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This blog is about coping with the strains of chronic illness whilst bringing up two beautiful children; it's also about the stresses of bringing up two children on your own while suffering with a chronic ongoing health problem which is at times very severe.... you can look at it either way. It's about being a single mum; it's about raising awareness of Interstitial Cystitis; it's about helping me cope. Writing this blog is beginning to bring me back to who I really am, who I really always was, before the single motherhood took over full time, before the illness set in.... a writer. I've always written, from essays to stories to journalism. This is the first thing I've written in years. It's helping me regain my confidence. PLEASE DO LEAVE ME COMMENTS AFTER MY POSTS! I'd genuinely love to hear your views on my (sometimes controversial) opinions. Thank you for taking the time to read. It would be great if you could comment so I know that you've been here and what you think.

Tuesday 24 September 2013

IC awareness day 23: frequency

This is shocking to people who do not have bladder problems. On a bad day, it is once every ten or fifteen minutes, most hours. My maths is bad, but over 12 hours this works out as at least 48. Plus a good few times in the night. AT LEAST 50 times in the 24 hour day. On a good day, it can be once an hour or occasionally even two hours. So I suppose the very best, frequency wise, with a good night as well, is 12 - 15 times in the 24 hour day. This is rare though.
Yesterday I could get away with once in a 1 and a half hour train journey, if I sat still with my legs crossed....

I suppose the norm is somewhere in the middle. 30 times a day maybe?
I've never actually counted, over 24 hours; maybe I should.
Often I have to go in one ad break, then the next 15 minutes later, while watching TV; that's quite usual.
Some poor soul the other day said to me in passing 'ooooh I really needed a wee half an hour ago; now the feeling's just disappeared; do you ever get that?'
I just smiled and said nothing. Really, there was nothing to say.

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