Seven years ago I survived Sepsis.

The immediate trauma is something I try not to think about very often but I can recall the feeling so vividly. That feeling of clinging onto my life by a strand of hair so fragile that could snap at any moment leaving me float away from my family, my husband, my little boy and my newborn baby girl.

It is the post traumatic event, survival journey, I think about often and the emotional rollercoaster that my entire family joined me on over the next 3 years of my recovery. That, has been the inspiration for our life changing support program aptly called “When Life Gives You Lemons”.

This experience was not my first encounter with health challenges. My life has been marked by over 35 years of hospitalisations, surgeries, and countless appointments, so you'd think I was well prepared for this right? ...Wrong! This one knocked me for six...

I had lost so much of who I was over this journey. I lost my business, my confidence identity, my sense of self, my purpose. Crippled with anxiety and fear and the negative self talk was horrendous. I felt like this is what I deserved, that it was the universe's way of telling me I was, as they say "too big for my own boots"

I no longer felt like I fit in to my family, there was no place for me because my husband had done such an amazing job stepping up and becoming both Mum & Dad and Carer and all round superhero. I was so angry at the world and resented Mark for being so well & able to hold it all together all the time. I resented the connection and he had with our baby girl and all the "firsts" I missed.

It’s a very strange thing grieving a baby that is still in your arms but I had given birth to a baby and come home to an almost 1yr old who wanted nothing to do with me, who screamed crying every time I walked into the room. And for two more years I was so consumed with grieving that baby, I missed out on the little girl before my eyes because I struggled to let go and be present.

My priorities and tolerance level changed massively. Nothing else mattered while our little family was fighting to keep our life together. I had no idea how long this could and would go on for because there were brief periods where it looked like everything was going to be ok and then it would all crash down again, back to hospital, back to the fears, worries and survival mode.

The shift in dynamics at home was massive and I found myself trying to do the job of both parents while also looking after Elaine Sarah. I constantly felt overwhelmed by it all but I would pack it away into a little box as much as I had to and then lie awake at night worrying about everything.

And then on top of an already stressful situation...

I lost my job.

And just as I was getting better, the kids began their own journeys. As it turns out my rare condition is a genetic mutation (which we only found out in 2024! after a series of events) Which both of our children also have.

In 2021 they both went to Great Ormond Street Hospital for two weeks of invasive testing to come up with a care plan for their futures. I remember calling my Mum crying that this was the hardest thing I ever had to watch and how I finally understood how she must have felt watching me suffer as a child. Unfortunately, I actually had no idea how much worse it was going to get.

In November 2021 Poppy was scheduled for her ileostomy surgery. And Jacob was scheduled for his to be done January 2022. We already knew lots about stomas as I had mine since I was 13. It's a serious but pretty common surgery for a lot of people, usually with a short recovery time. One that was to give her a better quality of life.

Unfortunately, for Poppy things did not go as planned...

What began as a mission for a better quality of life ended up being months and months on end in hospital.

Twelve surgeries, three very close calls, multiple transfusions, infections and interventions, countless procedures and exhausting periods of waiting. Waiting for answers and praying for miracles. Days and nights of all consuming fear and frustration, and hundreds of sleepless night.

Eventually we got to take our little girl home. But she came home a completely different child. A child so full of crippling trauma. One that now trusted no one and who required 24/7 care to ensure her safety, we had to watch her at all times because at any time she could need to be rushed back to hospital.

Jacob age 11

Life with illness in the family is not easy but we all have something we can do to get through it. For me it's that we all stay as a family and that we can all just talk to each other and mess and have fun.

Most of the things I remember are good things. It's not good to forget the bad but it's not things I want to remember. I try to focus on the good.

I remember going in to visit my Mammy in hospital for my 5th Birthday and I was just so happy because I got to be with her. I didn't see the machines because I was focused on her.

The times Mammy came out of hospital for visits were times that really meant a lot to me because I knew she was really sick and being able to see her at my concert or other times made me feel really happy and proud and loved because I felt she cared that much. When she came home I was overjoyed, I felt like I'd explode.

Back in 2019 we met Dee Hutchinson an International Award Winning Business and Life Coach after I (I'm embarrassed to say) called her out online and had a go at about how I cant just "Think" myself better if I have a physically debilitating condition. I was still going through the aftermath of surviving sepsis and very much still angry at the world and frustrated with my lack of control over my life.

At the time I also had no idea how coaching worked. I thought it was all just pretty thoughts journals and manifesting.

I had no idea at the time but this woman who I had never met was about to change our life...

From these personal trials, 'Chronic Health Advocate clg' was born—a support organisation forged from real adversity, driven by empathy and understanding and dedicated to supporting families so they never have to feel lost or alone through their journey with complex, chronic illness.