The in-between stage

Firstly, I want to apologise for the silence over the past few weeks. Life has been a bit heavy. My condition has been flaring more than usual, and I’ve been trying to balance that with a few new things going on behind the scenes. I’ll always try to keep this consistent, but there may be times where I miss a week or two. I’d rather be upfront about that than force an update when I’m running on empty.

My keloids have been far more irritated than I’m used to, and it seems to be happening more often. The pain has changed as well. Before, it was sharp and surface-level, something I had almost learned to live alongside. Recently, it feels deeper. Some days it’s like the soreness you get after overworking a muscle, except I haven’t done anything to cause it. It’s unsettling when your body starts behaving in ways you don’t fully understand. I find myself wondering whether the scar tissue is pressing on nerves or affecting the muscle underneath.

I sometimes sit down to write these updates and wish I had better news to share. The truth is that this condition can be exhausting. Since my last update, I’ve had two separate hospital appointments. Both ended in a similar way. I was told they’ve reached the end of what they can offer in terms of treatment. Hearing that once is hard. Hearing it twice makes it feel final, even if it isn’t.

I’m still on a waiting list for surgery at another hospital. It’s been over a year without a confirmed date. That kind of uncertainty does something to you. You try not to let your mind spiral, but it’s difficult not knowing whether help is months away or not coming at all.

I’ve had a private consultation and will soon begin treatment on some of my larger keloids, mainly on my shoulders. These areas haven’t been treated before, which makes this feel like new territory. It’s a mix of hope and hesitation. Hope that it might ease the pain or reduce their size. Hesitation because private treatment comes with financial pressure and no guarantees. There’s also the question of how this might affect any future plans if surgery does eventually come through. None of these decisions feel simple.

One thing this period has made me realise is how much mental energy goes into managing a long-term condition. It’s not just the physical discomfort. It’s the researching, the weighing up options, the second-guessing, the phone calls, the cost, and the constant adjusting of expectations. Even on days when the pain is manageable, the thinking never really switches off.

There are moments where I feel frustrated that I’m still here, still trying to find something that works. But there’s also a stubborn part of me that refuses to accept that this is as good as it gets. I don’t expect a miracle. I’m just looking for improvement. Less pain. Less irritation. A bit more comfort in my own skin.

In the middle of all this, I’m trying to live normally. I’m making plans. I’m seeing people when I can. Some days are easier than others. Some days I cancel things because I just don’t have it in me. I’m learning not to feel guilty about that. Managing this condition is a part-time job in itself.

I don’t know what the next few months will look like. The private treatment might help. It might not. The surgery might come through. It might take longer. What I do know is that I’m still here, still trying, still looking for ways to make this more manageable.

If you’re dealing with something ongoing and unpredictable, I hope you’re giving yourself credit. Even when it feels like you’re standing still, there’s strength in continuing to show up for appointments, to ask questions, and to keep going.

Thank you for sticking with me, even when the updates aren’t polished or full of good news. This space has always been about honesty. I’ll keep sharing as things move forward, one step at a time.

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