Women could play a vital role in filling key vacancies at construction firms. Meanwhile, women make up 3% of manual roles, 8% of haulage roles and 12% of professional roles in the industry. The UK has the lowest proportion of female engineering professionals in Europe, at just 5%. Technical and on-site construction roles tend to be overwhelmingly male dominated. Women today represent just 12.8% of the construction workforce in the UK, and tend to sit in supporting office roles, like administration, HR or marketing. Recognizing that it’s OK to not be OK is half the battle, so if I can continue to be honest with myself, I know I’m one step closer to improvement.With the current talent and skills shortages across the industry, construction could really benefit from drawing on an under-used section of the labor force: namely, women. I wish I could tell you how easy that is to do, but I often struggle with taking that advice myself. Emotional suppression and downplaying pain can lead to bigger issues down the road, so it’s vital to be honest with yourself and make space for grace. However, thanks to modern medicine and the support of my family, husband, friends, co-workers, and the incredible IBD community, I’m thriving and accomplishing goals while managing this disease.Īlthough the summer of 2019 was a challenging time, the diagnosis taught me that the more you resist feeling unwell, the worse you’ll feel. Even though I’m in remission right now, the trauma hasn’t left. It’s difficult to accept an incurable condition that will remain a part of you for life. Everything happened so fast: one minute I thought I’m getting a colonoscopy, the next minute I’m in an ambulance where I’m told I needed to be “resuscitated.” An ER doctor asks me if I have IBD to which I whisper, “I don’t know.” I spend days at the hospital, where I get my colonoscopy and ultimately, a life-long diagnosis without a cure. The nurse checks my vitals and calls the paramedics instantly. I’m in such bad shape that I need to be wheelchaired to the GI center. I wake up, regroup, and make my way to the car. I faint in the bathroom to which my husband catches me in his arms. Late-September: The day of my colonoscopy I can barely stand (from losing blood and the lack of nutrition).(Little did I know that Advil -ibuprofen-worsens inflammation.) And as I prep for my colonoscopy, I become fatigued and find a lot of blood in my stool. Late-September: At this point, I’m taking Advil every day to aid the low-grade fever that hasn’t gone away.But aren’t colonoscopies for folks age 50+? (Nope!) Late-September: After several uncomfortable tests (CT scans and stool tests are not fun, y’all), the results show major inflammation so I’m scheduled for a colonoscopy.He suspects I have appendicitis and schedules me for a CT scan. I take Advil and call my general practitioner during my birthday dinner. Mid-September: I make it to the mountains while enduring the same symptoms and now joint pain.But I turn 30 in a few days and my husband planned a long birthday weekend at the mountains. Early-September: In addition to the stomach aches, I have a low-grade fever.August: The painful stomach aches that I remember from my childhood return but stronger as if there’s a barbed wire scraping the inside of my abdomen.At the time, however, I would’ve classified them as “lowlights.” In retrospect, the following set of events are life-changing moments for me. And I wasn’t going to let anyone or anything take away my happiness. Newly married and adventuring frequently, I was on a high for months. August: I fly to San Diego to celebrate the union of two dear friends.July: We visit two sets of close friends in Washington state.June: We spend our honeymoon days at a finca in Mallorca (Majorca), the crown jewel of Spain’s Balearic Islands.May: Ater months of wedding planning, my husband, Chris, and I tie the knot with the support and presence of our friends and family.I was right the pain and fatigue did go away, at least for two decades.įast forward to 2019, a year like no other. This will pass,” I repeatedly reassured my younger self. Emotional suppression and downplaying pain were common themes in our household, and frankly, in Russian culture. My parents and I emigrated from Russia to the United States in 1992 after the collapse of the USSR, so I always chalked the symptoms up to the stress of trying to assimilate and become American. Growing up, I endured periods of painful stomach aches (the ones that you have a bad feeling about). There are green trees and a trail sign behind them. Photo of the author hiking with her husband.
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