Post Twenty Four. Unrest In Peebles.

Last month I hosted a screening of the documentary, Unrest, at my local theatre, the Eastgate Theatre and Arts Centre in Peebles. If you’re new to my blog and/or are not familiar with the film you can check out the trailer Unrest Official Trailer, and you can read my previous post Post Nineteen. Time For Unrest..

When I first heard about Unrest I knew that I wanted to arrange a screening locally. This wasn’t just a film. It was the beginning of a movement. A documentary created by Jennifer Brea, that the rest of us (people with ME) could use as a tool to create change, and cure the ignorance. Unfortunately, and somewhat ironically, I realised early on that my own ME was going to prevent me from following through, and I planned to abandon the idea. But then my mum and my friend Heather stepped in and took over for me. I kind of coordinated it via email and made sure to guide them, but really they took on most of the organisation. Heather in particular took on pretty much all of the promotion, which, given most people won’t choose to see a documentary about an illness they’ve never heard of, know nothing about, or don’t think is real, was crucial. She did an incredible amount of work, and I can’t thank her enough.

It was very lucky that I felt well enough on the day to attend, especially given I was in a major crash having returned from a few days in Iceland only two and a half weeks beforehand, but the screening went really well and it was a really lovely evening. It was wonderful to see so many people there, and I was especially touched that so many of my friends attended, especially those who travelled down from Edinburgh on a work night. There had been weather warnings in place and the evening before the screening I was pretty sure none of the Edinburgh lot would make it. I felt disappointed, but of course their safety had to come first, given the risk of snow and ice on the roads. But thankfully on the day of the screening the weather cleared, the roads were black and they almost all made it. There wasn’t enough time to catch up with everyone properly, but there were lots of greetings and hugs in the foyer of the theatre in the twenty minutes before the film. Having so many friends there was really amazing. It sounds sickeningly schmaltzy, but I could feel the warmth of all the people who were there, to support me. I think that evening was genuinely the happiest I’ve felt in a really long time. For a short while I really felt like Phoebe again, and for a moment, with the buzz of the activity in the foyer, I almost forgot why we were all there. It was only when I sat down in the auditorium, and the film began to roll, that I remembered, we were all there to watch Unrest together. For the first time, my friends are going to see a glimpse of my life. It was a big deal.

Since having ME, my friends and family only see me on my better days. Only my mum has seen me at my worst, although, saying that, she hasn’t seen me when I’ve been reduced to crawling, so even she hasn’t seen me at my very worst. Having company when I’m having bad days, or even on normal days (depending on my individual symptoms), just isn’t an option. Partly because I don’t have the energy to interact with people, but mainly, I simply cannot stand to have anyone else in the same room when I’m suffering that badly. The sounds, the movement, just feeling the energy of another person there, is unbearable, and painful, in ways I just don’t know how to describe. It’s a really weird symptom of ME.

Anyway, when the film began, the enormity of the evening, and what my friends were about to see, in my presence, really hit me, and I had a bit of an emotional reaction. I had to work really hard to hold in the tears, and I’m not just talking watery eyes, I could feel my whole body starting to shake, it felt like I was beginning to hyperventilate. I closed my eyes and concentrated on my breathing. Once I gained control of myself, and had acknowledged to myself what a significant occasion the evening was, but it was all good, I was able to watch the film without any further emotional breakdowns.

After the film we had a short break and then the scary bit began, I took part in an informal Q&A session, along with Vicky, a new friend who lives locally, and mother to a teenage daughter who has severe ME. My mum had the job of running around with the microphone.

I had months to think about what I wanted to gain from the evening. There were certain topics that I really wanted to share with the audience. I just had to hope that they would ask the right questions. Luckily I managed to work these into the discussion. Mainly, I wanted to give the audience an understanding of the politics and the controversy surrounding ME research and treatment in the UK, the PACE Trial, and the upcoming review of the treatment guidelines for ME by NICE (the National Institute for Health and Care Excellence), whose guidelines are used by the NHS.

I wanted people to understand what the main, and cardinal symptom of ME is, Post Exertional Malaise. It’s not fatigue, as many people think. PEM is THE defining symptom, it’s what sets ME apart from every other fatiguing illness, without it, you don’t have ME. But the word ‘Malaise’ is awful. When I hear it, I a picture a swooning Victorian lady, lying on a day bed being fanned by her maid. Whereas the reality is brutal. I wrote about this in my last post so I won’t go on, apart from this, someone I follow on Twitter recently described PEM as meaning, ‘all systems go’, when each and every symptom flares up in a violent attack on the body. That, I can relate to.

I also wanted to challenge people’s perceptions that they have about chronic illness, especially in terms of the invisibility of ME. This is something that bothers me. People often comment on how well I look, and I get that the sentiment is coming from a kind place, and I expect they mean it as a compliment. But I find it a bit odd, and tiresome. While I know that there’s no malice behind it, it’s not something I take as a compliment. You can tell that me I look nice, if you think I do, but there’s no need to tell me that I look well, when you know that I’m not. I have an invisible illness. Phoebe with ME looks just the same as Phoebe without ME. Telling me I look well, it really doesn’t mean anything, but it does ignore the very real internal battle going on inside my malfunctioning body, and this kind of invalidates the very real everyday struggle of living with ME. It also plays into the fear (reality) that everyone with ME shares, that people don’t believe us. The fact that we, on the whole, look well, is one of the reasons why doctors dismiss us, it’s why we don’t get disability benefits, it’s why we get abuse for using a Blue Badge, it’s why we get reported to the DWP for benefit fraud, it’s why the general public believe we are either lazy, or faking it. I’ve had close friends, on seeing me wearing make-up, with freshly washed hair being chatty and smiling, insist that I must be doing better. I tell them that I’m actually not, it’s just the make-up etc. But they still insist that there must be more to it, and none of my insisting that there is in fact, not more to it, changes their minds.

I only tend to look ‘unwell’ on the bad days, when in a crash. And when I’m in a crash, you don’t see me. So on the occasions that you do see me, it’s when I’m having a better day. But don’t be mistaken, on these days I am still seriously and chronically ill. It does not mean I am recovering, it only means I am having a better day, or a better few hours. I am still, overall, just as unwell as I was during my last crash. Some people however, just don’t get it. Sometimes I feel that I should make an effort to look less well, so that I’ll meet other people’s expectations of what a chronically ill person looks like. It does frustrate me, big time. The fact that some people don’t get it, I guess it means I’m not doing as good a job of educating people as I had thought.

So one of my goals of the evening was to let people see, via Unrest, what we tend to look like during a crash. And how quickly we can go from looking well and happy, to lying on the ground in a fetal position screaming and crying out in pain. I can’t help but wonder how many people at the screening struggled to rationalise the story they saw on film, and the story I tell them, with the Phoebe they saw in front of them that evening. I had made an effort with my make-up and I wore a pretty dress (it got compliments, as did I actually). And because I was excited to be out, and to see so many friends, I’m sure I came across as happy and animated. Which I was, but I also felt unwell, because I have ME, and ME is chronic, which means I always feel unwell.

Another goal of mine, not just with the screening of Unrest but with my blog too, is to help people see ME for what it is. I dream of a world when we can tell someone we have ME, and they would immediately ‘get’ it. They would understand the gravity of what they were being told, in the same way as they would a Cancer, Alzheimer’s or Parkinson’s diagnosis. I wish that one day we will have the ‘luxury’ of just being ill, without the stigma, the disbelief, or the need to tirelessly educate everyone around us. As an example, my dad was the first person I knew who had (early onset) Alzheimer’s. Before his diagnosis I had little knowledge about Alzheimer’s, what I knew was only what I had learned in passing, I guess mainly from TV, and news articles. But, when he was diagnosed, I did know it was bad, I knew it was the worst outcome given the other possible options. I knew his life was effectively over, I knew he would never be the same, I knew he would stop being ‘dad’, I knew it meant he’d have it forever, and I knew he would die because of it, and this was before I’d done any active research on the disease.

People don’t get that about ME. Until they actively research the illness, they don’t know that it’s incurable, they don’t know that not everyone recovers, they don’t know how disabling it is, they don’t know how dangerous over-exertion is, they don’t know that we have no treatment options. They don’t know that people with ME have been found to have a lower quality of life when compared with other major illness, they don’t know that people die from it. They don’t know how common it is, there are an estimated 250,000 sufferers in the UK, in comparison, there are 100,000 people with MS, and 145,000 people with Parkinson’s. Everything they think they know, is wrong. They think we’re ‘just tired’, they think it’s psychological rather than physiological and they think we can cure it with lifestyle changes. Now I include myself in this, I wasn’t as ignorant as some/many people I’ve come across, but I had no idea when I was diagnosed how serious  and life-altering it was. This needs to change. And to do this we need to help the general public gain a basic, but accurate knowledge of ME, and I think Unrest has taken us one step forward in achieving this.

Unrest has had a huge impact, for which I’m very grateful. But there’s something that has been bothering me. I’m in a few ME social media support groups and am a fairly active member of the ME Twitter community. I have heard many accounts from people with ME, all over the world, whose family and friends were sceptical of the severity, or even the existence, of their illness. It was only after watching Unrest, that they came around and believed them. This has happened with me too. I’ve had a handful of people who have basically been silent since my diagnosis three years ago, who thought that I was ‘just tired’. But then they watched Unrest, they broke their silence, and they now believe me. It’s wonderful that Unrest is having this impact. But, it does bother me that these people had to hear it from someone else (Jennifer Brea) before they would believe me. Why was I, the person who is in their life, who has ME, not a credible enough source? I cannot wrap my head around this. When someone tells me about one of their traumatic experiences, something that I’ve never been through, whether an illness, a divorce, an abusive relationship, a miscarriage, or whatever, I believe them. I don’t need proof. I don’t need to see evidence in the form of a polished, critically-acclaimed, well edited, beautifully scored award winning film. I think this points to a few things; the level of stigma that exists when it comes to ME (the whole lying, lazy, work-shy, benefit scrounging, hypochondriac, malingerer thing), the fact that this illness is so much more disabling than a healthy person could possibly conceive of, and maybe there’s some fear in there too, these people don’t want to admit that such an illness exists, because if they do, then they have to acknowledge that it could happen to them. I guess, like Jen’s doctors, some people do need to see it on video, with their own eyes, before they’ll believe it.

Anyway, the Q&A went well I thought. I was able to mention the flawed and now thoroughly debunked (but not yet retracted) PACE Trial. The only clinical trial in the UK to be funded by the DWP (Department for Work and Pensions), the people who decide if we get disability benefits or not. The reported results of the trial stated that we could be cured by CBT (Cognitive Behavioural Therapy), which would cure us of our ‘false illness beliefs’ and our ‘fear’ of exercise. Once cured of those pesky false beliefs then we should take part in GET (Graded Exercise Therapy) and hey presto we’re cured. Except we’re not, we get worse, or in some cases, we die. GET has been proven to be harmful to people with ME. The authors of the trial inflated their statistics, which was only brought to light after they were made, by court order, to release their raw data for reanalysis. They changed their definition of what constituted as ‘recovered’ midway through the trial. Participants could finish the trial worse than before they started, and were still counted as recovered. This trial is now widely known as a very good example of how not to run a clinical trial. But, and this is an absolute atrocity, the results of this trial are still used as the basis of the current treatment guidelines, not just in the UK, but worldwide. The results of this trial also influence our access to disability benefits. Claimants are often told they won’t get anything if they don’t first undertake CBT and GET. Now isn’t it interesting that this trial was funded by the DWP…

For more information about the PACE Trial you can read my previous post Post Seventeen. The PACE Trial Scandal. and Post Twenty Two. Reblog. An Interview with Dr David Tuller. .

Thankfully, although I’m not feeling optimistic about it, NICE have agreed to review their guidelines for the treatment of ME. It’s in the early stages and won’t be complete until 2020, and in the meantime they still recommend CBT and GET as treatments, which is unfortunate, and I think, criminal. After the first stakeholder meeting last month I was feeling optimistic, and I shared this at the Q&A. Professor Mark Baker, the Director of the Centre for Guidelines at NICE had said during the meeting “We are going to tear it up and start again. We won’t allow it to look the same.”, he also apparently (I read in an account by someone who was there, you can read it here) reiterated several times that the guideline was to be replaced in full. I found this reassuring. But not long after this, he pretty much backtracked on what he said at this meeting. So my optimism is now thoroughly out the window. You can find a link to the most recent update by NICE in the news section below. I have also shared a link to the communication between the UK charity, Invest in ME Research and Professor Baker.

Included in the film Unrest, is the story of Karina Hansen, a young Danish woman with ME who was forcibly removed from her home, and her parents, and institutionalised. The authorities in Denmark believe that ME is a psychological illness, and that her parents were indulging her false beliefs that she was ill, so she was removed, for ‘her own protection’. She was kept from her family for three years, when she was allowed to return home, her ME had deteriorated. You can read the full story here. What Vicky and I also wanted to convey during the Q&A was that this was not one isolated case, this also happens in the UK, to children. There are also hundreds of cases in the UK of parents being reported to social services for the mistreatment of their children, because they have refused to force them into CBT and GET, knowing it would harm them. Tymes Trust is the only national UK ME charity dedicated to children and young people with ME and their families. You can find their website here, for more information.

So those were the main things that I wanted to share during the Q&A, which I was able to. I feel it’s important that people know about the abuse, neglect and mistreatment that we, the people with ME face. I don’t think anything will change until the general public are angry enough to help us fight this. Unfortunately, because it was almost a month ago, I don’t remember all the questions that were asked, if anyone who was there would like more information about anything please do contact me. You can contact me in the comments below, or using the Contact page, or via Facebook or Twitter. I’d also really like to hear what people thought of the film, what was going through your mind on the way home, not just after this screening, but wherever you saw it. Please share in the comments! For me, the goal of the screening was to educate people, and I left the theatre that evening feeling happy and proud. But what was more valuable for me, was that moment of feeling ‘normal’, even though it was just a few minutes, I felt like pre-ME Phoebe. I was out, dressed up, in a theatre, surrounded by people, in my natural habitat. I genuinely forgot for a little bit that I had ME, and that’s never happened to me before. ME dominates every single moment of every single day, there’s usually no forgetting. Another good thing that came out of this screening was, after the fees were paid for the venue hire and the film licence etc, it turns out we made a profit! £342! We are, or already have, donated this to the UK charity, Invest In ME Research. 😀

Again I’d like to thank my mum and Heather for organising this screening. I do think it’s probably one my biggest accomplishments since having ME, that and this blog. I’m really proud that we pulled it off, and it just wouldn’t have happened without my mum or Heather. I would like to thank Vicky for joining me on the panel for the Q&A. I would also like to thank everyone at the Eastgate for their help in making this happen, the audience who came along for the film and/or the Q&A and everyone who took part in the discussion. And of course all the people who have ME who came along, you’ll all have suffered for it, I certainly have (that’s why this post is a month late), thank you so much for joining us, and well done!

One last thing. Thank you everyone who commented on and contacted me after I published my last post. As I’m sure you realised it was a tremendously difficult thing to share, to expose myself like that (if you read it you’ll know what I’m referring to). I expected silence, or maybe even judgement, so the kind and supportive comments really meant a great deal to me. Thank you.


NICE announces next steps in updating its guideline on ME/CFS.

Invest in ME Research. Communication with Professor Mark Baker, Director, Centre for Guidelines, National Institute for Health and Care Excellence (NICE), in regards to the upcoming review of the current NICE guidelines for the treatment of ME.

Invest In ME Research. Statement Following Preliminary Phase III Rituximab Clinical trial Results from Norway.

Health Rising. The Cortene Way: New Drug to Be Trialed in Chronic Fatigue Syndrome (ME/CFS) Soon.

Part One.

Part Two.

The ME Association. A recent study from a research group at Newcastle University has found elevated BNP levels in ME/CFS associated with cardiac dysfunction.

The ME Association. Two research studies recently reported similar findings relating to the autonomic nervous system in people with ME/CFS.

The ME Association. A new study suggests that a blood test following exercise may be a very good way to differentiate between people who have ME/CFS and people who don’t.

Article about ME in the current issue of Family Doctor – a publication produced by the New York State Academy of Family Physicians. Starts on page 23.

BuzzFeed News. A senior Judge has suggested charging the government for every “no-brainer” benefits case it loses in court. Sir Ernest Ryder, senior president of tribunals, said the quality of evidence provided by the Department for Work and Pensions is so poor it would be “wholly inadmissible” in any other court.


Post Twenty Three. Wheelchair’s First Holiday.

FYI. This is a really long post (7400-ish words). I considered splitting it in two, but it’s one story and I’d rather it be contained to one post. I know this will be hard going for those of you with ME, I always write these with our cognitive symptoms in mind, but ultimately I have to do what feels right for me. I would also like to give you a heads up that I bring up something in this post that may be upsetting for some people to read, and may be triggering to those who have experienced suicidal thoughts. I’m not writing about this for shock value, for sympathy or for pity. I simply want to be honest about my experience of living with ME, what it’s done to my mental health, and how I cope with it.

I haven’t yet shared the reason that prompted my decision to purchase a wheelchair. While my ME has been slowly deteriorating since the onset, it’s not that I had a sudden and drastic deterioration that left me with no option but to become a wheelchair user. I’m mainly house bound, and technically I guess I’m mainly bed bound, given I’m in bed for more than half the day, then I just transfer to the sofa. I think I’d accepted, and become so accustomed to this life, and my limited mobility, that it just didn’t occur to me that there was another option. It’s not even that I had previously thought about getting a wheelchair and discounted it, it honestly never crossed my mind, not once.

But then, in May last year, my favourite band, Sigur Rós, announced a series of concerts in Harpa, a stunning contemporary concert hall in Reykjavík, Iceland, between Christmas and New Year. Since I discovered Sigur Rós I had dreamed of seeing them perform in their homeland (Iceland, obviously), it’s been one of those ‘must do before I die’ things. So when I heard about these concerts of course I desperately wanted to be there. I began to wonder if I could possibly manage it, but it seemed practically impossible. The sensible bit of my brain knew I shouldn’t go, to not over-exert myself, to listen to my body, to do the wise (but depressing) thing and let it go. But then there’s the bit of my brain that is addicted to my pre-ME life, that wants to have fun, and do stuff that makes me feel happy and alive. I knew that if I decided not to go, the envy and devastation I would have felt would have impacted heavily on my mental health, which has already taken quite a battering in 2017. It was an impossible decision. Generally speaking my ME is far worse, and has much more of an impact on my life than my depression does. But when my depression has been at it’s absolute worst, there is nothing I have ever experienced that has been worse or more frightening than that. Frankly, this past year, my life has been in far more danger due to depression, than to ME. Although, saying that, I only have depression because of the life that ME has imposed on me, so it all comes back to ME in the end.

I eventually decided to put my mental health first, and make a dream come true, which, given ME has robbed me of all my dreams and goals, is something I never thought could happen anymore. As well as the concert I was also really excited about returning to Iceland. I had been five times before, and before I became ill I had even considered moving there for a while. The first time was with two friends at the end of 2013 for New Year’s Eve and I fell in love with the place. We went on a few day trips and did lots of exploring in Reykjavík. Desperate to go back I returned in September 2014 with another two friends, it was just for a long weekend in Reykjavík and was a kind of send off/celebration for my upcoming job in Antarctica. Then of course my illness took hold of me and I had to withdraw from Antarctica. With my would-have-been Antarctica departure date looming I needed a distraction, so with short notice (two weeks) I decided to go to Reykjavik for Iceland Airwaves. This is a music festival that takes place every November and I had wanted to go since my discovery of the greatness of Icelandic music (you can read more about this in my previous post Post Five. Music & Dad & ME). I had been to Iceland three times at this point but I still hadn’t seen much outside of Reykjavik, apart from some day trips, and I really wanted to explore more of the country. So, my mum and I began planning a two week holiday for June 2015. We were going to rent a car, stay in campsites and drive round the Ring Road (the road that runs around the island and connects most of the inhabited parts of the country). We had booked the car and planned our route, but as June got closer, and by this time I had been diagnosed, I realised it would probably be too much for me. So we discarded the road trip. But so I could still get an Iceland fix we went to Reykjavík for a long weekend that June instead. Before I was diagnosed, I had also arranged to go back to Iceland Airwaves in November 2015 with a friend. I did a lot of worrying in advance about how I’d manage, and while I managed less than my first Airwaves, I felt remarkably well, considering. That was my last holiday.

So this trip to Iceland for Sigur Rós was the first holiday I had planned since being diagnosed with ME. I knew it would be a bit of an experiment. My ME has deteriorated quite considerably since my last Iceland trip, so this would be a very new and unknown experience for me. I figured I would either discover that I can manage some light travelling, and it would open up more opportunities, or I would find that I was too ill to travel and to stay put in the future. It was while I was figuring out how I’d manage the practicalities of this trip, i.e getting around Reykjavík and the airports, that I first considered a wheelchair. At first I looked into renting an electric wheelchair in Reykjavík, but then that wouldn’t help me in the airports, and I really wasn’t keen on using an airport manual wheelchair, in which I would be dependent on someone else pushing me. Then I thought, if I were to buy an electric wheelchair, I could use it at home too, maybe it would help me get outdoors a bit more often. And if you’ve read my previous wheelchair posts (starting from Post Sixteen), you’ll know the rest.

Even after I had decided on the wheelchair though, and had raised the funds through crowdfunding, I still had massive doubts about the trip. I was excited, but I also felt incredibly anxious about it, and I wondered if I’d made a terrible, and expensive, mistake. I came very close to cancelling the trip on a few occasions. What sealed the deal was when the rest of the programme was announced (Sigur Rós were also curating a festival ‘Norður og Niður’ to run alongside their own concerts). There were many great acts in the programme, but there was one in particular that I was really excited about. They don’t have a band name, so it’s a bit of a mouthful, but they are three Icelandic musicians, all with successful careers as solo artists and/or in various bands, Sóley, Sin Fang and Örvar Smárason. During 2017 they collaborated together on a project in which they wrote, produced and released one new song every month, at the end of the year each of those songs would make up an album. I like their music individually and in their bands so I did anticipate that I would like their collaboration project. I was right, it’s a gorgeous, kind of melancholy, but utterly beautiful collection of songs. I also loved the concept of releasing one song per month. In what was a terribly difficult year for me, these three Icelanders gave me something to look forward to each month.

This is the beginning of the difficult bit…

I have never gone into this in any real depth, I may have hinted towards it previously, and I’ve only told a handful of people (my GP and counsellor being two of them), but I’ve yet to state it outright. Here it goes… for the last two years, I have battled with suicidal thoughts, and sometimes, it’s become more than just thoughts, I’ve made plans (and by plans, I mean DIY plans, not my Dignitas membership, which is an entirely different matter, something I’ll expand on in a later post). But, and this is important, most of the time, I don’t want to die, especially not by my own hand. It’s just that, living with ME is hard, except that’s putting it mildly, it’s hell on earth. There’s a reason why ME comes out at the bottom in quality of life studies when compared to other major illnesses (Click here to learn more). ME devastates lives, it’s destructive beyond anything a healthy person could imagine. My world is now so small and my life so limited, and I live in almost complete isolation and constant pain. Most of the time, my existence can barely be considered living. But, during a year in which my life became, at times, just too painful to bear, this music, this promise of a new track at the end of each month, was something to hold onto. That seems to put an awful lot of pressure on these musicians, which is not my intent. It’s not that I wouldn’t be here now if it wasn’t for them. If I hadn’t had their monthly musical treat to look forward to, I would have found something else. That’s how I cope with this, I’m constantly having to find something, anything, to look forward to. I force myself to find something to make this existence worth living, all in the hope that I can keep this up until science catches up, and a cure, or a treatment is found.


Even with this marvellous announcement, I still wasn’t sure. When I bought the two tickets for Sigur Rós (for my mum and I) I had thought that the festival events were included in the price, I was wrong (or maybe Sigur Rós could have been clearer). To see Sóley, Sin Fang and Örvar Smárason I would have to purchase a four day pass. That’s a lot of money for only one concert. Then they announced a one day pass, which was a better option of course, but, I would need to buy two, one for me, and one for my mum, who is also my carer, and I couldn’t go without her. As much as I love Sóley, Sin Fang and Örvar Smárason’s music, I couldn’t justify the cost of two day passes for just their concert. Given my ME based limitations I knew that their concert would literally be the only thing I did that day, and I couldn’t spend £150 for the two of us on top of what I’d already paid for Sigur Rós. So then, and I’m not sure what gave me the guts to do this, I’m notoriously bad at asking for help, I reached out to Örvar Smárason on Facebook and explained my situation. To my amazement, he replied to my message, and he couldn’t have been kinder. He arranged two complimentary day passes so that I could attend their concert. He didn’t have to do this, and I seriously can’t thank him enough. I would also like to mention, and thank, a very nice chap called Darren who works for Sigur Rós. I believe he runs their social media (when he’s not answering my numerous questions about accessibility). He also went out of his way to assist me and I’m pretty sure that even without Örvar’s assistance, Darren would have also made it happen. So both of them, in my opinion, are absolute stars.

So it was all decided, we were definitely going. Now that the trip was confirmed, I began planning all the other bits and pieces, and I found, to my dismay, that organising a holiday when taking a wheelchair into consideration is unbelievably stressful. There are so many obstacles, and so many questions to ask, it’s unreal. Information that should be freely available, is more often than not, not. I really had to dig, push and pretty much harass in order to get my answers. It was a pretty unpleasant and thoroughly disheartening experience. The ableism I encountered was shocking. While ME is classed as a disability under the Equality Act 2010, and I am certainly extremely disabled by my illness, I have never felt more ‘disabled’. And by that I mean, never have I felt more of a ‘second class citizen’ in my life.

Ableism is the discrimination or prejudice against people who have disabilities. Ableism can take the form of ideas and assumptions, stereotypes, attitudes and practices, physical barriers in the environment, or larger scale oppression. It is oftentimes unintentional and most people are completely unaware of the impact of their words or actions.

One of the first enquiries I made was the cost of taxi’s in Reykjavík. On previous trips to Reykjavík, on arrival, I had always walked from the bus terminal to my accommodation, or taken the shuttle bus (no longer an option as buses are now banned from certain parts of the downtown area – which is a good thing for those who live there). This time, I knew I wouldn’t manage the walk, even with the wheelchair, as my mum would then be left with both suitcases, also, the pavements in Reykjavík might too icy for the wheelchair. In the event of icy pavements I would also have to get a taxi from our apartment to Harpa for the concerts, also a very short distance, and pre-ME, easily walkable. I’m in a Facebook group for tourists to Iceland, so I asked there. I made it clear that I’d been before, that I knew the distances I was asking about were very short, but could anyone tell me roughly how much a taxi might be. Now surely the only response to that questions is either, no response, or a helpful answer. But no. This is an example of what I got…

“If the weather is good and you don’t have a lot of luggage walking is easy.”

“I would walk both trips with ‘the long way around’…Plenty to see and feel if eyes and heart are open.”

“You can walk there. It’s about ten minutes.”

Right. Not helpful. It apparently didn’t occur to these people that I was asking this question for, you know, an actual reason. I’m very open about my illness, for the sake of advocacy, but, when I write or talk about it, it’s when I choose to. I didn’t feel I should have to share my medical history to the members of this group for a simple question about the cost of taxi’s. But in this situation, to get an actual answer that was relevant to my question, I felt I had no option but to give them more information about my health than I wanted to or felt comfortable with. They had clearly made an assumption that my mobility was the same as theirs, it didn’t occur to them that maybe I had different needs than they did. It really doesn’t matter how ‘open my eyes or heart are’, that ain’t gonna cure my chronic illness. This is what ablesim looks like, and it makes my blood boil. I had many other similar encounters in this Facebook group so in the end I abandoned it as a safe place to ask questions about accessibility.

Now, the venue, Harpa. Where to start. I had expected that a contemporary concert hall, in a country known for its progressiveness and inclusiveness would be a bit better with the whole accessibility thing. Wrong. Getting information from them was like pulling teeth. In the very first email I sent them, to the box office, in which I referenced Sóley, Sin Fang and Örvar Smárason’s concert, the reply I got was this… “Is this performance suppose to be here in Harpa too?”. And that was it. Not only did they not respond to ANY of my accessibility questions, they apparently didn’t even know that this concert, for which they had already begun selling tickets/passes for, was happening in Harpa. This was the beginning of what was a mainly long, disappointing and frustrating journey with the venue. They continued to ignore my emails and only acknowledged me after I went down the route of publicly shaming them on Twitter. Even then, while they did help me out on one matter, they couldn’t, or wouldn’t, answer my questions in regards to accessibility. In the end I got the information I needed from Darren (the Sigur Rós guy).

One of the things I needed to know was where I could securely store my wheelchair during the Sigur Rós concert, which was seated. I’d need my wheelchair before and after the concert, but not during. Harpa does have a cloakroom but it isn’t staffed, it’s based on trust, which I like, but, while I was ok leaving my coat there, I was not ok about leaving my brand new £3000 electric wheelchair there. Harpa told me that there was nowhere else I could store it, so I wouldn’t be able to bring it. I refused to believe this, the building is massive, there had to be somewhere safe it could go. It was Darren who then assured me that I could bring it, and they would find somewhere for it during the concert, even if it was in the production office. I also wanted to know if there would be a wheelchair platform in the standing venue for Sóley, Sin Fang and Örvar Smárason, so I’d be able to see them. On this matter Harpa simply ignored me. Again, it was Darren who told me there would be a platform (that turned out not to be the case, but more on that later).

The communication with Harpa, or lack thereof was I think the lowest point of planning this holiday. The venue should be able to answer these questions, and it just baffles me why they wouldn’t/couldn’t. Since I graduated (from the Royal Scottish Academy of Music and Drama, if you’re interested, I studied Technical and Production Arts), and before I began working for Cyrenians (Edinburgh based homeless charity), pretty much all my jobs were in the theatre/arts/festivals industry. I’ve worked in box offices, front of house, marketing, admin, event planning and venue managing. I’ve never been in a situation where I could not, or would not, respond to an accessibility enquiry (or any enquiry for that matter), even if I didn’t have the answer to hand, I would have found it. I do wonder, after the service I received while actually there (which was good), maybe, while they are equipped for disabled customers, they’re just really bad when it comes to communication and customer service.

I had a few issues with EasyJet too in regards to my special assistance request. I was told at the time of booking that someone would contact me to get more information, such as the model of wheelchair and type of battery etc, to ensure it would be allowed on the plane. I waited, and waited, and really began to panic, what if I showed up at the airport to be told my wheelchair wasn’t allowed on the plane, what would I do then?! My efforts to contact them weren’t very successful. But I eventually got a call, less than a week before departure, and again, only after I publicly shamed them on Twitter. I’m not a fan of publicly shaming, I would never do it to an individual, but with a company with shitty customer service, sometimes it’s the only way.

Our flight was on Thursday 28th December. It was my my first time using the special assistance service at an airport, and I was pretty nervous, but I really cannot fault them. All the staff involved made for probably one of the most stress free airport experiences of my life. The special assistance guy, the EasyJet staff, security, everyone was incredibly helpful. And, importantly, for me, there was no hint of condescension or pity and they didn’t infantilise me. I was getting ‘special treatment’, but I still felt I was treated as an equal. This was also the first time I’d used my new wheelchair in such a public place, I was nervous about that too, but it was totally fine. After my bumpy experiences on the wonky pavements of Peebles, the smooth surfaces in the airport were a delight! I also found that when a crowd of people notice a wheelchair approaching, they automatically part to form a space me for me to glide through, I felt like the Queen, or Moses. I also didn’t get any funny looks, that I noticed anyway, when people saw me get up from my wheelchair and walk, which was a relief. It’s almost as though no one gave a crap about me and my wheelchair! I was able to roll right on up to the door of the aircraft where I folded up the wheelchair and put on its travel bag. It’s pretty nifty, the bag, it has long handles and allows for the wheelchair to be moved like a wheelie suitcase, using it’s own wheels. My mum and I got to board the plane first and my wheelchair was safely placed in the hold.

Oh, I almost forgot. In my last wheelchair post I’d mentioned that the wheelchair was proving difficult to fold and unfold. Despite the tutorial videos it seemed like the only way was to take the full weight of it and give it a massive shoogle, which I struggled to do given the weight of it. It turns out there’s a knack, and on my last practice before the trip I mastered it. I expect the more it got used the looser it became which made the folding and unfolding process so much easier. Phew.

It was a straightforward and boring flight, luckily I had downloaded a David Attenborough documentary about a famous dead elephant onto my iPad which kept me occupied. On arrival at Keflavík Airport we were met at the door of the aircraft by a nice man with a manual wheelchair. He wheeled me inside so we could wait in the warmth for my own wheelchair. I’m still not keen on manual wheelchairs, but I complied. Although I almost got strangled by my scarf when it got caught in one of the wheels. As the wheelchair man untangled it my mum told me the story of Isadora Duncan, the ballet dancer who died when her scarf became entangled in the wheel of a car she was riding in. I paid more attention to the dangling ends of my scarf from then on.

So that was me back in Iceland. Hooray! I then pretty much spent three days in bed. Hmm. It was definitely not the kind of holiday that I was used to. I left the apartment a total of four times. Something I constantly worry about is being judged. And this worry isn’t unfounded, I frequently have people judge and make assumptions about the state of my health based on how I look and by my activity. I’ve had people insist that I was ‘doing better’ simply because I was wearing make-up. So I can’t help but wonder if there are people in my life who think that because I went to Iceland, I must be ‘doing better’. The same people probably don’t understand the adjustments and sacrifices I had to make in order for this holiday to happen. So, to ensure no misunderstanding, I’ve provided you with a breakdown of my daily activity while in Iceland. Oh, and if you’re wondering, the only way you can know how I’m feeling, is if I tell you.

Thursday. We took the bus from the airport to the bus terminal and from there we took a taxi to the apartment. This is when we learned just how eye-wateringly expensive the taxi’s are in Reykjavík. It cost around £12 to go roughly 800m. In comparison, when I take a taxi to go to the doctor in Peebles, which is around the same distance, it costs £3.50.

Friday. The day of the Sigur Rós concert! While my mum went out exploring, and to the supermarket, I stayed in bed all day to give myself the best chance of feeling not terrible that evening. Knowing I wouldn’t mange to eat out on this holiday (I was already massively overexerting myself by being there, adding restaurants into the equation with the sensory input would have been a bad idea), and to ensure our food would be Phoebe-friendly (which means no refined carbs, no refined sugars, no refined oils, no gluten and vegan) we brought most of our own food and topped it up with fresh veg from the supermarket. After resting all day and having dinner we set out for Harpa at 7pm-ish. The pavements weren’t as icy as I anticipated so I decided to give my wheelchair its first foreign test drive. What proceeded to happen was a 300m white knuckle ride along Bergstaðastræti. I found that Reykjavik’s pavements are not so wheelchair friendly. The uneven pavements had the wheelchair veering into the road. The dropped kerbs are not dropped enough, at one point the wheelchair tipped forward almost throwing me into the road. I was close to tears by the time we reached Skólavörðustígur, where thankfully we found a taxi to take us the rest of the way. This is where my foldable wheelchair comes in very handy, it’s so easy to fold it up and pop it in the boot. Pretty much every taxi driver we encountered marvelled at it! After that stressful journey, by the time we reached Harpa I felt quite shaken, which wasn’t ideal. But we found a quiet spot and had I some time to rest and de-stress before the doors opened. Then, and I had been dreading this, it was time to find out what would happen to my wheelchair. Thankfully it was all good. There was a small room between the auditorium and the stage which could only be accessed by staff and was the perfect spot to keep my wheelchair while minimising how far I would have to walk to my seat. It went so smoothly, and the staff were so helpful, it was as if they’ve dealt with this exact situation many times before. So why the box office told me it couldn’t be done? Who the hell knows.

Now, the concert. This was my seventh Sigur Rós concert, and while they are always incredibly good live, this was by far the best I have ever heard them sound. They were just so exceptionally good. I have no idea how three people can create what they do on stage. Granted they have some backing track (on previous tours they’ve had additional musicians on stage with them, this tour has been just the three of them), but I don’t think I’ve ever seen any band work as hard as they do, especially the drummer. I mean, he can drum while playing the piano, at the same time. I can honestly say that this wasn’t just my best Sigur Rós concert, this was my best concert of all time. I’m so happy I was there. While I would have loved to stick around after the concert and soak in the atmosphere, it was time to go. I had been out for around three and a half hours, which is the longest I’ve been out, since May I think, at my mum’s birthday/fundraising party. Oh, and before we left, I saw Jarvis Cocker in the foyer, which was pretty cool.

Saturday. Again, I stayed in bed during the day while my mum went out. I had no appetite at all that day, I think I felt a lot more anxious than I’d realised about that evening’s concert, more specifically, about using a wheelchair platform for the first time. I didn’t know what the gradient of the ramp would be, so I didn’t know if my wheelchair would handle it. I also worried that I might feel on display, sitting in my wheelchair, raised above everyone else, on my own, and sticking out like a sore thumb. Anyway, we took a taxi to Harpa, and, this made me feel quite fancy, I got to queue at the VIP/Guest Pass bit of the box office! We had some time before the concert so, thanks to the guest passes, we were able to briefly explore the cordoned off areas which had some exhibits, and various other interesting and weird stuff going on, I expected nothing less from a Sigur Rós curated festival. We didn’t explore for long as I wanted to make sure I got into the venue for Sóley, Sin Fang and Örvar Smárason. It would have been a right bummer if having got the free day passes to then not get access to the venue because it had reached capacity. Now, remember how I was feeling anxious about the next bit? Well, turns out I didn’t need to. There was no platform for wheelchair users. I was mightily pissed off. No equal opportunities or reasonable adjustments for the disabled in this venue! I got chatting to a woman who also planned to use the non-existent platform, and I was interested to learn from her that in the venue right next door, also standing, there was a platform. So clearly the venue had the means, and had recognised the need for it, but when it came to this particular hall, they…forgot? Thinking alike we went to the very back of the hall, in the hope we might see over everyone, that didn’t work out, all I could see were people’s behinds. I was extra glad at this point that I hadn’t paid for the two passes. I didn’t feel I could complain though, given I was there for free, and it’s not like they could have set up a platform there and then anyway. But I did expect better, someone made a bad judgement call, which resulted in disabled fans being denied the same experience as able bodied fans. Since having the wheelchair, I’m learning a lot about the world.

But on to happier things. Ultimately I was there for Sóley, Sin Fang and Örvar Smárason, and while I tend to enjoy seeing the band I’m listening too, my ears do work, so I sat back and enjoyed the music. You’ll have gathered how much this concert meant to me, and it was really really lovely. It was a shorter set than I would have liked, just six songs, but that couldn’t be helped. Again, I was delighted that I was able to be there, especially as it was their debut performance, which made it feel that bit more special. After the concert we had a little rest in the foyer and admired the view (Harpa is stunning, inside and out) while the crowds dispersed. I then spotted Örvar in the crowd, so I rolled on over to say hello and to thank him, which I was really pleased to be able to do in person. This was my last evening at Harpa and I had hoped I’d meet Darren too, to thank him for putting up with me and my ten million questions, and to put a face to the name, but it wasn’t to be.

This is kind of off topic, but, while chatting with Örvar I learned that he had previously toured with the Scottish band Belle & Sebastian, with his band Múm. Afterwards I was thinking how funny it was that Belle & Sebastian popped up in our conversation, they keep doing that. I’ve been aware of them since I was a teenager, I actually have most of their albums. But it’s only since I’ve had ME and became part of the ME community that I found out that Stuart Murdoch, the founding member of Belle & Sebastian also has ME. In fact, if it wasn’t for his ME, Belle & Sebastian wouldn’t exist. It was during his time, isolated by this illness, that he began writing songs to express what he was feeling. When his health started to improve that’s when he began to look for musicians to form a band. They formed in 1996. All these years, and I’d never known.

“To talk about ME, it’s my life story. The biggest thing that’s ever happened to me….Every song I’ve ever written is about ME.” Stuart Murdoch at an Action For ME event March 2016.

Sunday, New Years Eve. Again, I spent most of the day in bed and my mum took a day trip to see some of the sights outside of Reykjavik. I did however venture out late afternoon to meet a friend for coffee. I found a coffee shop nearby that was open (most were closed for NYE), and not wanting another anxiety inducing wheelchair experience I walked. Luckily I had brought my walking stick with me. As well as meeting my friend it was also really nice just to walk, to use my legs, albeit unsteady and weak legs. One of my favourite things to do in Reykjavik is to walk around and explore. It has some of the prettiest houses, most of them lined with corrugated iron, and painted pretty colours. So that one hour outing, with the short walk there and back was my only proper Reykjavik ‘fix’. Then of course I went back to bed and stayed there until it was time to head out for the fireworks at 11.30pm-ish. I don’t like to generalise, but, Icelanders are crazy about fireworks. You won’t find perfectly choreographed displays though, they do their own thing. They buy their own fireworks, and then they spend the night blowing them up; in their gardens, in public squares, outside the church Hallgrímskirkja, on the street, on the surface of a frozen pond… I have experienced the insanity of NYE outside Hallgrímskirkja before, but on this occasion I needed somewhere with a seat, and less crowded. So we went to Tjörnin, the frozen pond, which wasn’t far from our apartment. It was a great location to watch the fireworks from, with almost 360º views of the firework lit sky. It was so cold though, and we were both pretty exhausted, so we didn’t stay out too long. We were however treated to a continuous stream of fireworks throughout the night!

Monday. We went home. It was a fairly uneventful day, the same as Thursday but in reverse.

I’ve been home for over a month now, and I have of course had people ask me how it was, and if it was worth it, and I don’t know how to answer. It’s really hard to get excited about the good bits of the holiday, while I’m feeling so dreadfully unwell. I went on this holiday knowing, with absolute certainty that I would suffer on my return, it’s not a matter of ‘if’, it’s an undeniable fact, it will happen. Post Exertional Malaise is THE defining symptom of ME. Going off topic again, but while I’m here, the word ‘malaise’ is so misleading in the context of PEM. Malaise is defined as ‘a general feeling of discomfort’, which is not in the least bit descriptive of what I experience after I’ve over-exerted myself. PEM is a severe worsening of all my symptoms, and it’s brutal. When I think about how best to describe it I immediately think about my worst ever hangover, but combined with my worst ever flu, with the fever, the sore throat, the headache, the aching body, the overwhelming weakness and lack of strength (to the point where I cannot lift my head, my arms, my legs, my entire body), the lightheadedness. Now add a migraine to the mix, along with cognitive impairment, bladder cramps, sleep disturbance, hands that feel as though they’re on fire (Raynaud’s Disease), painful skin, painful joints, painful muscles, ice pick headaches, loss of balance, disorientation, vertigo, orthostatic intolerance and severe sensitivity to light (photophobia) and sound (hyperacusis) in which overexposure makes it feel like my brain is going to swell to the point that it’s going to burst out of my facial orifices. This maybe begins to describe how awful it is. It’s when I feel my absolute worst, and when it drags on, I wish it would kill me. It’s basically a living death, and given I can reach this point by simply washing my hair, having a conversation, or cooking a meal, of course I was going to crash (a colloquial term for PEM, payback is another one) after Iceland, and it’ll probably be a matter of months before I’m back to ‘normal’.

Last year, when I was planning this trip, I needed it to feel alive and to give myself something to look forward to. I also needed it to help me figure out my limitations. Like I said earlier, I was also treating this holiday as an experiment. Before I went, I didn’t know how I would cope while being there. But I got through what little I did by using my wheelchair when I could, I paced myself and rested between activities. I’m sure I was also, to some extent, running on adrenaline, which of course isn’t sustainable. I also didn’t know how severe, or not, my payback would be. I hoped that by making sensible choices and sacrifices my payback would be minimal, which hasn’t been the case. So while my payback has been severe, I have learned something about my limitations. If I hadn’t gone, not only would I have had some emotional fallout to deal with, I would always be left wondering if I could have managed it. Now I know.

Unbeknown to anyone else, while I was planning this trip I did have it in the back of my mind that this could be the last time I go to Iceland, or on any holiday for that matter. And based on how little I managed while there, and what I’ve experienced since I returned, I think it has confirmed it for me. If my ME continues to deteriorate, or even if I plateau at my current level of disability, I don’t think I could do it again and I don’t think I want to. I fear that I have done permanent damage to my health with this trip. Holidays are meant to leave you feeling rested and refreshed, they should not leave you feeling so unwell that you begin to compose your letter to Dignitas. But this is the basis of ME, we are punished for doing the things we love.

I also learned something that I wasn’t expecting. I thought that just being in Iceland would be enough for me, but it wasn’t. It was frustrating being in one of my favourite places, the city that I had once hoped to live in, and not be able to see it. Reykjavík was right there, being dangled in front of me, but it was out of bounds. On this occasion I had a very specific reason to be there, but there would be little point in going back to Iceland, just for the sake of being in Iceland. It seems it’s easier to cope with what I’m missing, when it’s not right in front of me. It does upset me though, if my ME doesn’t improve at all, I’ll never get to see the rest of Iceland, and that makes me feel really sad.

Saying that, however, I wanted to fulfil my dream of seeing Sigur Rós in Iceland, and I’ve done it. And for all I know these concerts could be the last they play in Iceland, I don’t know what the future holds, for the band or for me. What if I hadn’t gone, and then they split up? What if I hadn’t gone, but by their next tour my ME might have deteriorated so much that I can’t attend? It was important to me to take this opportunity, however harmful, while physically I still could, the last hurrah before ME destroys me completely.  There’s something really special about seeing a band in their homeland, and in such an intimate venue (1500 capacity, that’s small for them) and they were better than I’ve ever seen them before. That was potentially a once in a lifetime experience. I was also at the debut live performance of the music that literally kept me going last year. It meant a lot to me, to be able to go and support Sóley, Sin Fang and Örvar Smárason, as they supported me. It’s amazing that I achieved these things, and I’m SO pleased I was there.

So while I spent the majority of my time there in bed, I guess I can consider this trip a success? I met my main objectives, I managed the four things I set out to do. Although I didn’t manage the other eighteen things that I had on my wish list, had I felt well enough (in case there’s any doubt, pre-ME, I would have managed everything on my wish list, plus some). But, because of just how badly I’ve been suffering since my return, I still can’t decide if overall, it was worth it. I think, at the moment, the people who are asking are just going to have to accept my very non-committal vague non-answer, that I don’t know.  I expect, when, or if, I recover from this crash, I’ll be able to answer differently. In the meantime I’ll snuggle up in my beautiful and cosy knitted Sigur Rós blanket (Christmas present from my mum) and my wheelchair will soon be adorned with a Sigur Rós Norður og Niður patch, which will forever mark it’s first holiday, and make it the coolest wheelchair in town. I would have liked a random encounter with the band, and have them sign my wheelchair, but hey ho, we can’t have everything.

After that long read I think you deserve a treat! So here’s a link to the finished album by Sóley, Sin Fang and Örvar Smárason, Team Dreams. I hope you enjoy it as much as I do, and if you do like it, you might want to consider buying it! 



At the end of each post I’m going to be sharing recent research, news, articles etc on the subject of ME, or anything related, that I think are worth reading. I haven’t posted for a while, so I have quite a few saved up.

The Independent. Time for Unrest: Why patients with ME are demanding justice.

Nature International Journal of Science. A reboot for chronic fatigue syndrome research. Research into this debilitating disease has a rocky past. Now scientists may finally be finding their footing.

The Courier Mail. Australian scientists prove Chronic Fatigue Syndrome is real and have discovered a test for it.

BBC News. I had it all – now I create a new world in a single room. As Prince’s art director, Michael Van Huffel became used to working at all times of day or night. But 10 years ago the debilitating neuroimmune condition ME left him barely able to move – since then he has had to find very different ways of making art, within the boundaries of a one-room apartment.

The Independent. New Migraine Drug Hailed As ‘Incredibly Important’ Breakthrough.

Farewell – A Last Post from Anne Örtegren. Anne was a Swedish ME sufferer and advocate. She recently chose to end her life in Switzerland by Assisted Suicide.

Journal of Translational Medicine. Improvement of severe Myalgic Encephalomyelitis symptoms following surgical treatment of cervical spinal stenosis.

Interview with CFS/ME researcher Dr. Nancy Klimas.

The S-Word. A blog post by Jamison Writes.

Post Twenty Two. Reblog. An Interview with Dr David Tuller.

A while ago, I can’t remember in which post, I said that from time to time I would be highlighting other articles about ME that I think are worth sharing. This is one of those.

Anil van der Zee is a professional ballet dancer, he was born in Sri Lanka and grew up in the north of Holland. He studied classical ballet at the Royal Conservatory in The Hague before working in several ballet companies in the Netherlands and Switzerland. In 2007 he became ill after contracting a viral infection, and never fully recovered. A few years later he was diagnosed with ME.

I can’t remember how I discovered Anil’s blog, I think on Twitter, or maybe one of his posts was shared in one of the ME Facebook groups that I’m in. But of all the ME blogs I’ve come across, his does stand out. He clearly does a huge amount of research, his posts are very well informed, and educational, for ME sufferers and non-sufferers alike.

In Anil’s most recent post, he interviews Dr David Tuller, an American journalist who has been instrumental in my understanding of the controversial PACE Trial (I wrote about the PACE Trial in Post Seventeen. The PACE Trial Scandal.) A few years before I became ill with ME, Tuller covered the PACE Trial results for The New York Times as health editor. However, he became concerned about the trial and wrote a further article regarding case definitions which resulted in an immediate response from the PACE Trial authors which resulted in him investigating the trial and its authors further after contact with others in the patient community. Tuller is sympathetic toward the cause of the ME patient community. In an article in 2015 he wrote: “In the course of my reporting, I’d realised that the disease was both devastating and widely misunderstood. People were really, really sick – some were homebound for months and years at a stretch. Yet their condition had been saddled with one of the most condescending names ever given a major illness.”

This interview by Anil offers an excellent overview of the current political climate that we, the people with ME, find ourselves in. He has kindly allowed me to share the post here, and it is my hope that it will aid my reader’s understanding of the horrific injustice that ME sufferers face. It makes me angry, and I want it to make you angry too. Angry people take action.

David Tuller and the (s)PACE cake eaters, by Anil van der Zee, Published December 26, 2017

In 2015 David Tuller, DrPH, a Senior Fellow in Public Health in Journalism at the Center of Global Public Health, School of Public Health at Berkeley University started writing 3 very detailed blogs about the flaws of the now infamous PACE-trial. The patient community has been advocating for years, if not decades against these types of trials of Cognitive behavioural therapy (CBT) as well as Graded Exercise Therapy (GET) for ME in general as they seem to be doing more harm than good. Unfortunately they were mostly dismissed as militants and “vexatious”. They were not being heard or believed. That has dramatically changed since Dr. David Tuller started writing extensively about the subject. A real paradigm shift is happening and I’m beyond honored to have been able to meet him, photograph him and ask him a few questions.

Hi David, how are you? Thanks for letting me interview you. For the people who are not familiar with the subject, what is the PACE-trial and why is this trial such a big deal? 

The PACE trial was the largest study of “treatments” for what the investigators called chronic fatigue syndrome. The investigators claimed it “proved” that CBT and GET were effective treatments for the illness. Given these alleged findings, the trial has had an enormous impact on what is considered the standard of care in the U.K., the U.S, the Netherlands, and many other countries. Yet the study is so flawed, it includes so many violations of core principles of scientific research that its reported findings are completely meaningless.

What was the reason you decided to start writing about the PACE-trial unlike many of your journalist colleagues? Many are reluctant to write about ME in general.

I started reading the patients’ commentaries about PACE and realized that they were right about the flaws in the trial. I understood why others weren’t interested—it’s very confusing to figure the whole thing out. As a journalist, it’s great to have a topic others aren’t covering, and no one was writing about this. I felt if I started looking into it, I could have an impact on the debate.

Could you explain what the main issues were with the PACE-trial?

There were so many issues, so it’s hard to pick just one! Probably the biggest issue is that they have been very explicit in their protocol about how they planned to measure success. But they changed the main outcome measures after collecting data, and all the changes allowed them to report better results than had they stuck to their original methods from the protocol. Then they refused to provide the analyses that they originally promised to provide, so no one could tell what the results would have been had they not changed all their outcomes. When patients asked for these anonymous data, the investigators accused them of being “vexatious” and refused. They only did so after being ordered to do so by a legal tribunal.

To read the rest of the interview please follow this link to the original post, and while you’re there I’d recommend that you take a peek at his previous posts.

David Tuller’s Virology Blog. 

In the spring of 2017, Tuller successfully raised money in order to continue investigating and blogging about the PACE trial and and other issues related to ME. The funds raised went to the Center for Scientific Integrity who transferred them to the School of Public Health at University of California, Berkeley, which in turn created a position for Tuller to continue his investigative work.

To read his posts related to ME please follow this link. I’d suggest you scroll down and begin with his first post from 2011.

For a bit more background about Tuller, and for more of his articles, check out his entry in the MEpedia site.




Post Twenty One. The Wheelchair Has Arrived.

So, the much anticipated wheelchair has arrived!

It was delivered mid-November by a very nice engineer who unpacked and put it together for me, and he gave me some basic instructions, how to use the joystick, how to charge the batteries, how to fold and unfold it etc. He also made me sit in it. This was the very first time in my life that I have sat in a wheelchair, and I was pleased to find that it wasn’t as scary as I had imagined, it didn’t feel wrong, weird, or foreign. It actually felt fine, and for a travel wheelchair, it was surprisingly comfortable.

There was however a downside. I learned that despite it being the lightest electric wheelchair in the world, it is too heavy for me to lift. This means I am unable to fold and unfold it myself. It’s around 20kg, I could easily lift 20kg before I had ME, but I guess I hadn’t quite realised just how weak I had become, or maybe I was in denial. I have tried to practice folding and unfolding it, and if I really force myself, on my ‘better’ days, I can just about manage, but only by severely over-exerting myself. So this was a huge blow, and I did feel disappointed. It means that the wheelchair won’t provide me with quite the level of independence I had hoped for, given I will be relying on others to lift, fold and/or unfold it for me. But, there’s nothing to be done about that, a lighter model does not exist, so there’s no point crying over it. The wheelchair will still provide me with the opportunity to get outdoors a bit more, and to bits of the world that have, since I’ve been ill, been inaccessible to me, and that is what matters.

It took a while before I felt well enough to get outside for a test drive thanks to a nine day migraine and being generally very unwell recently. So my first outing was around ten days ago, I went to Whitestone Park, which is very close to my mum’s house.  These are some things that I learned…

Going downhill is scary.

Going uphill is just about manageable, but uses a lot of battery power.

Smooth surfaces are a joy.

Bumpy/uneven surfaces are less good.

Grass is an absolute no no.

Pavements with a camber, that slope down towards the road are not good. Not unlike a shopping trolley the wheelchair kept veering to the side, towards the road. I learned that by almost flying onto the road. Luckily my quick reactions stopped me from potentially being flattened by a massive lorry.

I did feel nervous about passing any pedestrians, thankfully the only people I saw smiled at me. But it is a small friendly town, so they probably also would have smiled had I been walking. At least I hope so, I don’t want ‘pity’ smiles.

What surprised me was just how exhausted I felt afterwards. I was only out for half an hour, but I was shattered and the payback was pretty severe. It took a week before I felt well enough to have another practice.

The second practice was a few days ago…

I began in my mum’s garden, testing how it handles on a light dusting of snow. The makers of the wheelchair do advise that it should never be used on snowy or icy surfaces, but on the smooth paving slabs in my mum’s garden, with a little amount of snow, it managed fine.

It does not like gravel, it stubbornly refused to move while the spinning wheels dug holes in the ground.

I was reminded that it really does not like bumpy surfaces. The pavement in front of my mum’s house, I had thought, counted as a smooth surface. I suppose I never paid much attention when I was on foot. But the wheelchair did not like it at all. Again, it wanted to veer off onto the road. I had to take it incredibly slowly, and I really felt like I was pushing the wheelchair out of it’s comfort zone. It was also really uncomfortable for me, as my skeleton got a good shoogle, as I bumped along the uneven pavement. It struggled even more as the pavement turned an uphill corner. I ended up having to get out of the wheelchair, switch it into manual mode and push it round the corner and up the first section of the hill. Realising that going up this hill, with it’s very bumpy pavement, with a coating of snow was not going to happen, I went down into the grounds of a nearby hotel instead. Again the surfaces here were really uneven and pot-holey, I had to give up pretty quickly, and pushed the wheelchair back to my mum’s house, it was hard on my arm muscles, but it gave me something to lean on, like an incredibly expensive zimmer frame.

So that’s been my wheelchair experience so far. The first outing was definitely a success. Whizzing along the paths in the park and ending up next to the river was wonderful. Without a doubt I was able to travel further than my legs would have safely carried me. The second outing was disappointing, and I felt quite low afterwards. But I did learn something, it was educational, so therefore still useful.

My health has been really poor recently, especially with my marathon migraine. I’ve also had some emotionally draining situations to cope/deal with, completely unrelated to the wheelchair, but this too takes a huge toll on my ME symptoms. It has been a source of anxiety for me that I haven’t been able to practice with the wheelchair as frequently as I would like. Understandably I have lots of people asking me how I’m getting on with the wheelchair. And I have to respond, to the people who paid for it, that so far I’ve only had one, or two outings in it. This leaves me with a lot of guilt. That I’m letting these people down, and not giving them their ‘money’s worth’. On my second outing I began to panic and thought I would need to offer everyone a refund. My mum reassured me that the people who made contributions to my wheelchair fund did so for me, not for themselves, or their viewing pleasure. I do still wish I was able to use it more frequently, but like always, my illness dictates everything.

I think this is a good time to remind people, and myself, of something. Having the wheelchair has not cured my ME, it has not given me a new body, and I do not suddenly have more energy. It will allow me to go outdoors more frequently. But these outings will take place on the days that my mum would have otherwise visited me. So I’ll be doing pretty much the same amount of activity, in term of duration, but now, some of that activity will be able to be outdoors, rather than in my home. That, is how this wheelchair will change my life. I also have to accept that I’ll get less use of it during the winter, while it did manage ok in my mum’s garden on a small dusting of snow, I do know better than to experiment with it in deep snow, or on a sheet of ice. I will also be limited to using it on smooth pavements and paths, and it’s only now that I realise how uneven many of the pavements are in this town.

Each outing in the wheelchair for the next few months will, I imagine, be a learning curve. But even finding out what it doesn’t manage, will be useful information to have. I also need to stop looking at the difference it will make through the eyes of a healthy, able bodied person. When I do, it makes me think I’m not using it enough. But actually, the difference it will make to my life, however small it might look to someone else, will be worthwhile, and will without a doubt improve my quality of life.

Thank you again everyone who made this possible. x












Post Twenty. Thank You For Funding My Wheelchair!

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Claire, Stacey, Morag, Carola, Richard, Morag, Naomi, Kate, Gavin, Heather, Anthony, Nick, Paul, Jennifer, Lorna, Rebecca, Alan, Alison, Luca, Gillian, Kathleen, Ann, Bill, Gusia, Robert, Rhona, Seonaidh, Viv, Ian, Caroline, Ann, Gary, Morag, Robert, James, Jessica, Colin, Lorraine, Dot, Natasha, Christine, Kelly, Tony, Jennifer, Kathy, Clare, Kimberly, Angela, Phil, Richard, Clara, Agnieszka, Claire, Peter, Vikki, Sandy, Abigail, Emma and Anonymous Donors x 16.

Thank you so much everyone who helped me raise the money for my soon-to-be electric wheelchair. I’m completely overwhelmed by the generosity, support and encouragement I have received over the last few weeks. It’s been a really incredible experience.

Amazingly, I met my initial target of £2795 on day 12 of my campaign! It was so quick that I couldn’t even withdraw any of the funds yet!

When I set my target of £2795, I had been planning on covering the costs of the JustGiving fees (roughly 6.5% of the total amount raised) and the delivery fee for my wheelchair (£80) myself. However, some of my friends who had intended to make a donation, hadn’t been able to yet as they were waiting for payday. They asked me, after I had met my initial target, if they could contribute to these fees. So, taking this into consideration, I decided to increase my target to £3075. Which I then met on day 22! This means I now have enough not only to buy the wheelchair, a second battery, a travel bag/cover and three years of insurance, but it will also cover the delivery fee, and the fees deducted by JustGiving.

I have now withdrawn the funds and am just waiting for them to transfer to my bank account, which can take up to ten days. Then I’ll be able to contact Careco and order my new wheelchair!

Campaign began – Saturday 14th October 2017

I reached number 5 in the JustGiving Leaderboard! This means that only 4 other campaigns on JustGiving received more donations than mine in the previous 24 hours. – Sunday 15th October

Met first target £2795 –  Wednesday 25th October 2017

Met second target £3075 – Saturday 4th November 2017

I’m so grateful for every donation. This outpouring of support has been quite overwhelming, and it has meant so much more to me than simply being able to purchase the wheelchair.

As you may know from my previous post (Post Sixteen. Wheelchair Or Not?) I’ve been feeling very nervous about this wheelchair. While the sensible part of my brain tells me this will be good for me, the anxious side feels, well, anxious. It will, I imagine, take me some time to feel comfortable using in public spaces, such as Peebles High Street. While I get used to it, in terms of how it makes me feel, and how to operate it, I’ll be practising in less public places, and this will take as long as it takes!

I will also, as always, need to be careful about my overall use of energy. Having a wheelchair will not cure my ME. I will still only be able to go out, and use my wheelchair, when I feel well enough. This might mean only once a month, sometimes less, or sometimes more frequently. I do realise that it can be confusing for people to understand that I may not be able to undertake an activity that I managed to do a few days, or hours, or weeks previously.

Basically, my body has a pathological inability to produce sufficient energy on demand. Which means I have a limited amount of energy that I can use on a day to day basis. I have to pace myself and my activity, and be very careful to stay within my ‘energy envelope’, so to speak. Oh, and to make it even more interesting, my energy levels fluctuate, so I never know when I wake up how much energy I’ll have that day. If I over-exert myself, whether physical or mental exertion, and go outside my energy-envelope, that will cause a crash, which means my symptoms will worsen, and it can take, days, weeks, or months to recover. This worsening of symptoms after exertion is known as Post Exertional Malaise, which is the defining/cardinal symptom of ME. I really wish it had a better name though, ‘Malaise’ is so misleading, and really not very descriptive of the devastating destructive brutality of this symptom. I tend to refer to it as ‘payback’, because that’s what it feels like, like I’m being punished by my body for daring to live a little.

Now, if I were being very very sensible, I would only ever live within my energy-envelope, or my baseline, as it’s also sometimes known. In theory, if I stay below my baseline, I’ll be able to live with minimal symptoms. The problem is, life within my baseline is incredibly dull and boring, and it has done considerable damage to my mental health. I need more from life than what my limited envelope of energy allows.

There are also many things that use energy that are simply outwith my control, especially emotional stress. I can control the amount of physical activity I do, but I have no control over the things that I find upsetting, from the Tories persistent assault on the poor, vulnerable and disabled, to someone I love being in an accident, to my laptop dying. The resulting emotions, thought processing and communication required to sort these things out can also take me days, weeks or months to recover from. I’m also affected by sensory input; temperature, light, noise, smell and movement. No matter how well I control my environment at home, I cannot control the outside world.

So in a perfect world I would never go above my baseline. Even on my better days I’m meant to limit my activity/use of energy, and this is incredibly frustrating. It’s so difficult to suppress my natural instinct to be active, to go outside, to be sociable, and like so many people with ME, I tend to overdo it on my better days. This pattern, the overdoing it on the better days, then paying for it for days, weeks or months after, is known as ‘boom and bust’, and it’s what I should be avoiding. But like I said, this makes life so boring, too boring for me, and it’s that, along with the isolation that this life forces upon a person, that has damaged my mental health, and as a result I am now being treated for depression.

So anyway, this has been a really long way to explain why you won’t suddenly see me out and about every other day in my wheelchair, and also why you might see me only once every few weeks, maybe enjoying Dawyck Botanic Gardens, or Haylodge Park etc. For me, at this stage of my illness, I want to use the wheelchair to enjoy the places, mainly in nature, that have been inaccessible to me for the last couple of years. The wheelchair, will hopefully allow me to take in some of these places, every now and then, but not too often, without over exerting myself so much, that I’ll suffer for it afterwards. Also, please don’t be confused or alarmed if you see me walking! I can walk short distances, and by living right in the centre of town, this means I can walk, occasionally, to a nearby shop, or Costa, and to my weekly counselling appointments, which luckily, are very close to my home.

Something that I gained from this crowdfunding experience that I wasn’t expecting, was, it helped to take the edge off my fear of the wheelchair. I was so very moved, not just by the incredible generosity, but also the encouraging and supportive comments, that I actually began to feel excited. Everyone who donated has made this possible for me, and I feel like, it’s not just me anymore who is emotionally invested in this purchase, you are too, and I can’t wait to show you what you have paid for. One of the comments on my crowdfunding page said “I’ve been trying to find another little something to send you but instead I shall buy you a brake cable or a switch or something”. I love this! I love thinking that you can all decide which bit of the wheelchair you paid for. Obviously the brake cable is already spoken for, but there are four wheels, two batteries, the joystick, and all the others bits and pieces that hold it together and make it work, unfortunately some of you will be stuck with the insurance, which is kind of boring, but still necessary.

When I first set up my campaign, I never expected to reach my target, and I thought maybe only my mum and a handful of friends would donate. I’m so touched by every single person who made a donation. My family, my friends, my family’s friends, old colleagues, classmates from school and university and people I don’t even know. It’s so lovely that there are people who care enough to help out someone they’ve never met, unless we have met and I’m terrible and don’t remember! Although, being the daughter of two teachers from the local high school, and with a rather distinctive and rare surname, means that it’s possible some of these people know of me, or my parents, or my older sisters, and we do actually have some kind of connection. Or maybe they’re just dead nice people! Which of course, all of you are, whether you know me personally or not. The loveliest thing of all is knowing, and it took a friend to remind me of this, that “it’s proof, not that it was needed, of how much you are loved and cared about”. And this came at a much needed time.

I would also like to thank a few of our local media people.

Shortly after I set up my crowdfunding campaign I approached Kris Tatum at the Peeblesshire News. For me, it was more a matter of raising awareness of ME, which as I’ve said many times, is hugely misunderstood, (please read my last post for more info in regards to this Post Nineteen. Time For Unrest) than it was to get donations. But I was delighted to find that, after my story was published, I began to get donations from these lovely strangers I’ve spoken about. Shortly after my Peeblesshire News article was published I was contacted by Ally McGilvray at Radio Borders, who kindly publicised my campaign on air and on their website. Then, I was contacted by Sarah Frances at The Southern Reporter, who also very kindly featured my story.

You can read these here…

The Peeblesshire News

Radio Borders

The Southern Reporter

Thank you very much Kris, Ally and Sarah for helping to spread the word about ME, and of course for all the donations that were made as a result.

And lastly, thank you to JustGiving, who provided me with the platform that made this possible. Unbeknown to me when I set up my campaign, JustGiving help to spread awareness of the campaigns on their site. Sarah at The Southern Reporter was only made aware of my story when she received a press release from JustGiving! I find that quite remarkable, that someone at JustGiving made the effort to track down my local newspaper. Absolutely worth the fees they charge!

Now that I have managed to raise awareness of ME a little bit, I would very much like, if you would like to increase your awareness even further, to bring the film Unrest to your attention. Rather than going into it here, again I’ll direct you to my previous post, in which I kind of reviewed/shared my feelings after having watched it myself.

Post Nineteen. Time For Unrest.

If you like the sound of it, I’m delighted to share with you, that you (Peebles people) will be able to see it on the big screen at the Eastgate Theatre on Thursday 18th January at 7.30pm. Tickets are now available! If we can scrounge together enough people for a panel, including me, there might be a Q&A session afterwards! For non-Peebles people, you can find details of how/where to watch it, on the big screen or at home, in my previous post (Post Nineteen).

Thank you again everyone who supported me through my campaign. It means so much to me, and I’m forever grateful. I will update you all after the arrival of my fancy new wheelchair!

PS. If you would like a reminder of the wheelchair that you have funded, here you go…


Post Nineteen. Time For Unrest.

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“A revelation and a call to action” – The Salt Lake City Tribune

“Riveting…equal parts medical mystery, science lesson, political advocacy primer and even a love story” – The San Francisco Chronicle

Jennifer Brea is an active Harvard PhD student about to marry the love of her life when suddenly her body starts failing her. Hoping to shed light on her strange symptoms, Jennifer grabs a camera and films the darkest moments unfolding before her eyes as she is derailed by M.E. (commonly known as Chronic Fatigue Syndrome), a mysterious illness some still believe is “all in your head.”

In this story of love and loss, newlyweds Jennifer and Omar search for answers as they face unexpected obstacles with great heart. Often confined by her illness to the private space of her bed, Jen is moved to connect with others around the globe. Utilizing Skype and social media, she unlocks a forgotten community with intimate portraits of four other families suffering similarly. Jennifer Brea’s wonderfully honest portrayal asks us to rethink the stigma around an illness that affects millions of people. Unrest is a vulnerable and eloquent personal documentary that is sure to hit closer to home than many could imagine.

I have been awaiting the arrival of this film for some time. It has been a few years in the making but I only found out about it after watching Jen Brea’s TED talk earlier this year. Having already been screened in other parts of the world, and winning lots of awards on its way, Unrest had its UK premier just a couple of weeks ago in London. For those of us too unwell to go to our closest screening, we had the opportunity to pre-order the film online, and patiently, or not so patiently, wait for the 31st of October, the day of its release.

On Tuesday I was finally able to download it and I watched it in stages over the following three days. What can I say…

It’s beautifully made.

It made me cry and it made me smile.

I felt validated. So often people tell me how I should feel. That I have to be hopeful, that I can’t give up, that I have to believe that I’ll recover. Watching this film reminded me that everything I have felt since having ME, every emotion and every fear has been valid.

It made me feel sad, angry and frustrated. I felt moments of grief and moments of rage. I also felt understood, and grateful. I felt like I belonged, like I was part of a community, an uprising!

Unrest: a state of dissatisfaction, disturbance, and agitation, typically involving public demonstrations or disorder

The most surprising reaction I had to the film, was that I found it strangely comforting. I had thought it would be the kind of film that I would only want to watch once, that it would be too difficult to watch it on repeat. But I have already started watching it for a second time, and I think will watch it again, and again, whenever I feel a bit lost or disconnected.

My ME is not as severe as Jen’s was (while she was making this film), but it was all so familiar. The opening scene is very effective. I found myself holding my breath as I watched Jen try, with every fibre of her being, with every ounce of strength she had left, to lift herself off the floor and into bed. I’ve never, thankfully, been that disabled by my ME, certainly not for such a prolonged period of time. I have experienced that complete lack of strength, the extreme weakness in my body, when I haven’t been able to lift my head or my arms, or have lost the use of my legs. But I haven’t been as severe as Jen, in terms of, I am mainly housebound and am bedbound for at least half of the day, but Jen has been bedbound for months at a time.

When it comes to the ‘fatigue’ that people with ME experience, it’s this extreme weakness, this complete lack of strength and pure exhaustion that we’re talking about. It’s so far away from the myth that we’re ‘just tired’, I mean, it’s just nothing like being tired. It’s like referring to a hurricane as, ‘just a puddle’. It’s so insulting, not to mention factually incorrect, to conflate the two.

I’ve been thinking a lot about why we, the people with ME, have needed a film like this to come along.

It’s this idea that ME is just ‘being tired’ that drives the general perception of ME. It’s what many people think, until they get ME, or know someone who has ME. But even when you know someone with ME, you don’t really see the truth. Because when you see us, when we’re well enough for you to see us, our illness is largely invisible. You don’t see us when we’re alone at home, or in bed, so it’s easy to misunderstand, it’s easy to forget about us.

A lot of the misunderstanding is also due the damaging name, Chronic Fatigue Syndrome (CFS). If the term CFS didn’t exist, and our illness was only ever referred to as Myalgic Encephalomyelitis (ME), it would change perception immensely. The name CFS has done so much harm. It makes people think we’re just fatigued, just tired. And why would anyone spend their time campaigning for, running marathons for, signing petitions for, writing to MP’s for, raising awareness for… someone who is just tired.

The name CFS has also caused problems, in that, it’s easy to conflate the illness CFS (ME), with the symptom ‘chronic fatigue’. This confusion has had massive repercussions. So far, in the UK, the only government funded research into ME has been for psychological research. The ‘scientists’ involved believe that ME can be cured by ‘lifestyle changes’, Graded Exercise Therapy (GET), and Cognitive Behavioural Therapy (CBT). (Please read my previous post on the PACE Trial for more info.) The problem is, the participants of the trials didn’t actually have to have ME (for which the defining/cardinal symptom is Post Exertional Malaise) in order to participate, they only had to have ‘chronic fatigue’. So, the only treatments that the UK, and beyond, have to offer people with ME, are GET and CBT, ‘treatments’ which have only been trialled, not on people with ME, but people with chronic fatigue.

It is, I believe, this false notion of what ME is, that has enabled the unbelievable situation that we are in today. It has held back funding for biomedical research, it is why we have no safe or effective treatment options, no cure, no support from our medical establishments and little respect from the general public.

I can’t blame all the people for not having a thorough understanding of ME, how can any of us know everything about every illness. But, I do blame people, whether friends, family, doctors, scientists, MP’s, journalists, employers, anyone who knows someone with ME, who has a patient with ME, or a constituent with ME, who choose not to inform themselves. The people who choose apathy or blatant disbelief, despite the wealth of knowledge available online, and worse, despite what they are being told by their loved ones. These people are responsible for the decades of neglect and mistreatment that people with ME continue to face. It’s because of these people, that we have to use our precious limited energy on informing, fighting, campaigning and advocacy. These people are the reason that the film, Unrest exists. If Jen had been believed by her doctors from the beginning, she wouldn’t have had to turn her camera on herself. Her doctors only believed her, not on her word, but only once they saw visual evidence. That was the seed that planted this remarkable, and vitally important film.

This quote from the film seems particularly relevant right now…

What terrifies me is that you can disappear because someone’s telling the wrong story about you. I feel like that’s what’s happened to all of us who are living this. And I remember thinking, there’s no one coming to look for me because no one even knows that I went missing.

We need people to start listening, we need people to start telling the correct story, otherwise, nothing will change.

Sadly, a few days ago, we lost a member of the ME community. She was a wife, a mother, an active member of the ME advocacy community. I’ve shared this Ron Davis quote before, who actually features in the film, “The good news is, these patients don’t die. The bad news is, these patients don’t die.” It’s not, strictly speaking, true. Yes, it’s more common to live with ME for decades, than to die from ME, but that’s not to say ME can’t kill, it can, and it has.

I heard about her death via Jen’s Facebook page, this is what she said…

I am sad but mad as hell. When our community loses someone to this disease, my first thought is always, “someone killed you.” Because someone did. A lot of people.

Think about what Jen is saying here. Today, in 2017, we are no further forward in treating this illness than we were thirty years ago. We, the people with ME, are in the same place today that people with MS were in before the invention of the CAT scan. We have been waiting for far too long for the invention of our ‘CAT scan’ machine.

How can this be, that science is so behind when it comes to ME? It can be, because of the misconceptions that people have about ME. That’s it. It’s that simple. These falsehoods, these misconceptions have held back progress. They have fuelled the lack of investment into biomedical research. While people continue to tell the wrong story about us, while popular opinion (aided by the likes of Comedian Ricky Gervais – see trailer below) continues to believe that we are ‘just tired’, we won’t get anywhere. In order to get adequate funding for research, funding that is in line with other serious conditions, funding that will SAVE LIVES, we need people to tell the correct story. And this, is the reason I do what I do. This is why I write my blog. This is why I publicly share such personal information. This is why I approached my local paper to feature my crowdfunding campaign, not for the donations for my wheelchair, but for the opportunity to raise awareness. This is why I share every article I find about ME on Facebook and Twitter. I cannot just sit back and accept society’s neglect of us. I will continue to fight, I will continue to do everything in my power to make a difference. And after watching this film I am more fired up than ever before.

Something else that came up in the film was the loss of friends, a strange phenomenon that so often runs side by side with chronic illness. Jen said something interesting in a recent Twitter thread, it was about some of the reviews of Unrest, but it got me thinking further about the issue of fading friendships…

About half the film critics reviewing Unrest have said not it’s a “must see” but rather that it’s “a hard watch”. I’m the last person who should be speaking about the quality of my own film. But I can’t help but think what they are saying is “sick and disabled people are hard to watch”. Which is another way of saying – I’d rather look away. What I say at the end of every screening is that Unrest represents for people on this part of the spectrum, the best case scenario. And so while the world says, this is almost too heartbreaking to bear, patients say, you don’t know the half of it. It’s the height of privilege to be able to look away from pain, whoever’s pain it is. And so we are forced to package our pain, meter it, make it acceptable to others in a form that seduces or implores in just the right way. Which is the dance that EVERY oppressed group whether female, black, gay, transgender or disabled has been doing since forever. It is exhausting because there are times all I really want to do is scream.

A few of my friends have drifted out of my life since my diagnosis, and especially since I moved out of Edinburgh. Jen’s quote above made me wonder, do they, like the film critics, find me ‘too hard to watch’? I’ll never know. Because those who have removed themselves from my life have done so without a conversation, an email, a letter, an explanation. Has it been easier for them to walk away, than to face my life as it is now, to see me and my suffering? Is Jen right, is that the height of privilege, to be able to look away from other people’s pain? Have my lost friends made a conscious decision to look away? Were they so accustomed to the friendship that we used to share, that they can’t, or won’t, adapt to this new life of mine/ours? Or maybe they just don’t like me, that would be preferable actually. It’s something that I have been, and will continue to think about for some time.

What Jen said in her Twitter thread also made think about how I present myself. I use my blog to communicate, and to share. It’s my way of talking honestly about my experience of living with this illness, packaged nicely, but without rubbing it in your face. I try not to sugar coat it, but I do end up, sometimes deliberately, sometimes not, doing just that. I protect you from the most harrowing bits, I try not to come across as too negative, I word everything very carefully. Basically, I try to make my existence, my life, more acceptable to you. My blog, while it goes part of the way there, it doesn’t go into the absolute raw reality of my life, no words could, as with every other ME patient, however much I share, you don’t know the half of it.

Now, I knew I wouldn’t get through this film without crying. The first tears I shed while watching it were at this point…

It was like I had died, but was forced to watch as the world moved on. If I completely disappear and I’m in this bed and I can do nothing then it’s like I don’t even exist or that I never existed. And then what was the point of it all? Of being born in the first place? You know and honestly there are a lot of days when I just feel like I’m doing a good job by just holding it together and not killing myself. Like I’m really proud of that. And it’s not – I really don’t want to die. Like I really don’t want to die. But at a certain point it’s hard to call this living and I think the grief of all those things I might not do or see or have or…

That was Jen speaking, but it could be me, I’ve said all of these things. I’m proud of me too. I believe that anyone who can exist through this illness, with the suffering, the stigma, the disbelief, the isolation… are in possession of the most incredible inner-strength. What we live through, for years, decades, lifetimes, most (healthy) people would find unbearable for just one day. We’re positively superhuman. If I get through this alive, I’ll be so goddamn proud of myself. But if I don’t, I won’t blame myself at all. Like they say in the film, suicide is the leading cause of death in people with ME, and that isn’t shocking to me. Like Jen, I don’t want to die, but I do want to not have ME anymore. This is one of the hardest things I have faced while living with ME, the effort of staying alive. Yet, while I do my hardest every day to keep going forward, to remain hopeful, I joined Dignitas (a Swiss non-profit members’ society providing assisted/accompanied suicide). It’s kind of funny, given its purpose, but it’s my Dignitas membership that actually helps me to keep going, knowing that I have that option, one day, if I choose, it’s like my comfort blanket.

Importantly, Unrest also has a focus on those who care for us. The people we couldn’t be without. I don’t feel I’m in a place to comment in much depth, given I’m the patient, and not the carer. But I do know how hard this life can be, the life of caring for someone with ME. And when the carer is a spouse, a sibling, or a parent, etc, it can muddy the relationship a bit. It was lovely to see, despite the odd bit of frustration, i.e. the tent scene, how much Omar values and loves Jen and their marriage. From what they showed us, they don’t seem to have lost what they had before ME joined the relationship.

I think Jen, her husband Omar, and all the film’s ME participants have been extremely brave in making this documentary. I’ve been wondering if I’ll ever be brave enough to turn the camera on myself, I can’t see it happening, but then I also never expected to blog about this stuff, or end up in my local paper.

I would also like to thank Jen, Omar, everyone involved in the making of this film. It’s already making a difference. Here in the UK we desperately need the government and the NHS to start listening. We need funding for biomedical research. We need the NHS to stop prescribing ‘lifestyle changes’ which only harm, rather than help. The biggest ever investment into biomedical research in the UK came from America, the NIH! We need our own government invest in us.

One of the wonderful things that the Unrest team were able to do was arrange a parliamentary screening of Unrest. Forty three MP’s attended. We can only hope now that these MP’s will start fighting for us. Labour MP Mark Tami has already said…

This sort of stigma around ME is exactly the sort of thing we need to eradicate. Little is known about the illness and there is no known cure for it, which is probably why society appears to be so ignorant towards it.

ME is clearly a very complex condition but as a country we are not doing enough for patients who are suffering from it. This essentially boils down to funding, I therefore intend to push the Government to provide sufficient funding, and ensure this funding is adequately spent in the right areas.

This is exactly the kind of response we need from this film. I want people (the ones who don’t have ME) to have their eyes opened by the brutality/reality of what they’re watching. I want them to be amazed at the resilience of the ME patients featured in the film, against all the odds these people keep smiling and keep hoping. I want this film to educate people. I want it to highlight the dire need for treatment and a cure. I want the people who have previously dismissed ME to admit they’ve been wrong, to put that aside and to keep educating themselves and others. I want our governments and our medical establishments to stop ignoring us. I want this film to push people into action, and if it doesn’t, I don’t know what will.


Unrest Official Trailer


Jennifer Brea’s TED Talk



On the big screen (in Scotland)…

Vue GLASGOW Fort, Monday 27th November, 7pm. Buy tickets here…

Odeon EDINBURGH Lothian Road, Wednesday 29th November, 6pm. Buy tickets here…

Eastgate Theatre and Arts Centre PEEBLES, Thursday 18th January, 7.30pm. Buy tickets here… (Particularly pleased about this screening in my own town, in the theatre I used to work in! Arranged by myself, my mum and a good friend.)

For other screenings, search here…


On iTunes…

On Vimeo…

On Google Play…

On Amazon Video…

On VUDU…!overview/894864/Unrest

On Netflix…


Unrest is coming to DVD in December. Follow this link and fill out the form to receive a notification when DVDs are on sale…



ITV News:

BBC Breakfast:

The Daily Telegraph:

BBC / Mark Kermode:

The Times:

The Pool:

Huffington Post

BBC News / Stories

The Daily Express

The Salt Lake City Tribune

The New York Times

San Francisco Chronicle

Megyn Kelly TODAY


Chicago Reader

San Francisco Weekly

Los Angeles Times

The Hollywood Reporter

Film Inquiry

The Washington Post

Rotten Tomatoes



Post Eighteen. Crowdfunding My Wheelchair.

You may have read my previous posts about my indecision regarding buying a wheelchair…

Post Sixteen. Wheelchair Or Not?

Post Sixteen Continued… Wheelchair Or Not. An Afterword.

Well, I have decided to go for it and have given myself 30 days to raise the £2795 I need via JustGiving Crowdfunding.

This a huge, emotional and scary leap for me. But one of the things that helped me come to this decision, were the many kind and supportive comments and messages that I received in response to the above posts, it was really very encouraging and I thank you all very much for taking the time and energy to contact me. I still feel nervous about this, in fact I’m downright terrified. But I’m also a little bit excited, I very much hope that this decision will lead to a better quality of life.

If you would like to contribute to my wheelchair please follow the link to my crowdfunding page below. All contributions will be very much appreciated. And please feel free to share my crowdfunding page, if you wish to. Thank you so much, Phoebe.