I mean, people didn't even recognise me. I could walk down the street and genuinely, somebody would walk past me, and I'd have to say, Oh, it's Nicola And then the other thing would be their faces. So, some people would just be, like, in shock, you could see them, which sounds extreme, but it was like that. You could see people thinking, What on earth has happened to you So, then I'd need to explain. So, my illness became me, it became, I was carrying it was an obvious thing. It was like, you know, I mean, obviously nowhere near as extreme as something like losing a limb or something, but I mean it felt like, Here I am, and I am no longer who I was, and now every time I, I leave the house I have to tell you about my illness And that felt awful actually, because it just then brings, like, Oh, no like oh and on top of everybody knowing everything else about my life - and they knew my mum was dying – I [sighs], I hate that poor m thing, like I just, I can't tolerate it somehow because I just, it's not in my personality. So, I don't mean in others, I mean in me, I don't like it for me. I give lots of compassion and empathy through my job, I run a charity for bereaved parents so it's not that I can't feel for people, I feel deeply, deeply for people, but I, for me it didn't feel right that every time I was speaking, people were like, Oh, and how are you and I'm so sorry to hear because it just felt like I wasn't Nicola anymore. And I think it, the steroids really took that away for a long time, so even if I felt a bit better, it was the steroids ruled that sort of communication, almost. It was such a barrier.