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River Island has truly upped its game in recent months with its stunning fashion and accessories collection, and the ever expanding collections just get better and better. 

We have loved a number of products from the high street label, including the Joe Horner collection. But the accessories are truly something special. 

My current favourite is River Island’s Roll Top Clutch Bag, which looks very similar to the Jacquemus The Rond Carré Clutch Bag that has had me in a chokehold for months.

The Jacquemus clutch bag retails for £710 for the smaller Rond Carré version, up to a hefty £900 for the larger version. Regardless of the design you shop, Jacquemus’ bags are still far more expensive than River Island’s £25 alternative, which I actually prefer – and not just because of the lower price tag. 

River Island Roll Top Clutch Bag

The Roll Top Clutch Bag features a flat base and roll top handle.It fastens in place with a stud detail on the top.It measures 28cm, 34cm in width and 8cm in depth, which means it is large enough to hold all your valuables. Available in three colours, including white, monochrome zebra and red.

BUY NOW FOR £25

Jacquemus The Rond Carré Clutch Bag

Crafted from premium cow leather for an ultra soft exterior, with a chunky sculptural detail along the roll top. The silver sphere and a gold-tone cube at the top is a signature stylistic feature of the brand.The bag is fully lined and features an internal slip pocket, as well as a magnetic top fastening. Available in two sizes, as well as multiple colours and textures. Measures 18cm in height, 27cm in width and 12cm in depth.

BUY NOW FOR £900

The River Island Roll Top Clutch bag has been crafted from a patent fabric that makes the bag look ultra luxurious and premium, but also durable. Whereas Jacquemus’ design has been crafted from premium cow’s leather that is ultra soft. However, other designs have been made from other fabrics. 

River Island’s bag also boasts a roll top feature, similar to The Rond Carré clutch, which gives this clutch bag a relaxed fit.  The main standout difference is Jacquemus’ bag features its signature sculptural design, the silver sphere and gold-tone cube detail at the top. This design feature is bold, weighty, and helps to hold the fold over the top opening too.  

River Island’s Roll Top Clutch Bag also features a stud press fastening to secure the bag shut, which the Jacquemus bag also has for extra security. 

The high street label’s clutch bag is only available in one size, and measures 28cm in height, 8cm in depth and 34cm in width. While Jacquemus’ The Rond Carré is available in two sizes, the dimensions of the larger version span 18cm in height, 27cm in width and 12cm in depth, while the smaller alternative measures 12.5 cm in height, 19.4cm in length and 6.6cm in width.  

River Island’s design also comes in three colourways, including white, zebra print and red.  Quite frankly we want them all, as this bag will complement every outfit for all seasons and occasions. 

The Jacquemus bag is available in 14 colours, prints and textures, so there is plenty of choice if you wish to splurge on the designer bag. 

We would pair both bags with the classic “jeans and a nice top” ensemble with flat pumps, kitten heels or heeled boots.  It is also perfectly paired with a summer dress or a blazer dress and heels because it is ultra versatile. You could style it for all seasons too, which means you wll certainly get your cost per wear out of the £25 accessory. 

If you are expanding your accessories collection, or want to shop the designer look for less, the River Island Roll Top Bag is bound to be your most used arm candy. 

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‘You’ve got cancer and it’s terminal.’ 

Sitting on a plastic chair in a hospital room, aged 50, I stared at my doctor in shock.  

It was January 2023 and as the news sunk in, I felt fear, confusion; even anger. 

I’d been back and forth to the doctor like a yo-yo with back pain over the last two years but had always been sent away with painkillers. 

Now I was being told I was going to die; and I couldn’t help but feel my learning disability had played a part in my late diagnosis. 

I have a reduced intellectual activity, making it harder to learn, develop new skills and understand complex information. 

I was diagnosed as a child. I struggled at school and was bullied for being different. 

Now, I find it hard to manage money, so I get a regular allowance from my local council. 

I find planning and multiple instructions difficult – and when I’ve been ill I’ve struggled to be taken seriously. 

I’d gone to the doctor countless times with back pain but I found it hard to explain how bad it was. The pain scale didn’t mean anything to me and when I was asked if I could walk about as normal, I struggled to convey that sometimes I’d be fine, other times I’d be curled up in agony. 

And, though I’d had breast pain for some time, I didn’t realise it might be related. 

Someone without a learning disability might volunteer that information, questioning if there was a link – but it didn’t occur to me. No one ever asked if I had pain elsewhere until I was in hospital. 

My GP gave me painkillers and steroid injections. He was nice, often getting me in for appointments at short notice, but I’d previously had doctors and nurses dismiss my concerns or call me a ‘Drama Queen’. 

This all made it hard for me to say that I felt in my gut that something was wrong and to push for tests. 

In December 2022, the pain got so bad my friend rushed me to A&E. 

I was vomiting and felt like I was dying. I spent my 50th birthday in a hospital bed, having blood tests, X-rays and CT scans. 

The doctors found I had breast cancer that had spread to my spine. There was no cure. 

I sobbed and sobbed. I was only 50. 

Did I have just days to live? 

It was clear I’d need lots of support to cope with cancer treatment and I was allocated a Macmillan nurse, a learning disability nurse and support workers from learning disability charity Mencap. 

I started taking maintenance chemotherapy in tablet form to try and keep the cancer under control. 

Thankfully, I didn’t have side effects like nausea or hair loss but I was (and am) constantly in pain; I have a breathing condition called Chronic Obstructive Pulmonary Disorder (COPD), so I can’t take too much morphine as it could cause respiratory failure. 

The emotional side of cancer has been incredibly tough. I didn’t really understand what terminal cancer was. Luckily, my support workers were amazing. 

One of them, Cat Bell, explained it to me. She said we were on a train journey and at one point we would come to the end of the line, but we didn’t know how long that line would be. 

She was there to talk to when I was feeling low and we spoke about difficult decisions, like what I’d want my funeral to be like – I want a Mickey Mouse cardboard coffin and Beautiful Trauma by Pink to be played. 

Since my diagnosis, the support from doctors and nurses has been really good but I do wonder whether having a learning disability meant I was diagnosed late. 

Research shows women with a learning disability die on average 23 years younger than the general population; and Mencap is concerned about the additional challenges people with a learning disability might face in getting a cancer diagnosis. 

A Scottish study, for example, found people with a learning disability are three times more likely to die from cancer than people who don’t have one. 

This could be because some doctors assume a patient’s symptoms are due to their learning disability (when actually, something more worrying might be going on). I am told this is called ‘diagnostic overshadowing.’ 

But also, doctors and nurses need to make sure they are making ‘reasonable adjustments’. This means giving more time for patients with a learning disability to explain what’s wrong or encouraging people to have someone with them in appointments who can help speak up for them. 

It can also be as simple as easy-to-read information leaflets, longer appointment times or explaining things in a simpler way. 

The NHS needs to be set up for this, with enough staff so they have the time to give this additional support – and every NHS staff member should have learning disability training. 

I was really concerned to hear recently that the Government also plans to scrap the targets which would encourage GPs to do annual health checks for people with a learning disability. 

I want anyone with a learning disability who has worrying symptoms to ask a friend or relative to go with them to their doctor to help push for tests and I’d encourage people to look at the easy-to-read cancer information on Mencap and Macmillan’s websites. 

With Mencap’s support I am trying to live my best life. I have friends over for takeaways, dye my hair a rainbow of colours and spend time making my home nice, filling it with items from my favourite Disney films. 

My days might be numbered but I’m determined to live each one to the full. 

As told to Catherine Jones 

Do you have a story you’d like to share? Get in touch by emailing jess.austin@metro.co.uk. 

Share your views in the comments below.

My son Zach’s walking challenge was partly inspired by Captain Tom Moore, partly by boredom.  

I took him out of school at the very start of the Covid-19 pandemic; he has cerebral palsy as well as epilepsy, which made him clinically vulnerable.  

He left his walking frame at school thinking lockdown would only last a couple of weeks but he never went back for it, and after watching Captain Tom Moore on the news, Zach decided he wanted to do a walking challenge too, just to see how far he could go under his own steam.  

We drew a 20m track in the garden and decided to raise some money for Epilepsy Society: £260. 

We reached that target on the first day, so friends encouraged us to push it to £2,600. We hit that then just kept going. I reached out to Epilepsy Society, asking if they’d share Zach’s fundraising page on their socials. 

That’s when the trouble started. 

The day after sharing Zach’s story, Epilepsy Society got in touch to say they had been targeted by trolls posting GIFs designed to invoke seizures in people with photosensitive epilepsy.  

I couldn’t understand it. Why on earth did we deserve that? This was an eight-year-old boy they were targeting, and while these people were idiots, they were deliberately trying to cause harm. 

For Sarah

Last year, on March 10, we lost our beloved colleague Sarah Whiteley. Sarah was a fantastic journalist; she was Metro’s parenting columnist and a valued member of our first-person and opinion desk.

Sarah died aged 39 from SUDEP – sudden unexpected death in epilepsy. It is thought that every year around 1,000 people die from causes related to epilepsy.

With support from Sarah’s family, Metro is fundraising for two very important charities: SUDEP Action and Epilepsy Action.

From March 10 to March 26, which marks Purple Day (epilepsy awareness day), we will be running a series of features and first-person pieces, raising awareness of epilepsy and SUDEP.

Sarah was so incredible at helping other people share their experiences; she was a born storyteller and we hope to do her proud with this series, while raising money in her memory.

By that afternoon, I was being sent the images, too. Zach was eight but he could see I was upset and knew something was going on, so I explained it as online bullies trying to be mean.

I showed him stills of the GIFs; he has focal aware seizures that are triggered when he starts to fall asleep but I didn’t want to find out he was photosensitive too, and especially not in this way. 

I reported the troll accounts but they simply set up new profiles and carried on. The Epilepsy Society went to the police but were told nothing could be done.

That’s when I learnt that the charity had been campaigning to make sharing seizure-inducing posts illegal for years, and they asked if Zach would like to join. 

What happened next was a whirlwind. 

One of Zach’s first events was an online roundtable with all the social media companies, discussing how they could target people’s malicious activities.

Then Zach started travelling up and down the country, for different appearances, radio and media interviews.   

He sat in meetings that went on for hours and met various people, always introducing himself and standing up from his wheelchair to shake hands. People may think these things are just a few photo shoots but he worked so hard.  

‘Zach’s Law’ came into force in October 2023 as part of the Online Safety Bill. It makes it illegal to digitally send or show flashing images to people with epilepsy and those caught doing so face a prison sentence of up to five years. Social media companies can be fined up to £18 million if they don’t comply with the law. 

It’s a great step forward and I’m so proud of Zach. However, as the law is only applicable in the UK, someone in another country can still send a seizure-inducing post.

Other countries were watching when we passed it here but the whole world needs to follow the UK’s lead to make the law truly effective.  

Zach developed epilepsy when he was five years old. I’ve always been honest with him – there’s no point hiding it, he is the one who has to live with it. There were a lot of complications during his delivery, which resulted in a 29-day intensive care stay and a diagnosis of cerebral palsy. 

He had seizures at birth as a result of his brain injury, and I was told he’d be at higher risk of developing epilepsy in the future. 

In May just before he turned five, I woke up to find him having a fully convulsive seizure in bed. 

Epilepsy can’t be diagnosed on the basis of one seizure but when Zach had another the following September, he had an EEG and was diagnosed and started on medication. 

Originally it was tricky to get his epilepsy under control. We went through so many different medications, and combinations of medications, but he was still having frequent seizures.

I was trained to give him rescue meds, and keep tabs on every seizure, and I always had a bag packed in case Zach needed to be blue-lit to hospital.  

When his neurologist recommended a drug called Levetiracetam, I was reluctant; it has a reputation for its side effects. Eventually, we had to bite the bullet as nothing else was working. Now, touch wood, Zach has been seizure-free for four years. 

He’s now 13 and I am so proud of him – he has done something amazing. Zach has been invited into the Speaker’s Bench at Westminster; he has met Rishi Sunak and Keir Starmer and been given awards, but he really knew his achievement was big when he was sitting on the This Morning sofa.  

My role is to keep him grounded. It’s strange to think about my child as the figurehead of Zach’s Law when I’m sorting his breakfast and washing his pants!

And as he’s getting older, he wants to stay up on a weekend, and see his friends, and it’s a balance between letting him be a kid and have fun, and being aware that something might happen.

His epilepsy is always in the back of my mind – I don’t know if it’s at the back of his.  

People are always asking Zach what’s next. I thought he should take a break but he recently came back from a weekend at his dad’s to say he’s started campaigning for improved accessibility on public transport.  

He’d already been in touch with our local MP and the media, and he’s set up a petition which now has over 1,000 signatures. He’s so damned polite but his reputation as a fierce young man precedes him, so people listen to him. 

We never intended on any of this when Zach started doing his walking challenge but it’s given him so much confidence. He has seen what he is capable of and he is so driven, he won’t stop.  

This experience is showing him: yeah, I’ve got cerebral palsy and yeah, I’ve got epilepsy. And what?  

Do you have a story you’d like to share? Get in touch by emailing jess.austin@metro.co.uk. 

Share your views in the comments below.

A throuple have shared the reaction some people give them when they’re out and about, but they shared they don’t care as they all feel as though they’ve hit the jackpot

I made sure to park close to the starting line at my local organised 5k, then I apprehensively got out of my car.

I was worried – scared even. I felt a real fear of the other runners not accepting me because I’m a trans woman. Parking close by meant that if something kicked off I could easily escape. 

But I needn’t have worried. Nobody cared that I was trans – phew! – and everyone greeted me with a smile and zero judgement.

The run itself was exhausting, but in the best way. As I ran through the park I felt a sense of freedom from normal life, even when my feet began to ache and my pulse was racing, I felt happy, comfortable and prouder of myself than ever.

As a child, I had always felt that I didn’t fit as a boy. But back in the 60s and 70s, being trans simply wasn’t a thing that was spoken about, so I suppressed it.

Later in life, I heard about people ‘changing sex’, but that wasn’t something for a working-class person like me. So I continued to push it all down and try to live up to the expectations of society.

But at 56 – in 2017 – the real me couldn’t hide any longer, so I finally came out to the world.

I didn’t really care about what my family would think. I know they are not happy with my transition and some have made negative comments, but I expected that reaction.

More difficult was coming out to colleagues and friends. 

At work, I had been a fairly typical IT person and presented as male – mostly wearing jeans and T-shirts. But once I acknowledged to myself that I was trans, things sort of escalated rapidly.

I remember getting ready to go into the office one morning and just knowing that I couldn’t do the boy-mode thing anymore. So I took a deep breath, gathered my courage and wore a skirt and top.

Nothing was said about me presenting as female for a couple of days, by which time I had become more confident that I was going to be able to sustain this.

Eventually people started asking questions, which I answered as best I could and gradually most seem to have accepted me and my pronouns. A few are obviously hostile but there is a strong equality policy so those that are negative try to keep it to themselves, though I still get the looks of disapproval.

After dipping my toe into socially transitioning, I decided that I wasn’t to ever go back to hiding who I was. No more boy-moding.

Before coming out, I didn’t want to even think about my body. I basically just didn’t want to have anything to do with it.

But I became much more aware of it after coming out. At first, in a negative way – it wasn’t the body I should have, but I couldn’t ignore or suppress it any more.

That spurred me onto realising I could do something about it, even if surgery wasn’t a realistic option because NHS waiting lists are too long and private healthcare is way too expensive.

Hormone replacement therapy (HRT) was possible, as was taking care of me, getting fitter, losing weight, and so on. That triggered me to start looking at options.

I don’t like the gym environment or the fact that it’s costly. So I looked around for alternatives and parkrun was there – which is a free community event where you can walk, jog, or run 5K with a group in your area.

It wasn’t really ever something I even considered doing pre-transition. But after that very first one, I was hooked.

I’ve done four 5k parkruns since then – so a total of 20k so far – and my best time is around 42 minutes at the moment.

Speed and distance aside though, I enjoy it because everyone is just there to run and I feel accepted.

Critics might argue that trans women are not welcome or shouldn’t take part as who they are. Some might even call us a threat to the entirety of female sport. But honestly, everybody is so encouraging – even for a slowcoach like me.

While I don’t hide who I am, I don’t go out of my way to advertise my transness either. I do however tend to wear trans colours (pink, white and light blue), including a trans coloured ribbon in my hair when I run so anybody who cares to know can easily identify me as being trans if they want to. 

If anyone has noticed, they’ve never commented. Instead, I’m just accepted as another mad fool running 5k in the cold and rain. For me this is the most inclusive thing that could happen.

In fact, it’s precisely the lack of any comments, positive or otherwise, that makes parkrun such a safe space for me.

To them I’m a runner (albeit a slow one), not a trans person, an exception or someone to be seen as a threat or managed, and that’s wonderful. So I’d encourage all trans people to try parkrun.

There are obviously the fitness and health benefits but – for me at least – there is the knowledge that I am now taking care of my body and myself. As the real me – and I’m starting to like myself.

I would say trans people participating in this is both a statement of belief in ourselves and a pushback against those that hate us.

As for my own personal goals, I want to get my fitness up to a point where I can actually run the course. Then maybe I can get my time below 30 minutes.

For me, there is no going back to how I used to be. I simply couldn’t exist as I was – and I wouldn’t want to. So my transition plans are to carry on with the private HRT for as long as I can afford it.

But most importantly, I want to continue to defy the world and simply exist as the true me. One that is happy with who I am.

As told to Sophie Molly

A married couple is now facing a crisis due to the wife’s strange bedtime habit. The husband is so fed up that he’s been sleeping in his car for two weeks, leaving others baffled

In September 2001, my husband Roger and I were woken by strange noises.

We rushed to our eight-year-old daughter Becky’s bedroom to find she was having a seizure. When she came round, she had no idea that anything had happened. 

We saw her GP urgently that morning who gave us a referral letter in a sealed envelope to take to the hospital. 

I will always regret not reading that letter. 

Becky was seen at the hospital by a registrar who told us not to worry as it was probably just a migraine, and told us to give her paracetamol if it happened again. They said that they wouldn’t be able to investigate further unless these episodes became ‘regular and frequent’.

Over the next two years, Becky had a handful of nighttime seizures, each spaced several months apart. 

For Sarah

Last year, on March 10, we lost our beloved colleague Sarah Whiteley. Sarah was a fantastic journalist; she was Metro’s parenting columnist and a valued member of our first-person and opinion desk.

Sarah died aged 39 from SUDEP – sudden unexpected death in epilepsy. It is thought that every year around 1,000 people die from causes related to epilepsy.

With support from Sarah’s family, Metro is fundraising for two very important charities: SUDEP Action and Epilepsy Action.

From March 10 to March 26, which marks Purple Day (epilepsy awareness day), we will be running a series of features and first-person pieces, raising awareness of epilepsy and SUDEP.

Sarah was so incredible at helping other people share their experiences; she was a born storyteller and we hope to do her proud with this series, while raising money in her memory.

This was extremely worrying but as they weren’t ‘regular and frequent’, we believed there was nothing we could or should do. 

When they started happening at monthly intervals in January, February and March 2004, we saw a different GP who agreed to refer Becky again.

Tragically, we subsequently found out the referral was incorrectly triaged. Instead of a neurology specialist, Becky saw a general paediatrician who diagnosed migraine and prescribed medication to treat them.

They stated that even if I was right that she had epilepsy, as by now I had come to suspect, she wouldn’t be prescribed anti-seizure medication as she was approaching puberty.

But not to worry, said the paediatrician: Becky couldn’t come to any harm from the seizures.

Becky then told him about regular lapses of attention and visual disturbances she was experiencing at school (which it was clear to us were absence seizures). 

The paediatrician was still adamant it wasn’t epilepsy but agreed to arrange for an EEG to ‘prove me wrong’. Even then, he reiterated that seizure control medication would be out of the question, and that if she had already been on epilepsy medication, he would have taken her off it due to her age. 

We have subsequently found this information to be totally unfounded and extremely dangerous. 

The EEG did indicate a problem and Becky was referred for an MRI, the results of which were due on May 6. Two days before, on May 4, 2004, our lives changed forever.

Roger found Becky lying face down so he ruffled her hair but she didn’t stir. He pulled her duvet back and knew straight away something was seriously wrong.

He yelled for me and I rang 999 who talked us through CPR but in our heart of hearts, we knew we had lost her. 

That was the worst day of our lives. Much of it is a blur but I will never forget having to say goodbye to Becky at the hospital and then being interviewed by the police back at home.

It was the police who called us a few days later to say that Becky had died from sudden unexpected death in epilepsy (SUDEP). 

At no point had any of the doctors mentioned SUDEP before. We heard it as just a phrase until my sister, who herself has controlled epilepsy, called to say she had done some research and found the charity SUDEP Action, who have been, and still are, an amazing support to us and many other bereaved families.

We felt totally let down by Becky’s GP, the registrar and the paediatrician – none of whom appeared to take us seriously or have any knowledge of epilepsy. 

We requested Becky’s medical notes before her inquest and the letter the GP had written for the hospital following Becky’s first seizure stated ‘IMO (in my opinion) migraine’.

I have no doubt Becky’s misdiagnosis was based solely on those words in the GPs hand-written note.

Since Becky’s death aged just 11, I have discovered a great deal about SUDEP including the fact that around 80% of all epilepsy deaths are potentially avoidable, which for us is obviously devastating. 

I feel passionately that everyone with epilepsy and parents and carers of children with epilepsy, should be given the facts about SUDEP risk very early on so they can make educated choices about their lifestyle to dramatically reduce any risk – and it can be reduced. 

I believe many clinicians withhold this information for fear of ‘upsetting’ people who have been newly diagnosed with epilepsy but SUDEP risk should be openly talked about in the same way most people are aware you can die if you have asthma. 

I have no doubt our lives would be vastly different if anyone had mentioned SUDEP risk while Becky was alive. I would far rather be upset than bereaved. 

We will never know what Becky’s future looked like but I know she would definitely be the most caring aunty to our six-month-old granddaughter.

Our beautiful Becky was a very bright, happy girl with a wise head on her young shoulders. She was a loving sister and loyal friend who also enjoyed her own company whether it be writing poems, drawing or creating ‘crafts’ in her bedroom. 

For us, everything changed that day in May 2004 and I know there will always be a Becky-shaped hole in our lives.

Do you have a story you’d like to share? Get in touch by emailing jess.austin@metro.co.uk. 

Share your views in the comments below.

Looking at the sun glistening on the water, I braced myself as a wave roared towards me.

I paddled, then jumped up onto my board, feeling only exhilaration as I surfed the wave to the shore.

Six months prior, this would have been unimaginable – I would have been lying in bed screaming in pain due to severe stage 4 endometriosis. My torturous symptoms not only affected my fertility and organs but my daily life. 

Moving to Spain has changed everything.

For the first time in over a decade, I am pain free. I can exercise without collapsing, eat without rushing to the toilet. And instead of surviving on a concoction of pain medication, mountain hikes, boxing classes and weekly surf lessons form my new routine.

For 10 years since the age of 17 I visited the GP every month with excruciating pain during my period. I was always told it was ‘normal’.

As time progressed, the pain became unmanageable. I missed work, was bed-bound and even vomited or blacked out from the pain.

Then, in 2013, I was rushed to hospital with severe abdominal pain. A scan revealed I had a 15cm ovarian cyst. I was given a laparoscopy – a procedure where a thin tube with a camera is inserted into the body – which confirmed stage 4 endometriosis, the highest grade of the condition.

My fertility had already been compromised; I was 27.

Endometriosis is a condition where cells like the ones in the lining of the uterus are found elsewhere in the body. It usually affects the ovaries and fallopian tubes but can also be found on organs such as the bowel and bladder. Sadly, it affects 1 in 10 women and takes an average of eight years and 10 months from the first GP visit to get a diagnosis.

The pain I’d experienced is a common symptom, as are painful periods, heavy menstrual bleeding, fatigue, painful bowel movements and pain during sex.

Following my diagnosis, I was naively under the impression I could be cured, but there is no known cure for endometriosis. Following diagnostic surgery, most patients are advised to manage symptoms with hormone treatments. Radical surgery is an option in severe cases.

I was told to start IVF immediately as pregnancy would help symptoms – but what followed was 10 years of hell.

My endometriosis was aggressive, spreading like wildfire to my bowel, colon, rectum and bladder. I underwent four private surgeries, my fallopian tubes were removed and I was hospitalised repeatedly with pain and ovarian infections.

I also experienced nine failed cycles of IVF. One resulted in an early miscarriage, and another a termination for medical reasons at 21 weeks, during peak lockdown. Following this loss, I was hospitalised with sepsis.

The next step was complex surgery, which involved a bowel, rectum and bladder reconstruction, potentially resulting in a permanent colostomy bag. I was terrified of my life changing so much at only 37.

Around this time, my mum suddenly passed away. It was then I started to look at life with a new perspective.

Though I was mentally, physically and financially broken, I didn’t want to be defined by a disease. I felt there had to be another solution to fixing my endometriosis and as they say a change is as good as a rest, I decided to test the theory.

In September 2022, my husband and I decided we wanted to move to Spain. We’d previously lived in Ibiza for a year in 2016, and knew we loved the slower pace and outdoor lifestyle.

It wasn’t easy: Brexit made moving abroad challenging. We researched visa options and found a route that worked for us. Luckily my husband holds an EU passport, and I was able to apply for residency as a non-EU family member. 

We spent a summer in Andalusia, exploring the region’s stunning natural landscapes and Pueblos Blancos, the white, hilltop villages. We visited different cities and coastlines, before settling on the beautiful foodie city of San Sebastián.

While we settled into our Spanish way of life, I noticed my health significantly improving. I reduced my reliance on painkillers, transitioning from frequent morphine use in the UK to occasional paracetamol. 

After a long, complicated process with mounds of paperwork – my residency took eight months to complete alone – we finally got the green light on our residency application and officially moved to Spain in June 2023 with our dog.  

My daily routine became so much slower. Instead of waking up, taking a painkiller and trudging across a muddy field with the dog, only to be in pain hours later while struggling at the laptop, I’d wake up, enjoy a leisurely coffee on the terrace then take a long dog-walk on the beach, before settling down to work from home as a freelance editor.

Rather than eight hours at the laptop, I followed in Spanish footsteps and prioritised life and health. I took little breaks strolling around the city or had lunch at a local bar. 

A lunchtime surf is something I could only have ever dreamt of before, but now it’s become my reality.

My stress and endometriosis pain has eased, allowing me to move more and feel healthier; I drove a lot in the UK, now I usually walk everywhere. While fatigue persisted, it became less frequent and my daily cold swims in the sea have reduced my inflammation.

My diet has also changed drastically. I eat smaller portions thanks to San Sebastián’s signature pintxos (tiny, tasty bites, usually a small piece of bread with a delicious topping). As supermarkets only stock produce that’s in season, there are fewer instant food and frozen products, which encourages me to cook from scratch.

One year ago, I would never have been able to survive on a diet of cava and jamón – they would’ve caused extreme pain – but now I enjoy them.

I asked my endometriosis consultant earlier this year how such improvement could be possible. His instant explanation was ‘the produce.’ He believes the quality of the food is having a significant impact on reducing my inflammation and therefore my symptoms.

And this summer, my annual endometriosis MRI showed no progression or new adhesions. For the first time, my condition was dormant.

While I am not cured, and I take a hormone pill daily, I am stable. Plus I was overjoyed to be removed from the surgery list – I cried happy tears.

I believe a slower, healthier lifestyle in the sunshine has significantly improved my endometriosis and I only wish I’d done it sooner.

This isn’t to say that a move abroad is necessarily going to help every other endometriosis sufferer, but I believe my experience can help people who want to make positive lifestyle changes.

The UK’s fast pace isn’t essential; slow down and say no to extra commitments. It might take longer to walk to the store or gym, but do it. You’ll get exercise, a healthy dose of fresh air and feel better for it.

Shop at your local weekly market; make it an enjoyable, slow-living experience. Join a local wild swimming group and reap the benefits of cold-water therapy.

Two years ago, I was in constant pain. I’m living proof that significant improvement is possible, and that a change really is as good as a rest!

This article was originally published January 4, 2025

Do you have a story you’d like to share? Get in touch by emailing Ross.Mccafferty@metro.co.uk. 

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When Rosie opened a letter and saw the words ‘abnormal cells’ she felt pure panic.

‘I didn’t think I’d be told that way,’ the 38-year-old tells Metro. ‘No one explained what those words actually meant. All I got was a number to make an appointment for a procedure to remove them.’

The letter, which Rosie Dixon received in 2018, was inviting her to undergo a large loop excision of the transformation zone (LLETZ) to remove some pre-cancerous cells discovered in her cervix.

When she made the appointment, she claims there was no room to question the procedure because she was funnelled through an efficient ‘conveyor belt’ system to remove them.

‘I could only ask questions once I was already in the room; there’s no pre-appointment where you can speak to the doctor and explain your fears,’ she remembers. ‘I did ask what are the chances of the cells becoming cancerous and are there any alternative treatments, but they couldn’t answer them. It felt like the doctors were being extremely pushy and that if I didn’t have it done now there was a chance I might not get seen. It was almost as if they were surprised anyone would question the process.’

Rosie says she also felt forced into going ahead because her loved ones were scared by the phrase ‘pre-cancerous cells’ combined with a real sense of urgency. ‘I don’t blame them — the doctors or my loved ones — but it felt like there was no room to make a different choice or at least slow down,’ she explains.

Plus, she adds, there was one side effect that wasn’t discussed with her at all: sexual dysfunction.

‘They only told me about short-term side effects, like bleeding and higher risk of pre-term labour. In their opinion, there were no long-term side effects. Yet, now, after sex, I often experience cramping, and it feels like there’s something wrong inside me. I also have chronic pelvic pain that started after the LLETZ. 

‘I made the link by asking myself, when was the last time I felt intact and pain free? And it was before the procedure.’

Every year, pre-cancerous cells are removed from 50,000 cervixes in the UK via a large loop excision of the transformation zone, commonly known as LLETZ. 

It’s become a standard procedure typically done under a local anaesthetic, designed to remove cells often caused by high-risk strains of the HPV virus before they develop into cervical cancer, the fourth most common cancer in women globally and 14th in the UK. 

‘The procedure uses a small, thin wire with an electric current to burn off the abnormal cells; it’s very quick,’ explains Dr Oluwatobi Adesanya, a GP with a special interest in women’s health. ‘It’s successful for nine out of 10 people who have it. The whole system is an excellent screening programme for cancer because it’s preventative.’

With the NHS aiming to eliminate cervical cancer by 2040, it’s undoubtedly a massive win for women’s health; however, some patients, like Rosie, claim to face long-term side effects that massively impact their sex lives.

Maddie Brown*, 43, had the procedure in 2022. 

‘It was a positive experience and went really well; I was given leaflets with lots of information,’ she recalls to Metro. However, over the next year, she noticed a side effect not included in the leaflets. 

‘At first, I didn’t notice anything because I was single, but when I started seeing my partner in 2023, I immediatelywas aware of differences in sensation,’ explains the civil servant from Wales.

‘I put it down to being with someone new, but once our relationship became more established I started to question what was happening. I’ve never had a super high sex drive, but I did notice a drop, and I couldn’t orgasm from penetrative sex anymore. 

‘Luckily, my clitoris still works, but I didn’t expect something like this to happen and I only made the link after I researched my symptoms and found other women online sharing the same experiences as me.’

Though her partner is always understanding, the impact on Maddie’s confidence is significant. 

‘It’s changed what I enjoy,’ she admits. ‘Especially as we’ve managed to find our relationship at this point in our lives, and everything else works so well. I sometimes feel we’ll never have the closeness and intimacy that I really crave. 

‘I’m keen not to put people off getting a procedure if that’s what they need, but it’s not really informed consent if you don’t know how it could affect you.’

Research into the impact of LLETZ on sexual dysfunction is limited, making it difficult to determine precisely how common the problem is. One study published in the Journal of Korean Medicine showed that as many as 65% of women experience some degree of change in sexual sensation after LLETZ, while a 2010 Thai paper found that the procedure is connected to ‘small but statistically significant decreases in overall sexual satisfaction, vaginal elasticity, and orgasmic satisfaction.’

Despite these findings, such side effects do not appear in any literature given to patients before or after the procedure. It also isn’t mentioned on the NHS page about LLETZ. However, the Royal College of Obstetrics and Gynaecology does mention sexual dysfunction in relation to the procedure, with symptoms including decreased lubrication, pain during intercourse, altered orgasmic sensation, and a feeling of reduced sexual satisfaction. 

Pharmacist Anna, 30, had LLETZ procedures in 2014 and a decade later, in 2024.

‘After both, I didn’t have any libido, struggled with lubrication, and while I can get aroused and orgasm, it feels so different – like it’s not happening to me,’ she tells Metro from her home in Cardiff. ‘I’ve also had pain and some bleeding after sex. I didn’t realise this would be an issue because no one mentioned it. I felt quite prepared to look out for signs of infection, but not this.

‘Now, I’m often self-conscious of bleeding, and I worry that it’s going to hurt me when I have sex or that my partner is going to feel the difference. I don’t feel comfortable or as sexy.’

As someone who works in healthcare, Anna was surprised by the lack of opportunity to ask questions before and after the procedure. ‘I’m reluctant to criticise the people involved because I know what the pressure is like, but It felt like a conveyor belt and kind of a tick box procedure,’ she admits.

One of the issues is that the process is streamlined mainly due to time and monetary constraints. Cervical screenings are conducted on 3.5 million women a year, and following any abnormal results, the NHS is under intense pressure to process these swiftly, meaning patients may not get to discuss the procedure with their GP before or afterwards. 

Patients will have a short consultation immediately before the LLETZ procedure, but there is no follow up appointment for patients to discuss concerns. All results are communicated by letter or text, and a follow-up cervical screening is conducted six months later.

‘In an ideal world, most healthcare professionals would want that pre-counselling and after-counselling. You would want the patient to feel they have more autonomy and choice,’ says Dr Adesanya. 

Without any check-in from their GPs, Rosie, Maddie, and Anna figured out the root of their newfound sexual dysfunction alone by finding a Facebook group with nearly 9,000 members supporting people healing from LLETZ procedures. There, they encountered many other women with similar side effects.

Lots of the posts share struggles to reclaim pleasure after this life-saving procedure, often without the support of doctors. Even after confirming the authenticity of their symptoms, the women still didn’t feel comfortable reporting them, citing fear of dismissal, disbelief, and enduring stigma around women’s sexuality.

Dr Olivia Giovannetti, assistant professor at Queen’s University in Canada, who has conducted several studies into the long-term effects of LLETZ and the information available on it, believes that medical misogyny may play a part in the problem. 

‘Women in the eyes of the healthcare system are still very much viewed as the vessel to birth children, and there’s a lack of consideration for sexual pleasure,’ she tells Metro.

‘I get responses, particularly from older men, like ‘well, my patients never complain,’ or they get defensive, saying treating the cancer is more important [than sexuality]. While the greater good is always removing the cancer cells, that doesn’t change the fact that some people are going home unable to connect with their partner or feel like they’ve lost a part of themselves.’

Dr Adesanya adds that more counselling should be offered to women.

‘It’s been trained in our minds that when you request a prostate-related blood test for men, you counsel them to let them know what doing this may mean regarding hospital appointments, biopsies, and procedures,’ she explains. ‘Do we routinely say this to women when inviting them for cervical screening? No. More definitely needs to be done in terms of educational awareness.’

While Rosie acknowledges that the LLETZ is potentially life-saving, sheadmits she would decline the procedure if she could do it all over again. 

‘If there’s a 1 in a 100 chance of getting cancer, what would you prefer, that, or 1 in 10 that you will be emotionally scarred, physically scarred?,’ she asks. ‘I would go with the odds of chancing it because, to me, quality of life is more important than its length.’

Meanwhile, although Anna is angry about her treatment, she would still do it again if adequately informed, she admits. ‘The cervical screening test and the HPV vaccine are amazing services that help identify and reduce the risk of cancer, ‘ she says. ‘I just would have felt more prepared with how to deal with the side effects if I’d been told. I would have felt less alone.’

An NHS spokesperson told Metro: ‘This treatment is offered to remove abnormal cells with the aim of preventing cervical cancer, and as with all treatments this has to be balanced against any potential risks associated with the procedure itself, including pain, bleeding or discharge.

‘We’d encourage all patients to discuss any concerns about this procedure with their clinician so that they can make an informed decision about whether to proceed.’

A woman has revealed she suffers from a rare condition that means sex is constantly on her mind while she’s asleep – which has now made her start sleepwalking outside naked and looking for men