advantage of an NHS loophole few people know exist. It's called NHS Patient Choice and it provides patients with a legal right to choose where they receive their NHS healthcare services, including hospitals and other providers. This includes many private hospitals, as long as they provide services to the NHS and it does not cost the health service any more than a referral to a standard NHS hospital. Hilary discovered a hospital in the middle of the country that had almost no waiting list and decided to make the 360-mile round trip for surgery. At his local hospital he would have waited more than a year but this took half that time. Speaking after his procedure at Practice Plus Group 's new hospital in Birmingham, Hilary said: 'It was 180 miles from my home to Birmingham - but as it's a new hospital and it's a private hospital that treats NHS patients, they could get me in very quickly just with a referral from my GP. 'I'd do it again in a heartbeat for faster, quality care and highly recommend it. "Patient Choice gives people real power - they just need to know it's there. "The NHS App is going to be developed further to make this easier, and you can speak to your GP about your choices. 'You can choose to be referred to a private hospital at the outset, or you can switch hospitals like I did if you're facing delays locally. 3 "It's free for the patient and costs the NHS no more than if that same patient had their op at an NHS hospital. "For people like me, who are lucky enough to be mobile despite needing an operation, it makes complete sense to find a hospital that can do your operation sooner so you can get on the road to recovery sooner. 'People don't want to be on a waiting list. They want to get on with their lives. 'Every single person that looked after me was amazing and couldn't have done any more. I am delighted with the result so far.' The news follows a poll of 1,000 adults suffering from chronic aches and pains - including those in need of hip and knee replacements - which revealed people in need of NHS operations would be willing to travel if it meant they could get the surgery they're desperate for, sooner. On average, respondents were happy to travel 60 miles if it meant they'd be seen within three-to-four weeks, or 49 miles for a six-to-eight-week timeframe. TIMELINE OF THE NHS WAITING LIST THE NHS waiting list in England has become a political flashpoint as it has ballooned in recent years, more than doubling in a decade. The statistics for England count the number of procedures, such as operations and non-surgical treatments, that are due to patients. The procedures are known as elective treatment because they are planned and not emergencies. Many are routine ops such as for hip or knee replacements, cataracts or kidney stones, but the numbers also include some cancer treatments. This is how the wait list has changed over time: August 2007: 4.19million – The first entry in current records. December 2009: 2.32million – The smallest waiting list on modern record. April 2013: 2.75million – The Conservative and Liberal Democrat coalition restructures the NHS. Current chancellor Jeremy Hunt was Health Secretary. April 2016: 3.79million – Junior doctors go on strike for the first time in 40 years. Theresa May is elected Prime Minister. February 2020: 4.57million – The final month before the UK's first Covid lockdown in March 2020. July 2021: 5.61million – The end of all legal Covid restrictions in the UK. January 2023: 7.21million – New Prime Minister Rishi Sunak pledges to reduce waiting lists within a year, effectively April 2024. September 2023: 7.77million – The highest figure on record comes during a year hit with strikes by junior doctors, consultants, nurses and ambulance workers. February 2024: 7.54million – Ministers admit the pledge to cut the backlog has failed. August 2024: 7.64million – List continues to rise under Keir Starmer's new Labour Government. September 2024: 7.57million – A one per cent decline is the first fall since February and a glimmer of hope. December 2024: 7.46million – The list has fallen for four consecutive months. January 2025: 7.43m – still falling but slowly, likely due to added strain on emergency services and more cancellations due to illness over winter. And one in 10 would even travel over 200 miles if they could get the NHS surgery they need within a month. Of those polled, 36 per cent are currently on a waiting list, and 17 per cent have been in a queue for more than a year. But 55 per cent had no idea that under NHS Patient Choice, you can choose to travel to a hospital outside of your area that has a shorter waiting list - often a private hospital that treats NHS patients. Those surveyed had similar motivations to Dr Hilary, with 55 per cent simply wanting to resume normal activities sooner, and 68 per cent wanting to avoid prolonged discomfort and pain. For 63 per cent, avoiding the stress of waiting was also key. However, 88 per cent of those polled, via OnePoll, believed the option to choose your hospital needed to be promoted more widely. Commissioned by Practice Plus Group hospitals, which treat NHS patients as well as those who choose their Wellsoon private healthcare option, the survey also revealed 35 per cent of those who would consider going private to beat the waiting lists would travel for more than 90 minutes if it meant saving £2,000 or more on the cost of paying for a hip or knee replacement. Jim Easton, chief executive, added: 'It's fantastic for patients that in the NHS 10 year plan, the government has renewed its commitment to using capacity in the private sector and to creating a new patient choice charter to ensure the NHS is receptive and reactive to patient preferences. 'To achieve the ambitious waiting time targets, we also need more people to know that they can travel outside of their immediate area if they find a hospital that can see them sooner. 'It is important people realise they have the power to be proactive and get their treatment sooner, get back to work and back on track as soon as possible. 'Dr Hilary found this at our Birmingham hospital which currently can see people in a few short weeks. 'We're proud to have been able to help him and wish him a speedy and healthy recovery.'
The Sun
19 hours ago
- Health
- The Sun
I spent £3.6k on Turkey op to drop 11 bra sizes – I was sick of men ogling my massive 36K boobs
A MUM burdened with enormous 36K boobs was so sick of unwanted oglers she flew to Turkey for an operation to drop 11 cup sizes - after being 'rejected' by the NHS. Caitlin Telford suffered agonising back pain for a decade and was left with deep grooves in her shoulders from the crushing weight of her chest dragging on her bra straps. 4 4 The 27-year-old, of Glasgow, first visited her GP at 17 - sporting a 32G chest - seeking out a reduction, but claims she was rejected due to her age. The travel company administrator says she returned multiple times over the years, only to be repeatedly refused surgery on the NHS due to her BMI - only to be rejected when she lost weight. So when her boobs ballooned to their largest at 36K after giving birth to her son in 2023, she began searching for private surgery options in the UK, but her dreams of having a smaller chest were crushed, after being quoted £10,000. The determined mum looked further afield and ended up flying to Istanbul, Turkey, to undergo the same procedure for £3,600. Weeks on from going under the knife on June 11, Caitlyn said: 'I'm very happy with them and it's changed my life. 'My birthday is in a few weeks, so I'm looking forward to wearing a backless dress or strapless top.' Caitlin told how the size of her breasts affected her from a young age. She said: 'When I used to go out when I was 17 or 18 I'd get a lot of unsolicited male attention. 'Even when I went out with my partner at the time, I would get attention and that would annoy them too. 'It started with pain across my back and I've been on lots of different painkillers for this over the years. I was also developing grooves in my shoulders where the bra was pulling on them constantly. I was born in Wales but made in Turkey after I had a glow up & £2.4K sleeve - people say I look like a different person 'When I was 17 I finally went to the doctors for the first time to see what they could do. 'They panned me off and said because I was young, and hadn't stopped growing. 'Then every time I went back, I've been told my BMI is too high. - it was annoying as they seemed to be taking my overall weight for my BMI and not thinking about the weight of my chest." And despite Caitlyn losing around five stone, she still got rejected. She added: 'It just puts you down as you feel like no matter how much weight you lose because you have a bigger chest, you're never going to be a weight that you can be in a BMI they want you to. 'I would definitely recommend going to Turkey for a reduction - the price difference was unreal." NHS Greater Glasgow and Clyde (NHSGGC) said that eligibility for breast reduction surgery is determined via the NHS Scotland Exceptional Referral process (ERP), which relates to procedures that are not routinely offered and can only be provided on an exceptional case basis. NHSGGC said the protocol ensures that only cases meeting all necessary criteria are considered for these procedures, through a clinical assessment that includes a range of factors such as the severity of symptoms, impact on daily life, and overall health. 4 4
Yahoo
2 days ago
- Health
- Yahoo
I was 17 when my boyfriend pulled out chunks of my hair. His abuse still haunts me at 43
As I sit in the hairdresser's chair, she lifts some strands of hair to look at the condition, and I freeze. I can already feel beads of sweat starting to form on my back. She asks, 'Been a while since you've had it cut?' I nod. It's been 10 months. I say, 'I've got a sensitive scalp, so can you be careful while washing it, please?' What I don't tell the hairdresser is that I dread anyone touching my head because 25 years ago, the man I loved ripped chunks of hair out while he was throwing me down the stairs. All because I didn't tell him I was going on a night out. For years, I wouldn't set foot inside a salon without taking a beta blocker I was prescribed by my GP for situational anxiety. I grit my teeth as she lathers the shampoo, trying not to think of the sharp pain and tingling I was left with when he yanked my hair so hard that he left me with a bald spot. It has got easier to deal with my hair being touched by strangers, but I never expected painful memories to be triggered so long after the relationship had ended. According to the charity Safe Lives, two-thirds of domestic abuse survivors experience post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD) – more than twice the rate experienced by soldiers in combat. New research from the University of Glasgow has found that women who experienced physical abuse in the context of domestic violence risk ongoing mental health disorders despite the exposure to domestic violence having ceased, on average, 27 years before assessment. I met Colin at work when I was 17, and he was 33 (which, to everyone except me, was a huge red flag). I thought I was wise beyond my years, and Colin was everything I was looking for in a mate: strong, funny, intelligent and charming. After a few months of working together, we shared our first kiss on the way home from after-work drinks. He showered me with affection and attention; when we weren't at work, he called and texted constantly, which was flattering at first. Our relationship escalated quickly, and we were living together within three months. It took about six months before Colin became violent, but in the meantime, he had begun to manipulate and control every aspect of my life in ways that were nearly imperceptible at the time. We shared a bank account, but I was scatty and kept 'losing' my debit card, so he persuaded me it would be easier for him to give me a weekly cash allowance. I now think Colin was hiding my card all along. We worked together, so we spent every waking moment in each other's company. He would subtly belittle me in front of colleagues, picking on my insecurities and reinforcing every negative thought I ever had about myself. He poisoned me against my family (who could sense early on that he was bad news), causing an estrangement that would take years to heal. When my friends invited me out, he would guilt me into staying home, often claiming to be unwell. Friends stopped reaching out, and I became increasingly reliant on Colin. As this was my first serious relationship, I had no frame of reference or clue that his behaviour was troubling. The first act of violence happened at Christmas. Colin was sick with the flu, and I'd decided to go to the office Christmas party on a whim without telling him. When I returned to our flat, I discovered I was locked out. I battered at the door, and when Colin opened it, I saw his face twisted into a shape I didn't recognise. He was drunk, and I knew immediately that he was going to hurt me. He hissed, 'You've been with another man, haven't you, you sl-t?' as he grabbed me by the hair and threw me down a short flight of stairs. I banged my head hard, and it took me a minute to get back on my feet. When I did, Colin was standing before me with a chunk of my hair in his hand. Sobbing, I told him, 'I was at the Christmas party, ask anyone in the office,' but he just kept calling me a sl-t. I staggered down the stairs and into the cold December night. I had no idea where to go, I wasn't speaking to my parents, I didn't have any friends I could call. I just sat at a bus stop and wept. After about an hour, I heard footsteps and saw Colin. I cowered, thinking he was going to hurt me, and he started crying. 'I'm so sorry, baby. I don't know what came over me. I am so scared you're going to leave me.' He knelt at my feet and begged for forgiveness, and I found myself comforting him, even after what he'd done to me. He was a master manipulator and lured me back with promises that he'd change, and it would never happen again. But it did. We lived together peacefully for months at a time, then, as soon as he'd drunk too much or had a hard day, the violent rage would return. I lived in hypervigilance, barely talking in case I said something that would trigger Colin's rage. I lived in shame, not telling anyone about the abuse because I believed what was happening to me was my fault. I drank heavily, sank into a deep depression and would often feel disappointed to wake up in the morning. People ask, 'Why didn't you leave?' and I did try. The main issue was that I had nowhere to go. Shelters were full, I still wasn't in a good place with my family, and I had no money. When I did pluck up the courage to leave at age 20, he threatened to take his own life unless I came back to him, another manipulation tactic. In the end, it took three aborted attempts before I left for good, after one final eruption of violence that left me physically scarred and fearing for my life. When I left, I told him if he ever contacted me again, I would phone the police, and he could see that I meant it. I arrived on my parents' doorstep with my life in two bin bags and my mental health in tatters. Leaving was the easy part. Living with what had happened to me was much harder. I lived in a state of near-permanent anxiety and had flashbacks at unexpected moments, like in the hairdresser's chair when my head jerked back as the brush found a tug in my hair. I was right back to that December night, cowering in fear, my scalp on fire. When I had a wisdom tooth extraction, I couldn't look at myself in the mirror for over a week because my swollen, bruised face reminded me of a previous attack. I tried to push the memories down and get on with my life. After some time by myself, I started dating again, but found myself not only distrusting the men I met, but also my instincts. I had initially fallen for what I thought was a great guy, who turned out to be anything but, and was worried I was a terrible judge of character. However, at 21, I met Ronnie, a sweet man who was gentle, kind and understanding. We were married within six months of meeting, much to the surprise of everyone who knew us. I rushed into marriage partly to draw a line under my past because this new relationship came with a new surname and a move to a different city. My husband encouraged me to seek therapy because he had grown up in an abusive household and knew the lasting impact domestic violence could have. I had six sessions of NHS therapy and was diagnosed with PTSD, but that short course of treatment didn't 'fix' me. The therapy brought up a lot of intense and painful emotions, and I felt like I'd never be able to move past what happened to me. I didn't sleep properly for weeks after therapy finished. I felt hopeless and withdrew from my husband and my family, calling in sick to work and spending my days locked in the house, scared to go outside. I began to drink quite heavily one afternoon, pulling all the booze out to the cupboards that I could find. I wanted the pain to go away, and I would do anything I could to make it stop. I started raiding the medicine cabinet for painkillers, popping two handfuls of paracetamol into my mouth and washing them down with wine. I wanted to die. At first, I felt relieved; my pain would soon be over. Then I thought of my family and the people who loved me. I couldn't face the thought of living any more, but I wasn't ready to leave them. I called my husband and told him what I'd done, and he rushed home from work to take me to the hospital, where I promptly threw up all over the waiting room. After some blood tests, the hospital discharged me with a number for the crisis team, whom I was to check in with for the next few weeks, and who encouraged me to be more open with loved ones about how I was feeling. I hadn't been honest about the extent of the abuse, even with my family, so I sat them down and explained how bad things had been, and why I had decided that death was preferable to living with the pain. They were shocked, but started to understand more about how that relationship had forever altered me. Sharing my story with them helped to unload some of the shame I had felt over the relationship. I thought I had deserved what had happened to me, that I had provoked Colin to behave like that, but it was never my fault. I went back to suppressing my pain, mainly by drinking too much. My marriage ended after three years, partly because I had a paranoid mistrust of my husband. Every time my husband did something nice, I felt there had to be an ulterior motive because Colin was never kind for no reason. I've worked hard to rebuild my life after abuse, but have struggled with romantic relationships. Giving so much space and energy to mistrusting and second-guessing a potential partner's every move was exhausting, and I knew I needed to take a break from dating. I haven't been in a long-term relationship since my mid-20s. However, I am open to dating in the future. I've attended therapy on and off for years and began seeing a regular therapist in 2022, who referred me for specialist trauma therapy called eye movement desensitisation and reprocessing (EMDR). Instead of talking in detail about a distressing issue, EMDR instead focuses on changing the emotions, thoughts or behaviours that result from a distressing experience. Change didn't happen overnight, but the trauma no longer affects me as viscerally as it once did. I thought I was doing much better, but then, last November, I found out Colin had died. You'd think I'd be relieved. It was over; he could never hurt me again. I made an emergency therapy appointment because I found that I was sad about his death. I couldn't understand why until the therapist explained I had spent a lot of our early sessions saying, 'If only he had changed, maybe we could have been happy,' but that was a fantasy. I could never have forced Colin to change; he had to decide to change on his own. Perhaps I was mourning a version of him that didn't exist. Since Colin's death, I feel like I've turned a corner, mainly because the monster who haunted my nightmares wouldn't be coming back to get me. I am taking care of myself a lot better now; I quit drinking eight years ago and am trying my best to shed the heavy weight of past abuse and rebuild trust in others. I'm dating again, but I'm not putting any pressure on myself to find 'the one'. My life revolves around my friends, family, and my dog, a three-year-old spaniel named Bonnie, who gives me a reason to get outside as much as possible, which massively benefits my mental health. Things are less fraught when I go for a haircut, thanks to deep breathing exercises and restricting my trips to the hairdresser to twice a year. I hope I'll get to a point where the pain of the past won't be my whole narrative but rather a line in a chapter of my life story. Perhaps one day I will even enjoy trips to the salon. Broaden your horizons with award-winning British journalism. Try The Telegraph free for 1 month with unlimited access to our award-winning website, exclusive app, money-saving offers and more.
Telegraph
2 days ago
- Health
- Telegraph
I was 17 when my boyfriend pulled out chunks of my hair. His abuse still haunts me at 43
As I sit in the hairdresser's chair, she lifts some strands of hair to look at the condition, and I freeze. I can already feel beads of sweat starting to form on my back. She asks, 'Been a while since you've had it cut?' I nod. It's been 10 months. I say, 'I've got a sensitive scalp, so can you be careful while washing it, please?' What I don't tell the hairdresser is that I dread anyone touching my head because 25 years ago, the man I loved ripped chunks of hair out while he was throwing me down the stairs. All because I didn't tell him I was going on a night out. For years, I wouldn't set foot inside a salon without taking a beta blocker I was prescribed by my GP for situational anxiety. I grit my teeth as she lathers the shampoo, trying not to think of the sharp pain and tingling I was left with when he yanked my hair so hard that he left me with a bald spot. It has got easier to deal with my hair being touched by strangers, but I never expected painful memories to be triggered so long after the relationship had ended. According to the charity Safe Lives, two-thirds of domestic abuse survivors experience post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD) – more than twice the rate experienced by soldiers in combat. New research from the University of Glasgow has found that women who experienced physical abuse in the context of domestic violence risk ongoing mental health disorders despite the exposure to domestic violence having ceased, on average, 27 years before assessment. The first kiss I met Colin at work when I was 17, and he was 33 (which, to everyone except me, was a huge red flag). I thought I was wise beyond my years, and Colin was everything I was looking for in a mate: strong, funny, intelligent and charming. After a few months of working together, we shared our first kiss on the way home from after-work drinks. He showered me with affection and attention; when we weren't at work, he called and texted constantly, which was flattering at first. Our relationship escalated quickly, and we were living together within three months. It took about six months before Colin became violent, but in the meantime, he had begun to manipulate and control every aspect of my life in ways that were nearly imperceptible at the time. Controlling behaviour We shared a bank account, but I was scatty and kept 'losing' my debit card, so he persuaded me it would be easier for him to give me a weekly cash allowance. I now think Colin was hiding my card all along. We worked together, so we spent every waking moment in each other's company. He would subtly belittle me in front of colleagues, picking on my insecurities and reinforcing every negative thought I ever had about myself. He poisoned me against my family (who could sense early on that he was bad news), causing an estrangement that would take years to heal. When my friends invited me out, he would guilt me into staying home, often claiming to be unwell. Friends stopped reaching out, and I became increasingly reliant on Colin. As this was my first serious relationship, I had no frame of reference or clue that his behaviour was troubling. Horrifying violence The first act of violence happened at Christmas. Colin was sick with the flu, and I'd decided to go to the office Christmas party on a whim without telling him. When I returned to our flat, I discovered I was locked out. I battered at the door, and when Colin opened it, I saw his face twisted into a shape I didn't recognise. He was drunk, and I knew immediately that he was going to hurt me. He hissed, 'You've been with another man, haven't you, you sl-t?' as he grabbed me by the hair and threw me down a short flight of stairs. I banged my head hard, and it took me a minute to get back on my feet. When I did, Colin was standing before me with a chunk of my hair in his hand. Sobbing, I told him, 'I was at the Christmas party, ask anyone in the office,' but he just kept calling me a sl-t. I staggered down the stairs and into the cold December night. I had no idea where to go, I wasn't speaking to my parents, I didn't have any friends I could call. I just sat at a bus stop and wept. After about an hour, I heard footsteps and saw Colin. I cowered, thinking he was going to hurt me, and he started crying. 'I'm so sorry, baby. I don't know what came over me. I am so scared you're going to leave me.' He knelt at my feet and begged for forgiveness, and I found myself comforting him, even after what he'd done to me. He was a master manipulator and lured me back with promises that he'd change, and it would never happen again. But it did. We lived together peacefully for months at a time, then, as soon as he'd drunk too much or had a hard day, the violent rage would return. I lived in hypervigilance, barely talking in case I said something that would trigger Colin's rage. I lived in shame, not telling anyone about the abuse because I believed what was happening to me was my fault. I drank heavily, sank into a deep depression and would often feel disappointed to wake up in the morning. The struggle to leave People ask, 'Why didn't you leave?' and I did try. The main issue was that I had nowhere to go. Shelters were full, I still wasn't in a good place with my family, and I had no money. When I did pluck up the courage to leave at age 20, he threatened to take his own life unless I came back to him, another manipulation tactic. In the end, it took three aborted attempts before I left for good, after one final eruption of violence that left me physically scarred and fearing for my life. When I left, I told him if he ever contacted me again, I would phone the police, and he could see that I meant it. I arrived on my parents' doorstep with my life in two bin bags and my mental health in tatters. Leaving was the easy part. Living with what had happened to me was much harder. I lived in a state of near-permanent anxiety and had flashbacks at unexpected moments, like in the hairdresser's chair when my head jerked back as the brush found a tug in my hair. I was right back to that December night, cowering in fear, my scalp on fire. When I had a wisdom tooth extraction, I couldn't look at myself in the mirror for over a week because my swollen, bruised face reminded me of a previous attack. I tried to push the memories down and get on with my life. After some time by myself, I started dating again, but found myself not only distrusting the men I met, but also my instincts. I had initially fallen for what I thought was a great guy, who turned out to be anything but, and was worried I was a terrible judge of character. However, at 21, I met Ronnie, a sweet man who was gentle, kind and understanding. We were married within six months of meeting, much to the surprise of everyone who knew us. I rushed into marriage partly to draw a line under my past because this new relationship came with a new surname and a move to a different city. My husband encouraged me to seek therapy because he had grown up in an abusive household and knew the lasting impact domestic violence could have. Battling with memories I had six sessions of NHS therapy and was diagnosed with PTSD, but that short course of treatment didn't 'fix' me. The therapy brought up a lot of intense and painful emotions, and I felt like I'd never be able to move past what happened to me. I didn't sleep properly for weeks after therapy finished. I felt hopeless and withdrew from my husband and my family, calling in sick to work and spending my days locked in the house, scared to go outside. I began to drink quite heavily one afternoon, pulling all the booze out to the cupboards that I could find. I wanted the pain to go away, and I would do anything I could to make it stop. I started raiding the medicine cabinet for painkillers, popping two handfuls of paracetamol into my mouth and washing them down with wine. I wanted to die. At first, I felt relieved; my pain would soon be over. Then I thought of my family and the people who loved me. I couldn't face the thought of living any more, but I wasn't ready to leave them. I called my husband and told him what I'd done, and he rushed home from work to take me to the hospital, where I promptly threw up all over the waiting room. After some blood tests, the hospital discharged me with a number for the crisis team, whom I was to check in with for the next few weeks, and who encouraged me to be more open with loved ones about how I was feeling. I hadn't been honest about the extent of the abuse, even with my family, so I sat them down and explained how bad things had been, and why I had decided that death was preferable to living with the pain. They were shocked, but started to understand more about how that relationship had forever altered me. Sharing my story with them helped to unload some of the shame I had felt over the relationship. I thought I had deserved what had happened to me, that I had provoked Colin to behave like that, but it was never my fault. I went back to suppressing my pain, mainly by drinking too much. My marriage ended after three years, partly because I had a paranoid mistrust of my husband. Every time my husband did something nice, I felt there had to be an ulterior motive because Colin was never kind for no reason. A new life after death I've worked hard to rebuild my life after abuse, but have struggled with romantic relationships. Giving so much space and energy to mistrusting and second-guessing a potential partner's every move was exhausting, and I knew I needed to take a break from dating. I haven't been in a long-term relationship since my mid-20s. However, I am open to dating in the future. I've attended therapy on and off for years and began seeing a regular therapist in 2022, who referred me for specialist trauma therapy called eye movement desensitisation and reprocessing (EMDR). Instead of talking in detail about a distressing issue, EMDR instead focuses on changing the emotions, thoughts or behaviours that result from a distressing experience. Change didn't happen overnight, but the trauma no longer affects me as viscerally as it once did. I thought I was doing much better, but then, last November, I found out Colin had died. You'd think I'd be relieved. It was over; he could never hurt me again. I made an emergency therapy appointment because I found that I was sad about his death. I couldn't understand why until the therapist explained I had spent a lot of our early sessions saying, 'If only he had changed, maybe we could have been happy,' but that was a fantasy. I could never have forced Colin to change; he had to decide to change on his own. Perhaps I was mourning a version of him that didn't exist. Since Colin's death, I feel like I've turned a corner, mainly because the monster who haunted my nightmares wouldn't be coming back to get me. I am taking care of myself a lot better now; I quit drinking eight years ago and am trying my best to shed the heavy weight of past abuse and rebuild trust in others. I'm dating again, but I'm not putting any pressure on myself to find 'the one'. My life revolves around my friends, family, and my dog, a three-year-old spaniel named Bonnie, who gives me a reason to get outside as much as possible, which massively benefits my mental health. Things are less fraught when I go for a haircut, thanks to deep breathing exercises and restricting my trips to the hairdresser to twice a year. I hope I'll get to a point where the pain of the past won't be my whole narrative but rather a line in a chapter of my life story. Perhaps one day I will even enjoy trips to the salon.
