Suicidal due to endometriosis - an open letter to BBC health correspondents.

Dear all,

Please excuse the group addressing if this email. I contacted you a fair while ago about endometriosis, asking if you would consider covering it, showing how utterly devastatingand soul-destroying it can be. The awareness weeks are always in March.

Three weeks ago today (Monday 3rd December), I put myself through a traumatic injection of Noristerat; I nearly passed out while feeling the jelly-like substance slowly make its way in to my muscle. At the same time, I was terrified that my nightmare of depression and bleak pointlessness because of hormones b
eing artificially altered would return.


I told my consultant this would happen. My taking of the anti-depressant, Duloxetine, is not enough to keep my mind balanced. I haven't bled since the injection, and am not likely to for months but this break from my horrific periods means nothing, just as I said would be the case.
Over and over, I literally beg for help, pleading for something to change. Nothing helps. The pain is constant. Not even a second passes without something in my pelvis hurting, regardless of painkillers (dihydrocodeine).

Yesterday, in the week leading up to what would be (possibly, for my periods are irregular) my premenstrual days, all the bitterness, cruelty, anger, and bile erupted in a sobfest, with me wondering what the point of all of this is.

All the treatments I've tried do not work. Surgeries have lessened the pain ad made periods slightly more bearable for several months but, inevitably, they always, always return to their established torture. Tramadol was a fleeting option, ceased when I developed the initial symptoms of serotonin syndrome. Even a hysterectomy and/or oophorectomy are not guarantees of a painfree life. I may already be infertile. I may never have a chance to find out, if I opt to have the whole cursed lot taken away.

I've just turned 31. I can't work. My Mum is my carer when I am ill with a period. There is no hope of improvement, nor of change, nor of reason to keep doing this. That's how I felt yesterday. Death felt like the only answer, the only action to stop all this happening. Not for the first time, my consultant didn't listen to me when I said this would happen. The angry part of me blames him for this happening, blames him for not seeming to realise I can not indefinitely go through treatments with vague hopes there will be a slight improvement. I can not carry on hoping something will help. What's the point? Why? Nothing changes.

Some people assume it's just a period, idiotic arrogance causes them to tell us to stop moaning, to stop seeking attention, that we are weak and simply not trying hard enough. They don't have the slightest understanding, no sympathy, no empathy.

Please, I beg you, bring the dark world and hopelessness and pure fear of endometriosis and its often horrendous treatments to the attention of people. There are at least two million women in our country with endometriosis. Two million people. Many of them are treated with contempt by others because of lack of knowledge and kindnes. Not every woman suffers terribly, not every woman will be unable to have children, and not every woman will welcome her own demise as the way out after trying so hard to carry on through endless and often silent agony.

Today, I don't want to die. Today, I want to bake cakes using the recipe birthday card and teacupcakes from my lovely friend, Mark. Today, I might begin to crochet something from my Stitch 'n' Bitch book. Today, I might watch more of my beloved Attenborough show me the world I may never see.

Please help people understand how frightening hormones and incurable diseases and ovaries and periods can be. Please report on it. I don't mean to suggest I ought to be the subject but please, just do SOMETHING to help this awful, horrible, devastating thing become more known about, more public, more understood. Please.


Lucy.


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Reviewing my options.

It's a little over two whole years since my first laparoscopy, and it'd been hoped that the pains I had before it would not reoccur as soon as they have. "Oh, bugger", you might say. "FUCKING HELLFIRE!" is what I said. Hardly different.

I've been given Tramadol by my GP for the bad, terrible, awful pain - which says "hello" rather abruptly and burningly - for two or three days. So that's nice. How will I feel when I take them? Much different to how I feel right now, two hours after taking yet another 60mg dose of dihydrocodeine? Will I feel very sleepy and groggy, and will I be so incoherent and bleurgh, that even My Amazing Mum won't be able to understand my side of our Endo Pain Code? I know some people who have taken it after an accident or surgery or something very painful have been utterly wiped out by it, but I think they've not had any strong (by my standards, anyway) painkillers, so maybe they're just lightweights. FNAR.

I've never felt so grim. Honestly. I mean, I'm not so depressed, thanks mainly to the Duloxetine and other stuff, but the situation is so... dire. The first thing I think about when I wake up in the morning is no longer tea, or breakfast, or why I can't move my feet (cat on bed); it's about what dose of painkillers will I have to take. And isn't that just the way not to live? Of course, I know, I KNOW other people have a far worse time than I, but - ahh, a "but" - this is all I know. And it's a bit shit. I've not written on here because I've felt so rubbish. So fatigued. So heavy. So... *shrugs*

I've written reviews for things and stuff on Ciao, a site where people can post reviews (SHOCKER) about almost anything, really. Shortish reviews, small windows of concentration, interesting topics. It's been about enough for me to do. Just the right amount.

I've not been exercising as I should, owing to the pains and the grogginess from the tablets, which is not helpful at all because then I feel stiffer and more pained and more achy, and it goes round and round. AND I'M FED UP. Poor me, etc.. But with all my crapness going on, Mum's got to have two operations very soon, and she's STILL helping me off the floor, getting my tablets, making me tea, doing my hot water bottles. How does she do it? How do I not do it? Why can I not do what she does and help more? Saying that, I did have a marvellous few days where I halved the ironing mountain! Mostly my clothes... I had forgotten I had many of them.

Depo-Provera - a 12-weekly contraceptive injection - has been struck off my list of treatments to try to relieve me of my incessant pains, likewise the 8-weekly contraceptive injection, Noristerat. I hadn't realised the latter's magic ingredient is a progestegin, a synthetic progesterone, and that's a bastard what gave me hell when I was on the pill. And the mini-pill. Even though it was a hormone treatment, the Decapeptyl SR (triptorelin) lessened the oestrogen, rather than add to the progesterone.
True, the Duloxetine has worked very well for my emotional and mental state, but what if it's not enough? How would I cope with eight weeks of depression? I wouldn't be able to stop feeling that dark, thunderous gloom from ruining my horizon, in all and any direction. Can I do that? Can I? Of course my pains are bad, of course they are. But how... how do I... how can I do that? Again? I just can't.


*Sighs an enormous sigh*


Oh, reader. Endometriosis is the only impossible thing in my life. I just do not know what to do. I miss my friends. I miss my lovely people. Some think I let them down on purpose, think I ignore them, forget with malice or disregard. None of it could be more false. I miss going OUT to see people, I miss walking to the shops, I miss sitting in the garden and digging out those weeds, taking photos of pollen. So much gets left behind when pain relief is all that becomes important.

I'm not sure there's even a point to this blog post. I suppose I felt I should write a bit, update a bit, show you I'm still here. So, here I am. And here I go. Time for tea and lunch. And tea. And something Doctor.


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Dinosore

The cool, refreshing breeze gently moved my messily-plaited hair, as I sat by the open window in the waiting room before I saw my pain psychologist. The lavender in the pretty garden just a few metres away provided a perfect view to gaze upon. The scent from the bobbing flowers found their way up my hayfeverishly stuffed-up nostrils. Bob Marley sang "I don't want to wait in vain" on the radio. It wasn't long before I was called in to my appointment on, somewhat amusingly, the first anniversary of my second laparoscopy.

I don't honestly feel that much has changed since that day. A positive aspect is that my periods seem to be more likely to start nearer to the 4 week mark than the 5 week mark. But even that is still not a certainty, so planning is, still, an awkward thing.

When I registered to take part in the 5k Big Fun Run in Crystal Palace, I didn't know if I would be well enough to attend, let alone travel for a couple of hours, walk the distance, then travel another couple of hours. Despite the roller-coaster excitement of not knowing whether I'll be ill from the effects of endometriosis-plagued periods, and having no choice but to let people down, I continue to believe that is still better - and healthier for the mind, or mine, at least - to plan to go out, see people, arrange to be a part of a brilliant fund-raising event like the aforementioned trek amid a dinosaur-fest.


But.


This time, like countless others, I won't be there, at the intended destination. I know when that Saturday comes along, that I shall either be heavily medicated and in a lot of pain, while fatigue renders me immovable without assistance, OR I shall be just entering the recovery stage after that period has passed its worst phase.

Either way, I shall be at my worst time of the "month" and, even if I'm able to shuffle along and not use my walking stick, the energy and effort - or spoons - will be far too much for me to manage. I will make myself ill. I can't do that.

I promise you, if you've already sponsored me, I will walk that 5k distance; it won't be in London, but local to my home. I've yet to map out a route but I'm fairly sure I know where I want to go. And I have an idea of who to drag along with me. Although, they don't know it yet...

I'm still a long way off my target, and I'm quite concerned I'm not going to get there. If you would like to sponsor me to help Endometriosis UK, you will help me, and women like me all across the United Kingdom, people you don't even know exist, people you walk by every day. Endometriosis is closer than you might think.

I feel wretched about having to abstain from this event, as it would've been the third consecutive year I'd've gone to London to complete a 5k for Endometriosis UK. The distance, wherever I do it, will be painful for me. Walking, now, is never without a pain or ache or twinge of some kind at some point. I'm not complaining; rather, letting you know (if you hadn't already suffered me enough) that my pain is chronic in its varying forms. I am still exercising, as advised by my hospital pain management team but that only does so much. It can't cure the pains. Nothing can.

So, PLEASE, if you can help, please do! AND, if you buy any item from my lovely, shiny, new shop on Etsy - which is >>> HERE <<< - I'll donate that money to my fund-raising page, which is >>> HERE <<<

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Etsy Supplements Artist?

By law, I'm allowed to earn up to £95 per week while I'm paid ESA (Employment and Support Allowance) by the government. Ideally, I'd not claim anything from "The State" but, I am one of those human things with chronically life-altering health troubles, and I do have to live. And living does, for me, cost some money.

Lately, I've done what I feared I would not be able to do: I have done Art. What if I couldn't draw now? What if I couldn't mix paints or understand shape or form or interpretations or... It was all piffle.
I sketched some drawings on the paper I missed turning and feeling, with the graphite pencils I missed smudging and sharpening, and the sizing-up with my thumb like those Art types do on the telly. (It's an actual thing to do, y'know.) I made a card for a friend, and used my watercolour paints. I'd forgotten about all the things I'd need: jar, water, newspaper, paper towel, hardboard... I enjoyed it so much. When I started the initial sketching the day before the painting, I was thrown right back to the researching lark of something, finding images, reading about the subject, to understand what it was and how it would be done and more things and such.

I was quite pleased with the end result. Even if I hadn't been, I'm sure it's the act of having actually done the Art thing again which was the point. It was breaking down that imaginary wall which stopped me doing creative things earlier. Or was it my own doing? I suspect it was, indeed, me who stopped things progressing, partly because of that fear. But it's also not my "fault" so, I'm not angry with myself for halting or preventing the drawing happening, because it's all been for a reason mostly out of my control. That reason is, of course, endometriosis. And depression. Two reasons: endometriosis and depression. I'll come in, again...

(If you're not sure what endometriosis is, you can click THESE BIG LETTERS to find out more about it as well as my favourite charity, Endometriosis UK. It's for them that I am doing my third 5k walky thing in September, with details HERE, should you wish to be exceedingly generous and sponsor me for what WILL be another very painful, difficult but, ultimately, worthwhile event. Endometriosis UK has changed my life and made it better. Please help it carry on doing the same for countless other women and girls?)


So, now I've started the Art thing again, what can I actually do? I knew about Etsy a while ago, and didn't think I'd bother with it. Then I did. And I've just added some of my drawings and bird paintings from a few years ago, which you can see by clicking HERE.

I'd like to get more Jimi Hendrix prints done, to paint more birds (if I can hold them down long enough), to draw more dogs, cats, and horses. I miss doing what I essentially trained to do for about six years. Although, it was meant to be half that time, really but, once more, the unrelenting pain of a then-undiagnosed incurable disease and dark place of my depressed mind held me back. That desire to create something from bits and pieces, from materials, using various media has never left me. At times, though, there's not enough energy in my whole being to even attempt it. And that lack of anything is down to the conditions I have, as well as the myriad medications I have to take each day to live what might be termed a "decent life". Some days have been and are less than decent, being, as they are, utter shit. The days where not being around felt like a better option, or the days when the strongest of strong painkillers I am permitted to take will not release me from the grip of agony. They're the not-so-good days. Obviously. (I don't have suicidal thoughts these days, in case you wondered.)


Of course. I'm hoping you'll sponsor my 5k and, of course, I'm hoping equally as much that you'll buy something I've created but, if the only thing you're able to do is share this blog in some way, you will be helping me more than you know.




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Sod off, MURPHY.

The last thing I expected to happen with this post was for it to become the most read post on my entire blog. Ever. Of all time. Ever. It was all because I asked people on twitter to help me after it became clearer than the Crystal Maze that SOMEONE had taken my money by deception, when claiming to want to help me raise money for my Mission to Tell Cancer to Sod Off. Also known as #SodOffCancer on twitter...
I can not overstate how amazing people were on twitter that day, how kind their words were, how enraged they felt on my behalf for the gall and cruelty and heartlessness of what this person did. Each retweet was so gratefully seen by me, and I thank each person so very much, with very special specialness to @MargoJMilne, @fiatpanda, and @EssexPoliceUK for their super-speedy help and guidance over what I should do. The "should do" has become a "have done", and there's no more I can actively do, with regards to the reporting to and telling police what I know.


I wondered if I could retrieve any of the MSN Messenger conversations that person and I had had. I hoped so much I could find the info there. My hopes were enough, it seems, for here they are, on my laptop. The entire - THE ENTIRE - log of conversations. Here are some gems of his numerous claims:

"Tomorrow at the 'Casualty' set in Bristol and weekend - no idea yet" - after I asked him on 24th September 2009 if he would have a busy Friday.

"i have been given a pack of 10 first class return rail tickets for anywhere on the Virgin, National Express or East Midlands Trains rail network which you can have for your charity auctions, plus a load of stuff from Doctor Who, Torchwood, Casualty, Holby City and, thanks to Teignbridge District Council, a sponsorship message on a roundabout between Teignmouth and Newton Abbott", "my other half has just said that he’ll throw in a free meal for a family at the Mount Pleasant Arms in Dawlish Warren and a £50 bar tab too (Dawlish Warren is in South Devon), and "Craig said that he’ll turn it into a weekend break at the hotel with breakfast and meals for a family of four" - after I asked him for news about the box of stuff, on 3rd October 2009.


And look! Here are the snapshots from the facebook messages stating much the same:

On 11th November 2009, he informed me "i work for ofcom so can do it internally" when talking about Doctor Who when he thought Martha had said the word "fuck". "OFCOM Telephone Rule 3.2 Ss8" apparently. And, how exciting! The next day he would be up early. But why? This: "get the pre-records ready for GMTV tomorrow morning - it's coming from Manchester for the first time (although they won't mention that on screen!) ... just getting the set up, studio ready and some early morming incerts ... and gotta do the edits for it too ... shame we don't have credits: Executive Producer STEVEN MURPHY for TX MEDIA LTD and GMTV STUDIOS".

If you have a spare skip nearby, you might want to fill that with salt.


He'd been to the National Television Awards and blamed the Loose Women for being drunk.
He'd won a Mac from GMTV.
He was an executive producer for something or other and had a very important clipboard to make sure the programme complies with guidelines.
He was in hospital for a while and couldn't reply to me, being later diagnosed with Wolfe-Parkinson-White Syndrome, a heart condition.


Let's jump forward to 22nd April 2010 when I asked if the box will arrive any time soon, which prompted him to say "oh your big box of stuff will be with you on MONDAY - am posting it on Saturday before I go on my hols".


No.


How about 10th September 2010? "i'll get it sorted for you on monday - sorry sorry sorry".


Luck is not on his side, for this is what happened on 22nd November 2010: "hey - sorry it's Marc his hubby - just checking his email - he's in hospital ... no he fell down the stairs at work and done his leg in".


Dear oh dear oh dear OH DEAR. And that was it. That was the last I heard or read from "Steven" or "Marc" or "Craig" or whoever the fuck Matthew Attenborough pretended to be.


It's been a long time since I listed the things I have been given and sent by lovely people, and the reason is, as ever, my own quite shitty health. My days aren't easy and they're not spent lazing about. When I feel OK, i do what I can. From my asking by writing begging letters for a signed card or some, I've pleaded and beggeded and have been sent signed postcards and photos by SO many (mainly Doctor Who and Harry Potter) people (or their people), including Hugh Bonneville, Karen Gillan, Matt Smith, Maggie Smith, June Whitfield, Bernard Cribbins, Tracy-Ann Oberman, Matilda Ziegler, Julia Sawalha, Michael Palin, Camille Coduri, Jessica Hynes, Sinead loads from Eastenders people, loads from Coronation Street people, and LOTS more people. I've been sent huge signed film posters, Doctor Who illustrations, signed books, signed records, signed CDs, and SO MUCH MORE.

A large chunk of the stuff has been given by those wonders @marshamusic and @shaunwkeaveny and I am SO thankful to them. I could squeeze them 'til the cows come home. And go away again. And come home again... as well as @LisaLynch, who gave me 2 of her books, which she'd signed, and they made LOTS of luvverly moolah for charity. Thank-you, Lisa!

I want to have two HUGE bundles each of Doctor Who and Harry Potter stuff - one for Macmillan Cancer Support, and the other for Cancer Research UK. Torchwood and The Sarah Jane Adventures things will probably be added to the Doctor Who stuff. Not sure yet.

I feel I must reiterate what I feel is one of the most important points of all this: I make absolutely no money from this. I don't want to. I started this because my Mum was diagnosed with breast cancer, and still suffers now, over 3 years since the horrible times began. All I ever wanted to do was get things, sell them on eBay 100% for the charities I chose, and know that those charities have benefitted.


In another blatant begging instance, if YOU have things you'd like to donate to my cause, if you want to help Tell Cancer TO SOD OFF, you can leave a comment on here, or email sodoffcancer@live.co.uk, or tweet me @TheCurlyLucy. It can take a long time for me to get round to doing things, but I get to them in the end. This is why things get bad, sometimes.



SOD OFF, CANCER.



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Help Lucy help charity

Naivety isn't something any of us likes to admit to but I was when I started this fundraising lark. I had people sending me things, signed books, records, photos, CDs, posters. And there was someone who seemed so very helpful and eager to help. "Hooray!" I thought. Aren't people nice?

Yes, they are. They can also be turds who take money "for postage costs" with a promise of sending stuff from the BBC and ITV studios and signed cards and T-shirts for me to list on my eBay page to sell 100% for charity. If you're not aware of why I do this, I shall tell you: in 2009, my Mum was diagnosed with breast cancer and had a mastectomy. She's still having treatment and is still having a really bloody hard time.

I never sell my charity things to profit for myself, I never take any of the money. Every charity listing is 100% for that charity. The three I concentrate on are Macmillan Cancer Support,, Cancer Research UK, and Breast Cancer Care.

A man called Steven Murphy started talking to me on twitter, and, as the months went by, and we talked more, we talked on the phone. More months went by and trust was built, and (though I can curse myself endlessly now) I transferred £15 to his bank account to cover the amount it would cost as there was a lot and it was heavy. After being told he would then send the box of things, I waited. And I waited. And he was "ill". And I waited. And many obstacles occurred.

He used to use twitter.com/tgmedia, but THAT IS NOT HIM NOW. It used to be Trafalgar Media.
He also seems to have used twitter.com/tvguidelive and twitter.com/txmediauk.
On the TwitPic site, he's here: Steven Murphy.
The website he said was his lived at TG:media, among other places.

If you wanted to search, I'm sure you find all this and more. While trying to find out more, I found this: a non-too complimentary view from others about much the same thing. He now says he's a POLICE OFFICER. In Cornwall.


Somewhat naturally, I am so annoyed with myself for transferring the money to his bank account from mine, and I still have his details, from that time, at least. Retrospect is a great thing, but it only ever comes along after an event. Obviously.

Without wanting to sound all politiciany, please let me explain that I absolutely do not want people to give me their money. I don't want anything other than him to give me back my money, an apology for lying, disappearing, and countless other words I can't think of right now. He is still on my facebook friends list - back after a vanishing for a few months - and there has not been ANY reply or contact of ANY kind for over a year. Possibly more. I don't now believe there ever was a box of things. Obvious now, isn't it?


If anyone can help or has advice or knows what I can do (please bear in mind I'm not wealthy, nor am I particularly well, nor do I want terrible things to happen to this person), please help me? I want what is right to happen to happen. I WANT MY MONEY BACK.


All I ever wanted to do was sell stuff for those charities. I never wanted to profit for myself, not a single shiny or dull penny. Please. Please, can you help?


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Crystal amazement

When I stayed in London for a weekend to attend Lisa Lynch's Super Sweet 30th birthday party, it was a marker for an impressive "independence" achievement for me, despite that independence being fleeting, much as it is now, three years later. It was also the start of a slow-burning desire to exercise more and try to feel better about myself. The party was on a Saturday and, on the Sunday, I went to Hyde Park to watch a couple of friends partake in the adidas Women's 5k Challenge. The atmosphere was thrilling! I'd not known what to expect, and was wholly delighted to see thousands of women raising money for myriad charities, a rainbow sea of T-shirts.


The next year, 2010, I walked and slowly ran my first sporting event, and raised money for Endometriosis UK. I surpassed my original target by hundreds, and was so overwhelmed by the generosity and kindness of people I'd never met, mostly via the wonder that is twitter.
The next year, which, coincidentally, was also last year (2011), would see me walk the same event, again raising money for Endometriosis UK.

Each event was also when I would meet friends I had, until those days, only "talked" to online, whether through facebook, twitter, or email, or by text or letters. Last year's 5k run [walk] was about 5 weeks after my second laparoscopy, which made it very hard for me to do any training, and walking the distance proved to be incredibly hard for me, with both legs, ankles and feet feeling as though they were burning after only 2 kilometres. But I carried on *FANFARE* and it was so lovely. People cheered all the way round no matter the charity they were supporting. I wore my Endometriosis UK T-shirt with such pride, and grinned and waved at those also supporting them. It's a wonderful, satisfying feeling being part of something like that; I only wish I'd been able to run, like I had planned.


Typically, the endometriosis pains and fatigue disrupted my plans. Additionally, I was having considerable problems with codeine in the 2 or 3 months prior to my laparoscopy; the withdrawal symptoms relating to the codeine I wasn't having to take were because of minimal pain, due to having the 4-weekly injections of Decapeptyl SR. The intermission in the pain calendar was extremely welcome, although the ills I felt from the lack of codeine in my system, having had quite a lot of the stuff every day for months, were far less welcome. They were not welcome. They were not invited to dinner but they stayed, anyway. A super-lovely GP and I worked out a tapering plan to ensure I suffered minimal symptoms while very slowly reducing the amount of codeine I took each day.


With the days sporadically becoming warmer and brighter, and with the knowledge that the adidas Women's 5k Challenge would not happen this year due to the Olympics, I wondered if I could again raise money for Endometriosis UK by taking part in a not-too-strenuous-but-equally-not-easy-in-any-way event type thing. And lo! It was here that I did discover that THIS EXCITING EVENT was happening! And so, dear readers, you lovely, generous, caring and kind readers, I have registered to complete the 5 kilometres Big Fun Run course in Crystal Palace Park on Saturday 8th September 2012.

CLICK ME NOW!

I've been slowly getting fitter, little by little, and I feel improved even walking round my house, up the familiar stairs, getting up from the sofa, and making tea. It might all seem like not much, but when there are so few moments with not pain, it's a HUGE change. The fitness classes at hospital have been fun, even though I've so far only attended half, with thanks going to unwellness caused by a period, a virus, and another sinus infection. I haven't wanted to miss those classes, but, as you may well know by now if you've read this blog before, when a period arrives, it's all about the period. The Duloxetine is still working well, the pains are less bad, and the periods are less bad, albeit still very significantly ouchy.


I want to do this 5k and I want to do it well. I want YOU LOT to help my beloved and wonderful and TINY Endometriosis UK continue to be funded, so that it may help those frightened, desperate and terribly-affected girls and women come to terms with this most cruel of conditions, to better live their lives, and to feel properly supported by people who truly understand what endometriosis means.

As with the previous events, this is not going to be easy for me to do. It may be less painful to walk, but it will hurt me. This truly, honestly is going to be a challenge for me. An early morning, several train journeys to get to Crystal Palace Park, the event itself, the walking and the trains back home, and the realisation of what I've done will all take their toll on my entire being, and I will be hurting and aching and tearful and overjoyed and wondering why the hell I put myself through all that pain. Again. And then I'll remember: because I'm helping people like me.


My sparkly, phenomenal, and really rather super new fundraising page is sitting just under these highlighted words and, if you should feel so inclined, you can help women and girls just like me, who have fearsome pain and dreadful days, so that they'll be sure people are there to help them get through those dark times. I promise your donations of supremely welcome moolah will do wonders for countless people. You can, indubitably, make an actual difference to actual people's lives. Including mine. And I'll be hurting after the 5k. So please, make it worth my while, if you can? Please? CLICK ME NOW!



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