Without a risky op, I could be decapitated any day

incing in pain, I cried out to the teacher.

‘You’re fine, Zoe,’ she said. ‘Come on, get up.’

Pain seared right through my legs as I stumbled to my feet.

It was the summer of 2000, I was just 7.

As I’d run through

Wthe school playground, my ankles had buckled underneath me. Truth was, it wasn’t the first time. In fact, I was always falling over, dislocating my knees or ankles.

Ever since I could recall, I’d been hyper-flexible. But my mum Lisa, 61, didn’t know why, nor did the doctors.

Then, when I turned 14, I started fainting. Blacking out in the classroom, I’d wake up seconds later feeling dizzy and sick. And the other kids were so nasty about it. Sometimes I’d come round with my hair smeared with canteen curry. Another time, they’d scorched my ponytail. Soon, I hated going to school. To make matters worse, I started fainting at least twice a week. ‘We need answers,’ my mum told the doctor. And after tests, we got the results. ‘Zoe has postural

craniocervical instability or CCI. It can be caused by EDS.

Googling my symptoms, everything matched CCI.

After paying for a private test in December 2019, it was confirmed I had CCI.

Scans showed the area between my spine and skull was unstable.

My vertebrae and muscles weren’t strong enough to hold my head up.

On the scan monitor, I could see my skull toppling back and forth. Like a bobblehead doll.

It meant that my brain stem was impacted, which possibly caused the seizures.

I burst into tears.

‘I’m so sorry,’ the doctor comforted.

‘It’s OK, these are happy tears. I finally have an answer,’ I said.

CCI is very serious. Any accident or wrong move could sever my spinal cord, which means I would be internally decapitated.

It’s as if my head is falling off.

It’s terrifying and I’m in a lot of pain.

But there’s one operation that could change my life forever. Surgeons would fuse my neck with metal plates.

It would support my head so I could carry on my life like a normal 27-year-old.

Could go to university, get a job, have a future.

It’s a risky operation, but it’s a risk I’m willing to take.

Sadly, the procedure isn’t offered on the NHS.

So, I need to raise £35,000 to have it done privately.

In March, I launched a fundraising page. Everyone has been so generous.

But for now, all I can do is wait.

Barely leaving my bed,

I sit all day supported by pillows. Even simple tasks like washing and showering are difficult.

But I have hope that I’ll get this life-changing op.

Because my future is worth fighting for.

To donate to Zoe’s surgery fund, visit gofundme. com/f/Bobblehead