I'M including this to just illustrate a 'real life' story. It's from Real People. I'm often asked about the style of these pieces, so hope it's helpful.
CHANAZ Aston, 34, knew she’d put on a bit of weight, but that was the least of her worries.
‘Oh, they’re nice,’ I said, dragging my friend Deb by the arm into a shop. ‘Martin would love one of these watches.’
We were out shopping in Walsall, Deb was trying to cheer me up.
‘We’re supposed to be getting you a treat, not Martin,’ Deb tutted.
But my husband Martin, 43, had been my rock over the past months.
I crouched and peered into the cabinet. But when I tried to stand my legs wouldn’t budge. I felt like my muscles were made of sponge.
‘I can’t move,’ I cried, panicking. Deb linked my arm and hauled me up off the floor.
‘You OK?’ she asked, worried.
‘Is she drunk?’ someone laughed.
‘She’s ill,’ Deb stormed.
‘I want Martin,’ I cried to Deb.
We’d been married for six years after meeting in the office where we were both working in South Africa. I’d been a model as a teenager and resented having to get a job, but at least it meant I’d met Martin.
Soon we married and moved to the UK to set up a grocery business in the West Midlands. We had no money worries, a nice house and such a happy life we weren’t even bothered about having children.
I never took Martin for granted, made sure I took care of myself.
‘Do you think I’ve put on weight?’ I asked him as I got ready for bed one night, pinching a little tyre of fat around my middle.
‘Probably all the sweets you munch during the day’ he laughed.
But I didn’t want him going off me so I went to a weight loss class.
‘You’re only 10st,’ the class leader said. ‘That’s not too bad. But if you don’t mind me saying, your neck seems quite swollen.’
Worried, I went to see my doctor and tests showed I had a thyroid problem called Graves disease. Of course I was worried. Any kind of ‘disease’ is going to make you feel that way, but my doctor told me it could be controlled with drugs.
‘I’m sure that’ll sort it out then,’ Martin said, as he listened to what the doctor had said. But neither of us knew then that what sounded like a straightforward condition would turn our lives upside down.
When the drugs didn’t help I had steroids. My condition meant my body was exhausted, but my brain was constantly awake. I didn’t know if I was coming or going.
Then it got worse. The steroids made me pile on weight and I got depressed about it. Me and Martin had a good relationship, but he became distant and we bickered about silly things like where the remote for the TV was.
He was worried about me and I was worried about our marriage.
Then came the palpitations, double vision and anxiety. It was all linked to Graves disease, bit it was scary. It was like it was taking over my body. I had more days when I felt ill than good and was constantly tired.
No wonder I got down.
But not being able to stand when I was out with Deb shopping that day – that was a new one.
‘Let’s get you home,’ Deb said as she helped me on to the bus.
‘What’s happening to me?’ I asked as I slumped on the sofa.
Deb phoned my specialist, who called for an ambulance.
‘You have a condition called Myasthenia Gravis,’ the doctor said after a series of tests. ‘Your antibodies are fighting normal tissue instead of germs and this causes loss of muscle conrol.’
‘Can it be cured?’ I asked. ‘You’ll need a major operation to remove your thyroid,’ he said.
When I got back home that night I told Martin. ‘I’ll look after you,’ he said. But it was a strain on him.
Then my muscle control went and I needed him more than ever: At a romantic meal one night, I raised my fork to my mouth and found I was dribbling down my top.
‘How can you love me like this?’ I cried.
‘You’re as lovely as the day I met you,’ he soothed. But how could it be true?
When I’d met Martin I was a beautiful young girl. Now I felt like a monster.
My cousin Michelle was a big support.
‘Your eyes look funny today,’ she said, staring at my face when I was round at hers one day.
I rushed to the mirror: ‘Oh Michelle,’ I said. ‘They look too big for their sockets.’
Next day I went to see my doctor. ‘It’s a symptom of your thyroid condition,’ he told me. ‘Something called thyroid eye disease.’
My eyes got bigger by the day, bulging from their sockets until I couldn’t see straight or blink at all. I couldn’t go outside because the cold air felt like daggers on my eyeballs, and I couldn’t watch TV because the light irritated them.
Sleeping was almost impossible. The only way I could drop off was to hold my hands over my face and even then I only managed two hours a night. Martin took over the housework and the shopping.
I was helpless – didn’t even have the energy to feed or bathe myself.
Martin did the lot. When he wasn’t looking after me, he was working all hours. Obviously our love life suffered. I felt so unattractive I didn’t want to make love. I worried it would all prove too much for him but
I didn’t realise how much things between us had changed.
I was too wrapped up in trying to cope from day to day.
Finally, in December 2003, I had the surgery to remove by thyroid. I was left with a big wound across my throat and chest and stayed in hospital for three weeks. Martin visited as often as he could, but he was struggling to keep the business afloat.
‘I think you should go to recuperate with your family in South Africa for a while,’ he said.
‘Is everything OK?’ I asked. ‘Fine,’ he said wearily.
My illness had been hard on him, though – I wasn’t surprised he needed a break.
After four weeks there I felt better. ‘I’m coming home soon,’ I told Martin over the phone.
‘Look,’ he said gently. ‘This is the hardest thing I’ve ever done, but I’ve filed for divorce. I’m sorry but it’s over,’ he said. The phone went dead. I felt numb and confused.
How I got home is a blur. When I stumbled through the door, the divorce papers were on the kitchen table, Martin’s wedding ring was on top and he’d gone.
I collapsed in tears on the floor. I hadn’t realized he’d been so unhappy. If he’d told me maybe I could have done something to help. But now it was too late.
The papers said he was divorcing me due to unreasonable behaviour. I know I’d changed. I’d obviously pushed him too far.
I hardly slept or ate for weeks. But then I realized that although I’d lost my husband, my looks, and at times my dignity, life had to go on. Our business collapsed and the house was repossessed so I had to move to temporary accommodation.
Then came some good news. I could have the op on my eyes. I prayed to God it would mean getting back to my old self. Bone was removed from my sockets to give them more room and make them appear less bulging. And I’ve got more surgery next month – hopefully they’ll improve after that.
I haven’t seen Martin since he left, but I refuse to be beaten by this terrible condition. I’ve got a photo of myself from my modelling days as a screensaver on my mobile phone. It reminds me that inside I’m the same person I used to be.
And that’s what really matters.
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