A Compressed Angel. Trinitys Fight For Life

05/09/2026

. 🩷 🌸 🩷 🌸 MOVING ON 🌸 🩷 🌸 🩷

From Anna.

I don't really know how to write this post.

For nearly four years, this page has been such a huge part of our lives.

It has been where we have shared some of our hardest and most frightening days, celebrated every tiny win, had to swallow our pride and ask for help when we desperately needed it, and somehow found an incredible community of people who chose to walk this journey alongside us.

And while my focus has needed to be on Trinity, there have been some pretty incredible people within our own family quietly carrying this page, our fundraising and so much of the fight happening around us.

They have given an enormous amount of their own time, energy and lives to helping us get through this.

To them, I don't think thank you will ever really be enough either. 🩷

Some of you have been here almost from the beginning. Others joined us somewhere along the way.

You have worried with us, cried with us, prayed with us, celebrated with us and, when we needed it most, fought alongside us.

And now, with more gratitude and relief than I can possibly put into words, I can finally say...

💜✨️The big fight is over.✨️💜

The ending isn't exactly the one we imagined.

There is no surgery that can simply fix Trinity's body and no cure for the incredibly rare condition we now know she has.

There will always be medical challenges ahead.

But ultimately, we have what we were fighting so desperately for.

Our girl is believed.
Her complex medical condition is understood.
And she is receiving the medical care she needs.

Her nutrition is finally being supported within the public health system, alongside properly targeted pain and symptom management from an incredible public multidisciplinary team who genuinely care about giving her the best quality of life possible.

Her health will still throw challenges at her. The difference now is that when it does, she has a team around her who know her, understand her condition and are there to provide the care she needs.

We no longer have to fight for her to be cared for while she is fighting the happenings in her body.

And slowly, I'm starting to see glimpses of our girl coming back to life.

For so long, the goal was simply keeping her here.

Now we get to have hopes again.

But honestly, we don't know what comes next.

We don't yet know what level of independence will be possible, exactly what her body will allow or what our lives will look like as we settle into managing her medical needs as much as possible at home.

And for once, we don't need to know.

After years of needing to constantly think three steps ahead, research the next option, deal with every crisis and try to work out what the hell we were going to do next, we finally get some time to breathe.

To recover.

To process everything that has happened.

And to work out what life looks like when we are no longer living every day in survival mode.

Moving forward doesn't mean forgetting what happened, or that the appropriate processes of accountability won't continue.

It simply means the fight no longer needs to consume our lives.

And so, it's time to wind down this page and bring our fundraising to a close.

❣️ 💫THANK YOU.💫❣️

There will never be enough words to properly thank all of you.

You donated, fundraised, shared our story, prayed for our girl, sent beautiful messages of support and encouragement, offered practical help, celebrated the good days and helped carry us through some absolutely terrifying ones.

And when it felt like we were screaming into the wind trying to get people to understand what was happening to Trinity, you yelled with us.

When the public system was no longer providing the medical support Trinity needed, you gave us the ability to build an incredible private team of specialists around our girl.

A team who cared for what was in front of them, kept asking questions when there weren't easy answers, advocated fiercely for her and helped us keep her medically supported while we continued searching for answers.

To every one of those doctors and clinicians who stepped in and stood beside us during those years, thank you.

You gave us somewhere to turn when we genuinely didn't know where else to go.

And to everyone who donated and fundraised, you made it possible for us to have that team.

While the journey ultimately took us somewhere very different from the overseas treatment we originally believed we were fundraising towards, your donations allowed us to keep accessing private specialist care, investigations, treatments and the life sustaining nutrition Trinity needed when those things were not available to her through the public system.

So much of what you helped us raise was spent simply keeping our girl medically supported and safe while we searched for answers.

And ultimately, that gave us something incredibly precious.

Time.

Time to keep searching.

Time for her private doctors to keep asking questions and advocating.

Time for the pieces to finally come together.

Time for Trinity to reach the public team she has now.

And time for us to finally reach this point.

You also helped make it possible for us to get Juno, who is proving invaluable in helping Trinity enjoy some much needed independence as Juno is a most attentive and accurate alert to the early signs of Trinity’s body starting to go out of whack.

You helped us keep our Angel earthbound.

And I don't think there will ever be words big enough to explain what that means to our family.

Now, after years of desperately trying to work out how we were going to continue funding the care Trinity needed, the public health system is finally taking over the majority of her ongoing medical needs.

There are still expenses that aren't publicly funded, along with supportive treatments that continue to make a very real difference to her comfort and quality of life.

The funds that remain will continue to cover those needs as they arise and give us some breathing room while we settle into this next stage.

That security is yet another incredible gift you have given us.

You helped get us here.

We won't necessarily disappear completely.

If there is something particularly wonderful to share, we may pop back. And if the day comes when our girl gets back into a competition arena, there's a fairly high chance I'll be plastering the photos everywhere. 🐴🩷

But Trinity's medical journey no longer needs to be lived publicly.

For years, we needed this page because we needed people to see what was happening to our girl.

We needed people to understand.

We needed help to keep her medically supported.

We needed you to help us fight.

Now, finally, we don't.

And I honestly cannot think of a happier reason to say goodbye.

For so much of Trinity's young life, medicine has taken up far more space than it ever should have had to.

And over the past four years, some of the most painful and traumatic parts of her life have been shared publicly because we desperately needed people to understand why we were fighting so hard.

She deserves the opportunity now to simply be Trinity.

And honestly, I need some time to remember what it's like to simply be Mum.

And the family members who have spent years helping us run this page, organise fundraisers, answer messages, share updates and carry parts of this fight when I couldn't need the chance to put it down too.

They get to step back into their own lives now.

I don't think I can ever adequately thank them for the pieces of their lives they put aside to help us fight for ours. 🩷

So if this page becomes quiet, please don't worry.

That silence is something to celebrate.

Hopefully, it means nothing particularly noteworthy is happening at all.

It means we're home. Trinity's medical needs are being managed. She's with friends, back on a horse, away somewhere having an adventure or doing something else wonderfully normal.

And even when Trinity's health does throw challenges at her, you don't need to worry that silence means we're facing them alone.

She has a team around her now, and her medical needs are being met.

It means the people who have spent years helping carry this page are getting on with their own lives too.

And maybe I'm sitting somewhere drinking a coffee and reading a book without simultaneously researching an obscure medical paper or trying to work out what the hell we are going to do next. 😂🩷

After everything, wouldn't that be something?

For years, I asked all of you to help us fight for our girl.

And you did.

You stood beside us.

You helped us keep her here.

You gave us the time we needed to keep searching until, finally, we found the answers.

Now, for the first time in a very long time, I don't need to ask you for anything.

I simply get to say...

Thank you.

From our entire family, with more love and gratitude than these words could ever properly express, thank you for carrying us all the way here.

You helped us keep our Angel earthbound.

Now, finally, she gets the chance to live.

And all of us get the chance to step out of the fight and back into our lives.

What an incredible gift that is. 🩷

04/09/2026

. ✨ ️⚔️ 🩷 THE WIN? 🩷 ⚔️ ✨️

From Anna, a long but important read.

🥊 We won the fight? 🥊

Over the past few weeks there have been many congratulations over the fact that we “won the fight” against Health NZ, and to begin with there was this bizarre sense of victory.

But when I look at everything it took to get here, the word won feels almost impossible to reconcile with what that fight has cost.

This wasn't simply a fight to have treatment reinstated.

It was years of fighting to have Trinity believed. Fighting to keep her medically supported while her body continued to deteriorate.

Fighting against accusations that she was causing her own illness and that I was harming my daughter.

Fighting after her life sustaining nutrition and central line were removed, and then somehow finding the money and resources to replace privately what the public health system had taken away.

It was fighting through nutritional failure, repeated life threatening obstructions, scurvy, internal bleeding and the arrival of tonic clonic seizures.

It was watching Trinity endure enormous physical suffering and medical trauma while continuing to be told that symptoms we could see happening in front of us were psychological.

It was nearly four years of fighting the consequences of those decisions, but in reality, it sits on top of 21 years of trying to understand what was happening inside Trinity's body and why.

So yes, something extraordinary has changed.

❓️ ❓️ ❓️ ❓️ ❓️

But the question that keeps rising for me is: what exactly have we won?

Care and treatment have been reinstated and, for the first time in 21 long, hard years, there is a diagnosis.

We have answers we had long ago given up hope of ever receiving, and with those answers we are now working with my angel's team to build a management plan around what her body actually needs and what it is capable of.

No longer is care about trying to force Trinity and her body into functioning in a way that it simply cannot.

It is about finding ways to keep her comfortable within her body's limitations, supporting what it can do, and giving her the greatest possible opportunity to actually live.

Her life sustaining TPN has been reinstated through the public system.

Pain management and symptom control are being overhauled to find what is most effective, including finding routes of administration her body can actually absorb.

💫🩷💫🩷💫🩷💫🩷💫🩷💫🩷💫

But perhaps the part of her care that shines brightest is the total wraparound support of a patient focused, multidisciplinary team of brilliant, curious medical professionals who work together and alongside us to create an individualized care plan that actually works.

Her core team brings together Rheumatology, Gastroenterology, Dietetics and a specialist Nurse Practitioner, with additional support from Surgery and specialist IV nursing.

Instead of each discipline looking at one isolated part of Trinity, they communicate and work together around the whole person and the whole clinical picture.

The goal is no longer simply keeping Trinity alive.

It is maximizing her quality of life, maximizing her time at home and minimizing the amount of time she needs to spend in hospital.

It is actual proactive care that allows for conservative treatment before things become emergent and require the riskier interventions that have so often been necessary in the past.

And incredibly, this team is one that came together voluntarily.

They are a group of medical professionals within the public system who recognized a desperate need among complex and rare patients and chose to step up and help them.

They have not requested additional resourcing from Health NZ, yet what they are achieving has the potential to save resources for both the health system and families.

Having the ability to properly manage symptoms at home opens up so much potential for fewer hospital admissions and less need for high resource emergency treatment.

More importantly, it creates space for something that has been missing for far too long:

🧬 🩵 🧬 A life. 🧬 🩵 🧬

It means a greater possibility for Trinity to move from merely existing to actually living and having some independence.

There is finally an opportunity for Trinity to be a human being who happens to live with a serious medical condition, rather than a highly traumatized medical guinea pig, which has been such a huge part of her existence so far.

The pressure is also coming off me in ways I have only ever dreamed of.

Yes, there is a slight increase in the level of care being provided at home, but that care is becoming so much simpler and more structured that it no longer feels all consuming.

Medication administration can be scheduled. I'm no longer spending my days and nights desperately researching, trying to work out what needs to happen next.

And when I'm unsure about something, there is help at the end of a phone call, text or email.

When I say this is life changing, it feels like a massive understatement.

For the first time in nearly four years, I was able to walk out the door anxiety free to go to the hairdresser while leaving Trinity and Juno home alone.

Trinity is finally getting to plan a weekend away, without Mum, like any other normal 21 year old.

Something so simple that feels so massive.

We are experiencing a sense of security that can only come from knowing there is genuine medical support available if and when we need it.

There is safety in knowing that support is correctly targeted. Safety in knowing that the people caring for Trinity understand what is happening inside her body and are protecting her from unnecessary or potentially harmful treatments.

Safety in knowing that when we ask for help, we won't automatically be met with the dismissal, negligence and incredibly damaging gaslighting that have characterized so much of the past few years.

This is the win.

It is, without doubt, absolutely massive in our world.

Yet the thing I struggle with is:

❓️⚔️ WHY is it a win? ⚔️❓️

WHY did we ever have to fight this hard to begin with?

WHY did it get to the point where Trinity was accused of harming herself and I was accused of harming her?

WHY did she have to lose the medical care and life sustaining nutrition she needed, resulting in nutritional failure, life threatening obstructions, life threatening scurvy, internal bleeding and the sudden arrival of tonic clonic seizures?

WHY were her very real physiological symptoms brushed off as ALL IN HER HEAD?

Why was she forced to do the one thing we now understand does her the most damage?

“EAT. Use your gut or lose it.”

That was the very harmful mantra drilled into Trinity and myself in response to what we now know was very real and irreversible intestinal failure that caused her constant immense pain, suffering and serious complications in a body that is unable to tolerate food.

🚥 🛑 🚥 🛑 🚥 🛑 🚥

There is also a part of this story that I don't think can be ignored, and that is the role of NIFRS, the National Intestinal Failure and Rehabilitation Service.

This is a national service specifically established to provide specialist care and support for people with intestinal failure.

These are already an incredibly vulnerable group of patients, often living with complex disease, dependence on artificial nutrition and enormous disruption to their lives and families.

Yet this was the service Trinity was under when her intestinal failure and need for life sustaining nutrition were questioned accusations made, her TPN and central line were removed by them, and the narrative surrounding her care shifted towards the belief that she was causing her own illness and that I was causing her harm.

The consequences for Trinity were catastrophic.

They said " we took it better than most" at the end of the meeting where those horrific and false allegations were made.

And what makes that even harder to reconcile is that, since sharing our story, I have heard from other patients and families who describe their own deeply distressing, identical experiences while trying to access intestinal failure care.

I cannot speak to the individual medical circumstances of those families, and their stories are theirs to tell.

FIVE of those young women are heartbreakingly no longer with us to even continue fighting.

But I can speak to ours, and I can say that hearing we are not alone raises questions that urgently need to be asked.

If a national service exists specifically to care for this small and exceptionally vulnerable patient population, then surely it must also be willing to critically examine what happens when its approach gets things wrong.

This isn't about destroying a service that is desperately needed. It is about making it better.

There needs to be a major rethink of how these young people and their families are treated, how uncertainty is handled, how differing clinical opinions are explored, and how patients are protected when their disease does not fit neatly into the expected picture.

Because the answer to complexity cannot be suspicion or accusation.

And being difficult to diagnose must never become a reason for a desperately unwell young person to become difficult to believe.

❓️🤔❓️🤔❓️🤔❓️🤔❓️🤔❓️🤔❓️🤔

So with all this, I ask, how can it be that we, and a small handful of others, get to have “wins” like this after such a massive fight resulting from the allegations and removal of care, while so many people are still stuck in the battle and others are no longer on this earth to continue fighting?

I have so many messages passed on to me that simply break my heart. Desperate parents asking where this new Complex Care team is based and, most commonly, how did we get Trinity under their care?

And that part of the story needs to be really clear.

❣️. ❣️. ❣️. ❣️. ❣️. ❣️. ❣️. ❣️. ❣️. ❣️

Thank God for an extremely determined Dr Doig and the incredible private team of specialists we had been forced to build around Trinity when we could no longer get the care she needed through the public system.

They kept looking. They kept testing. They kept advocating. And they kept pushing for someone within the public system to take another look at the whole picture.

Their persistence ultimately helped get Trinity in front of the public multidisciplinary team that now cares for her through Health NZ, the team that was willing to start again, look at the evidence with fresh eyes, ask questions rather than make assumptions and search for the answers that had been missed for so long.

So when other families ask me, “Where are they based? How can we get referred to them?”, the answer absolutely sucks.

Because this incredible public team isn't a national service that every complex patient in New Zealand can access.

It is available only to the relatively small number of patients fortunate enough to live within our region.

And therein lies another uncomfortable part of our so called “win”:

🌏 Geography should not determine whether a complex patient gets this level of care. 🌏

This leads me to a whole new sense of frustration because, in my mind and heart, and as a result not only of our own lived experience, but also from witnessing another patient under their care, this approach actually works.

This approach is genuinely life changing in astronomical ways.

I cannot help but wonder about the potential if every main centre established a team like ours, specifically for complex and rare patients.

How many lives could be saved or vastly improved?

How many patients and families could be saved from desperately looking overseas for treatments with unknown outcomes?

What if genetic and DNA testing became part of the diagnostic pathway when standard testing repeatedly comes back normal, yet the patient remains seriously unwell?

Because this has been the massive turning point for Trinity.

A simple, non invasive blood test revealed the final piece of the jigsaw and allowed her team, during a total case review, to connect dots spanning her entire life and finally reveal the diagnosis that made sense of the whole picture.

That test result also put a halt to our own plans to head overseas.

We realized there was more to the picture than we had initially understood, and our focus had to change to getting Trinity stable and finding more answers while remaining in New Zealand.

Had we gone overseas for surgery, it could potentially have been detrimental for Trinity, not because the doctors there would have intentionally harmed her, but because we now understand that surgery itself carries significant potential long term consequences for her because of Visceral Myopathy 2.

Admittedly, had this genetic testing been done 10 to 15 years ago, there still wouldn't necessarily have been an answer available then.

But once her condition was recognized in the medical literature in 2018/2019, those results could have been revisited, flagged and investigated, potentially leading to her diagnosis years earlier.

And that brings with it a heartbreaking realization.

💔 💔 💔 💔 💔

We cannot help but think about how different things could have been.

How much trauma, immense suffering and loss might have been avoided over the past seven or eight years if we had understood what was happening inside her body and treated it accordingly.

It also brings further frustration when I see so many other families in positions similar to the one we were in, and I cannot understand why Health NZ appears blind to the fact that some of the very people it is supposed to care for are falling through enormous gaps.

Families aren't considering overseas treatment because it's fun.

They aren't fundraising hundreds of thousands of dollars, leaving their homes and support networks and taking desperately sick family members across the world because they fancy a trip.

They are trying to save lives.

They are searching for treatments and answers they believe are unavailable to them in New Zealand.

And the question being screamed at the top of everyone's voices is:

What treatments? What options ARE available here?

We are repeatedly told that overseas treatment is dangerous. That it is experimental. That it can cause harm.

And those concerns can be completely valid.

But families keep asking the question:

What is the alternative?

Go home and die? Like others before them who were denied appropriate care?

Is that really the message our health system wants to stick to?

Because for far too many people, that feels like the only alternative being offered, and they are expected to accept it quietly.

✨ ️🩷 ✨ ️🩷 ✨️

And perhaps that is why I still struggle when people tell us:

“You won.”

Because look at what had to happen for us to reach this point.

We had to survive years of not being believed.

We had to survive the removal of Trinity's care.

We had to somehow raise enough money to privately replace life sustaining treatment and keep her alive.

We had to find a private team of specialists willing to keep asking questions and fighting for her.

That private team then had to fight to get Trinity back through the doors of the public health system and in front of a public multidisciplinary team willing to start again.

That team had to be curious enough to look beyond the previous narrative.

And we had to be fortunate enough to live in the one region where this particular group of medical professionals had voluntarily come together and decided that complex patients deserved something better.

Then, finally, everything changed.

So yes.

We won something enormous.

We won answers.

We won appropriate treatment.

We won support.

We won some security.

And most importantly, Trinity has finally been given the opportunity to build a life around the body she actually has, instead of spending her life being punished because that body couldn't do what people believed it should.

🚨 🚨 🚨 🚨 🚨 🚨 🚨 🚨 🚨 🚨

But appropriate healthcare should never have been something we had to win.

And perhaps that is the part I cannot reconcile.

Because somewhere else in New Zealand, there are other patients and other families still fighting the battle we have finally been fortunate enough to step out of.

And they shouldn't have to win it either.

02/09/2026

🎙💫📰 THE FINAL INTERVIEW 📰 💫🎙

💔 ALL IN HER HEAD 💔

As we listen to the final episode of ALL IN HER HEAD, we would like to take this opportunity to say a massive thank you to Anusha and the RNZ team for undertaking such a thorough investigation.

As one of the many families who have had to battle through the realities of being rare and complex, participating in this podcast has probably been one of the toughest things we have done over the past few years.

Anusha is a fantastic journalist who, we feel, has done an incredible job of trying to bring all sides of an enormously complicated issue to the table and allowing different voices and perspectives to be heard.

We cannot say that it has always been an easy listen.

But perhaps that is the sign of good investigative journalism.

There have been comments from “the other side” that have been difficult for us to hear, but that doesn't automatically make them invalid. Different perspectives are important, and they are always worth considering.

Is there more we would have liked to hear from and about?

Absolutely.

But we also understand there will always be limitations on how much can be squeezed into a podcast series covering such a vast and incredibly complex subject.

If there is one genuine frustration that has remained with us throughout the series, it is the responses from Health NZ themselves.

Every patient who participated in this podcast willingly signed waivers giving Health NZ permission to answer questions about their individual cases.

Anusha asked many very specific questions about those cases.

And yet, time and again, the responses retreated behind “patient privacy”.

That is incredibly difficult to reconcile when the patients themselves had specifically waived that privacy for the purpose of allowing those questions to be answered.

These women effectively said: Here is our story. Here are our records. You have our permission. Answer the questions.

And still, meaningful answers were largely absent.

For us, that is where an opportunity for genuine transparency and accountability was lost.

Because accountability isn't simply about acknowledging that healthcare is complex, that clinicians sometimes disagree, or that systems are under pressure.

It is about being willing to examine what happened in individual cases, answer difficult questions, acknowledge when things went wrong and, most importantly, learn from them.

In the scheme of things, we have been incredibly fortunate that our Angel's story has ultimately resulted in a positive outcome and that she is now receiving the medical care and support her body needs.

But our hearts sit incredibly heavy for the women and families who are still fighting.

Still trying to be listened to.

Still trying to be heard.

Still trying to be believed.

And still trying to access appropriate medical care.

Our deepest hope is that conversations like ALL IN HER HEAD help make those battles a little less necessary.

That curiosity begins to replace assumption.

That complexity becomes a reason to investigate further rather than a reason to dismiss.

And that more young women are listened to, properly investigated, and given the treatment they so desperately need.

To Anusha, the RNZ team, every woman who shared her story, and every family who stood beside them — thank you.

These were not easy stories to tell.

But they needed to be told.

You can listen to the podcast and our girls interview on the links below
https://www.facebook.com/share/v/1FByicJWeg/

https://www.rnz.co.nz/podcast/all-in-her-head/the-waiting-room

Medical notes showed hospital staff witnessing Trinity Hutchins vomiting blood, but specialists were still suspicious.

26/08/2026

. ❣️ ALL IN HER HEAD EPISODE 6 ❣️

💫 A MOTHERS PROCESS BEGINS

It's an interesting feeling reflecting on where we were when we first sat down with Anusha for this podcast.

The level of stress, fear, absolute rage and frustration I was carrying, and the degree of hopelessness I felt for Trinity, was indescribable.

Even though by the time we were first interviewed we had managed to stabilise Trinity nutritionally, there was always that pressure sitting in the background. We knew the money that had been raised would only last so long and, without something changing, we would inevitably find ourselves right back at square one.

Today, as Part One of Trinity's story becomes available, we listen with a sense of marvel at just how much has changed.

There is something incredibly surreal about reliving that absolute hell that has been the past 3.5 years on the very day the final steps of Trinity's transition back into public healthcare are completed and life finally begins to feel simpler, lighter and more peaceful.

Trinity's part of this podcast touches on one of the hardest parts of our story. What happened when the inability to explain what was happening inside her body became suspicion, and eventually allegations of Factitious Disorder.

Listening back to that part of her story now, from where we are today, has made me realise just how deeply that experience changed not just Trinity but also myself.

We now have absolute confirmation that there was always a physical explanation for what we had been reporting all along. But having that confirmation today doesn't magically undo what those years did to my ability to trust, or the fear that developed from knowing just how quickly assumptions could change everything.

There is no longer the freedom of simply trusting in the world. Words are no longer enough. It is only through actions that I begin to feel safe in my interactions with people, and even then I find myself hypervigilant, looking for the slightest signal that things may be about to take a turn for the worse.

The need to check in and make sure everything is going as it should can be an incredibly powerful force, followed closely by worrying that perhaps I am checking too much, asking too many questions or coming across the wrong way.

I've always been a bit of a stickler for facts and accuracy, although I have just been reliably informed that apparently this is now on a whole new level 😂. What has certainly changed is my ability to be relaxed when things aren't completely accurate.

I have seen firsthand just how much damage can be done when assumptions and interpretations are allowed to become accepted as fact. These days I need to know what was actually said, what actually happened and what the evidence genuinely shows. I find it incredibly difficult to simply let inaccuracies slide.

I am also painfully aware of just how much of my confidence was destroyed by everything that was done to Trinity, and inadvertently to me, by the very people I had grown up believing should be among the most trustworthy, the same people I had naively encouraged my child to trust to do her no harm.

They say time heals all wounds. I'm not so convinced.

Perhaps now I get to start learning who I am again after spending so long simply trying to survive, just as Trinity learns how to live within the reality of her body's abilities and begins her own long overdue healing process.

Because for the first time in years, I have begun to breathe again.

Newer friends have been surprised to hear me laugh. Not because they don't think I should be laughing, but simply because they hadn't heard it before.

I'm actually starting to sleep some nights, and my nervous system seems to be realising just how completely exhausted it is.

It has been one hell of a roller coaster. We have changed direction countless times as new information became available, but finally the most important pieces are in place.

Trinity now has the correct diagnosis. She has a phenomenal team providing wraparound support and, most importantly, a treatment plan that works with her body rather than against it.

Sadly, finding the magic fix that would enable her to eat hasn't been the outcome we had hoped for. But next week another important step will be put in place that should at least allow her to enjoy a little something for comfort, while intravenous nutrition provides what her body needs to sustain her.

For the first time in years, we no longer have to fight every day simply to survive.

There is a future now.

One where Trinity is no longer a medical guinea pig. Where she can begin living in a way that supports her body instead of continually trying to force it to do what it simply can't.

We can begin reclaiming some normality and some autonomy over our lives. Some precious and much missed privacy

We can finally move forward.

And that is absolutely priceless.

We could never have reached this point without the incredible support of everyone who has stood beside us, donated, shared Trinity's story, encouraged us and helped us keep going when the road ahead felt impossible.

If there is one thing I am most grateful for today, it is that we are no longer stuck in no man's land, completely swamped by hopelessness.

Today, we finally get to start heading in a new direction.

FORWARDS INTO FREEDOM AND LIFE. 🩷

Anusha meets Sophie and Selah. Both have EDS, but their experiences were vastly different. So why are some women with Ehlers-Danlos syndrome told their pain is psychological? Is it medical misogyny?