It all started when I was diagnosed with meningitis aged 6.
For two weeks, doctors kept me in isolation while they treated the infection.
I fought it off, went back to school, but then the cold sores appeared.
Almost overnight, my face blistered and cracked.
‘It hurts,’ I complained to my mum Jean, fighting the urge to scratch.
‘It’ll heal on its own,’ she soothed.
But as soon as one had vanished, another appeared. Around my mouth, on my chin, even inside my nose.
It was agony. So we tried every remedy we could.
Mum cleaned out the chemist’s shelves, lathered me in creams.
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