Wednesday, December 19, 2012

Top Five Doctor's Who Have Saved My Sanity

Generally speaking at Diary Of A Premmy Mum, I try and keep the names of professionals anonymous. However, If someone has done something Ace, Something brilliant or something thoroughly unforgettable, then why not  publicly declare their excellence? It is nearly Christmas, After all.

So in today's post I bring you my top five Doctors.

Top five? I hear you say. That's a whole lot of Doctors to come top . But you know this Premmy Mum has met more than her fair share in recent years, there have been at least 100 who have looked after Smidge between the four Neonatal Hospitals and  the children's ward.

Some Doctor's are naturally gifted with people,others have to work at it, personally, I made nearly every Doctor work at it, so if they made it to my top 5, then they are hard core, dedicated.....the best of the best!

So here they are.. in no particular order.

Dr Dylan Watkins. (G.P) Leatside Surgery Totnes.        
Dr Watkins used to be my G.P before I  had Smidge. I wish he was still my G.P now but dreaded Geography forced a surgery change, putting an end to all that was awesome about care in the community.
What I liked best about Dylan was his laid back attitude, his off the wall sense of humour and  his willingness to listen and support.
He is totally devoted to his patients, a bit of a cynic and  not in the least bit  P.C. If there was a town award for being the 'People's Doctor' I'm fairly sure he'd  bag it in a flash and I wouldn't hesitate in signposting a few of my bean sprout loving friends his way, or any friends for that matter.
I love the way this Doctor embraces the alternative nature of the  community, he doesn't judge people in difficult times and regularly goes above and beyond for everyone.On occasion, you'll even catch him whizzing around town on  his motorbike dropping of prescriptions on his way home. If every G.P took his attitude to good community care then perhaps we wouldn't be so swamped by services trying to fill in the gaps.
Dr.Watkins also writes his own blog, where he raises awareness, shares his views and talks about community and medical issues.

Dr David Mabin. Paediatric Consultant and Neonateologist
Ever since we returned to Devon (when Smidge reached about 33 weeks gestation) Dr Mabin has been helping us to take great care of our family.
When I first met him, it was a time of massive upheaval, I was hugely stressed from the whole Smidge Live/Die saga. The frequent hospital moves, the constant shifting about but he was so kind and understanding and he reserved judgement, despite my coming across as quite rude and insensitive at times.
He's been nothing but a support to us over these last two years, watching Smidge grow and develop, Always sitting in the background empowering us as parents and having us believe that we are making sound decisions about her care.
There have been long periods spent on the children's ward, where I've suffered more than a little cabin fever from being shut in a cubicle for too long.There's been tears, there's been snot, (me not the doctor) there's even been me asking him out right (in a totally undiplomatic way) if he thought I was a bonkers raving lunatic who needs professional help. I have to say he dealt with it all fabulously, always taking so much care to make sure I take something positive away from our conversations and goodness knows when I'm in that state I don't make it easy for him, so what he's done, it really means a lot.
Further more, I know I'm not alone in my 'Dr. Mabin Loving' as he is a very popular Doctor amongst all the families we know at Exeter S.N.U.G group, many of whom have been lucky to have him as their allocated consultant.

Dr.Richard Thwaites. Paediatric Consultant and Neonatologist at Q.A Hospital, Portsmouth.
How Could I ever forget Dr.Thwaites?The doctor who who resuscitated Smidge at birth, the doctor who put the tube down her throat and bought her safely in to the NICU. He was very involved in her care in those vital early weeks and made a lot of the clinical decisions, literally saving her life.
If it were not for him and his dedication to Neonates or  his obvious expertise in dealing with extremely low birth weight babies, she really wouldn't be here today, I totally believe that.
From the second Smidge was admitted to Intensive Care, we knew she was in the hands of an expert.Of course i'd be lying if I said I completely put my faith in him, I couldn't, not in anyone, knowing the risks. However I did always know she was in the best possible hands, I always knew if anyone could save her it would be him and the team around him. He was passionate about premature babies, it really came across when he spoke about them. His explanations of risk,of the theory that lay behind the decisions he made were really second to none and  One-day Hubby  felt a lot more involved on account of his detailed descriptions.

Dr Alice Martin. Registrar at RD&E Exeter
Another Doctor who I will always remember is Dr. Alice Martin, a registrar in Exeter. My dealings with her have  only ever been brief and in emergency situations, once, when she was working on the transport team and then again quite recently, in the spring when Smidge was 'naughty' again.
Alice comes across as really genuine. She is friendly and supportive and can canulate an ex pre- term baby in record time.It was thanks to her quick thinking and steady hands that Smidge came out of a 25 minute seizure and I was extremely impressed with the way she conducted herself in this this emergency situation. If Smidge had gone on to fit much longer she would have been at risk of brain damage and I think it's a real skill,remaining calm, giving instructions and not saying anything that would  alarm parents and make the situation worse.
I can also tell that Alice really cared about the impact that the whole event had on us and she came by to check on us several times afterwards to make sure we were okay.This made a real difference to us, knowing that she cared.

Dr Liz Donovan. Paediatric Consultant and Neonatologist Q.A Hospital Portsmouth
Dr Donovan was one of those Doctors who made me feel sane when I thought that I was losing the plot.I guess the thing is when you have a child in intensive care, its so easy to worry about everything, I would need constant reassurance about the decisions that were being taken.
Dr Donovan was the sort Doctor who would make herself available if she saw me in the corridor.She'd even take me in to a side room for a  bit of a chat if that's what was needed. She wouldn't do it in a scary 'lets go to the quiet room' kind of way but more in a 'lets get away from the noise' sort of way, which was great because I couldn't always concentrate in the ICU with the monitors going off and Smidge apnoea-ing left right and centre.
Whenever I had a concern about Smidge, she didn't make me feel foolish or unskilled or obstructive, she'd validate my concerns and take my views on board. She seemed to totally understand my battle of wanting to be a Mum but not 'having the knowledge' and she really wanted to help with that. Without this kind of support my mind would be plagued with fragments of medical  information which would drift amidst the bleeps and fear. When someone takes a little time to understand how you're processing all that it really makes a difference, I'm so glad she was there.

So there we have it, My top five Doctors and why I loved them. I think it's really important to recognise good care like this. These people work so hard, they go above and beyond and the real reward for them is knowing that they have made a difference. So which Doctors have made a difference to you and why?


I








Friday, December 7, 2012

Asda

Bright strip lights blaze down, glowing yellow over the supermarket isles.

Over sized cardboard pointy fingers are directing customers to the shortest available queue. 

Those fingers are stupid. If you paid me a hundred pounds an hour i wouldn't hold a fingers on a stick like that. So big and stupid and green.

Mummy-bot wonders over to the clothes area. She's only has two sets of clothes for weeks now and she needs something else to wear.

What would be the right thing she wonders..

But she doesn't wonder for too long. 

She doesn't wonder too much. 

What if something happens when she is wondering?

Mummy-bot quickly reaches in to her pocket to feel the presence of her phone. It's there, that's good.

 It's not vibrating either, that's good.

Pulling it our of her pocket she checks for  missed calls. There are none.

She stands still a moment. blankly fixated on the clothes department.

A woman in a green uniform pop's out of nowhere. she's wearing sparkly read earring's.

'Can I be of any help at all?'

Mummy-bot looks up and mindlessly recites 'I came to get clothes' She is like an Alien in a foreign land.

She picks up the first thing she sees.

She only wore that dress once.


> > > >Two years later (or there abouts) > > > >

Bright strip lights blaze down, glowing yellow over the supermarket isles.

Over sized cardboard pointy fingers are directing customers to the shortest available queue. 

Those fingers are still stupid but now they are local stupid pointy fingers instead, we are back in Devon.

And this time I am not shopping for clothes but for party food for my beautiful sweet baby girl.

Lists, Lists...so many lists.

But no matter how busy I am I still remember.

No matter how healthy she seems I still reach in to my pocket and eagerly await the reassurance of a blank telephone screen.

And no matter how many times I come home to a healthy peaceful Smidge I rarely turn in to our house with out preparing to see an ambulance.

Sometimes I wonder what it would be like to not think like that.

Sometimes I wonder when being me will feel okay again.












Wednesday, November 14, 2012

Anxiety And Pressure

It must be really hard being a NICU nurse sometimes. Trying to pitch the care of the parents at just the right level. The trouble is I suppose, every parent brings to NICU their own life story. A story that will dictate how they function under the most extreme pressure.

Obviously our childhoods, our adult lives and any experience we may have had as parent are all likely to impact on our perceptions and lets be honest there are some pretty dark realities available to engage with in the intensive care unit.

Naturally, nurses experience the unit in a very different way to parents. Years of training and mental preparation is what has enabled them to spend time there. The things they see, do and experience must be far from pleasant and surely no matter how much training they have, there must be things that will haunt them beyond their working hours.

My own experience as a parent was in itself  multi -dimensional. There was was the terrifying fear that my baby wouldn't live, there was the feeling torn between Mr G and Smidge. There was the bonding issue, and then, probably as a direct result of all the other issues was the increased anxiety and feeling like I was being judged.

See I don't think the doctors and  nurses meant to make me feel worse at all, they were all about making me feel better. I see that now. However when scribblings about my anxiety and conversations about getting counselling repeatedly came to my attention, I felt I was doing something wrong, that I had been deemed as 'coping really badly'

Every time such issues were mentioned in a bid to offer support, I became immediately defensive. 'Anxiety? What Anxiety?' I took it to mean I was failing.

I guess it stems from the fact that I come from a 'pick yourself up and get on with it' sort of family, so the suggestion that I might be anxious was not received very well at all. This, in turn made me feel very isolated because I genuinely had no idea that was it okay to be worried. I assumed that my constant questions, fear and worry was making peoples jobs harder and they just wanted to divert me to a counsellor so I stopped taking up their time.

About three months in to my journey, I'd heard so much about the anxiety and counselling that I decided I wanted to bring the whole thing to a head. I felt very misunderstood. I wanted to shout at every nurse and doctor who had ever cared for Smidge and say.

'Don't you get it?? There is a VERY sick baby there...why does this have to be about my anxiety? Surely it's about the baby I've watched turn blue, gray purple and white more often than anyone should see a baby turn blue,gray, purple or white.'

Or in one day Hubby's words.. You wouldn't go up to somebody in a war zone and say 'You're looking a little anxious there....' would you? It just doesn't seem appropriate for the circumstances.

I guess what it boils down to is this.

It was important to me that I was perceived to be coping. To be told I was doing well would have gone a long, long way.

To be reminded there is no right or wrong way to be or behave in these situations would have been sanity saving.

When I finally did sit down and read my notes with a doctor and a nurse, I told them in no certain terms that I found all this 'anxiety +++' malarkey extremely upsetting and asked them why it was noted.

The nurse said  "It's because we recognise that this is an anxious situation"

And that was the very first time it occurred to me that  it might be okay to be anxious.




Monday, October 22, 2012

"Pushed"

As it is World Prematurity day coming up, I wanted to write a a post about something that matters to me, Something that affected me quite deeply through out my NICU journey.However, I haven't posted about  it much on here because when your childs life is saved, above all else you are grateful, grateful for every day that medics studied a text book, grateful for every decision they made and their commitment to medicine in general..So when I write this post I want to make it clear that this is not a criticism of the staff involved, it is a reflection of the chronic shortage in the cots available to Neonates in the UK today.

Dear Government,

Thank you so much for agreeing to give Britain's tiniest babies a chance at life. When my baby was born, she weighed just 1lb 7oz and we were terrified that she would not live.

It was a shock to hear we couldn't stay close to home, that we had to travel 150 miles to receive the care she needed, we naively thought our local hospital could help us, but they couldn't, they could barely help us at all.

When I was driven through a snow storm in the back of an ambulance, I thought my baby would die but she stayed with us until we made it safely to the other end. Thank you for providing us with this ambulance.

I won't lie, it was hard being so far from home. We had to leave our other child, our animals, our places of work... but  more than anything else, we were grateful because someone, somewhere might be able to save our baby, so thank you for that.

When after a few weeks our baby got sick, she had to be moved somewhere else, It wasn't that the doctors didn't give her a good care, they did but she needed looking after by surgeons and the other doctors, they weren't surgeons so they couldn't help us.

The change of hospital was scary because the nurses and doctors, they didn't care like the others, they didn't know our baby. They didn't know us. To them she was a 'thing' and we were 'the things' family, the ones who had to be kept informed.

But they did keep her alive and warm and we are so grateful for that.

A week or two later,the doctors,(the surgical ones) they told us that she had to leave their hospital. She was still small, sick and wouldn't take any feeds but they needed to make space for the sicker babies, the one's who weren't going to make it unless they went there. But they did arrange an ambulance to take her back to the first hospital, so thank you for that.

When we got back to the first hospital, the nicer one, her incubator wasn't where it was before, she had been put somewhere else now.She didn't really belong there, by the window but she didn't really belong anywhere really, not anywhere at all.

Then, only a short while after that, the doctors, they told me it was time to for her to leave their hospital too, to move closer to home. Only I didn't want to move closer to home, I wanted to stay there with the doctors and nurses who knew her. I worried that she wasn't ready,that she hadn't been tolerating milk for long. I pleaded for her to stay but they couldn't help us any more because they needed the cots for the other babies, the ones who lived close by.

The day she  moved from the hospital we didn't get to say goodbye to the doctors and nurses who saved her. When we arrived hoping to see our baby be put safely  in to the transport incubator she had already left and there was another baby filling her space.

I liked that hospital but I wish there had been time to say goodbye.

I liked hospital  number three too, we were there for a week but sadly we couldn't stay.

Our baby found it all too much you see, the move, so she had to go and be with surgeons again, different ones this time, and hospital number four.

It was old there, chaotic & smelly.

But they kept her warm and alive so thank you for that.

Thank you actually, to all the doctors and nurses in hospital 1,2,3 and 4 and especially to 3, our local (ish) hospital for working with the impact of hospitals 1,2 and 4 and for not sending us to hospital 5 even though that would have been the usual practice according to protocol.

Thank you for all of that.

But dearest Government,whilst I am grateful for all of these things I want you to know this.

When you agree to give these tiny babies a chance a life, you fill their parents hearts with hope. But when you cart  fragile, tiny babies up and down the country like you know you do Every Single Day you put their tiny lives at risk and your promise becomes a dangerous game of Russian roulette.

So when you say, you do everything you can to save the lives of babies born under 28 weeks. Please honour that effort by putting your money where your mouth is and give Neonates the resources they need

Because a life is a life..

No matter how small.
















Wednesday, October 10, 2012

That Question


Ever experienced those moments where you bump in to a fellow Mummy and there you stand, buggy to buggy nattering away. If you make it past the pleasantries stage then it's only a matter of time before the ego crushing killer question weasels it's way in to the conversation, the answer to which is never as honest as I would sometimes like it to be.

Yes I'm talking about about the old 'So what do you do?' Question.

What do I do? Well lets see, I shop for buy one get one free offers. I stay inside my house (a lot) and I mess it up constantly. I make animal noises,such as oink oink, baah baah and woof woof. I scoop up chewed on crayon and vacuum up dog hair pretty much all day long. I am a woman who wipes hand prints of her leggings approximately seven times a day and then will go to the supermarket wearing those very same leggings and look like an utter frump, making others feel smart in their primark clothes.

No I don't have an I-Candy pushchair and my car may be missing a hub cap or two but I do consider it's worth it because I get to spend the days with my daughter.

Oh and in case your thinking that must mean I'm a good Mum, very patient, it doesn't mean that at all. I get tired like everyone else.There are days when I really don't want to go oink oink,baah,baah, and woof woof and Smidge very well knows it but I try my best and it doesn't matter if I don't get it one hundred percent right all of the time, what matters is that she and I are working at things together and if that means that things arn't always perfect then that's okay because life isn't perfect and neither are situations or people.

It's not that I didn't have a good job or that it wouldn't be in our financial interests for me to return to work, I did and it would. However, I choose not to.

What I choose is smelly nappies and the dishes that need washing, I choose toddler tantrums and jam smeared leggins, I choose putting the doll in the pram, taking it out of the pram and then crying because it got  stuck. I choose jumping in puddles because one more wash wont hurt and putting a decent meal on the table at the end of it all. 

I choose sounding like I'm the voice over in trainspotting.

I choose Stay At Home Mumism. 






Thursday, October 4, 2012

A Bit Of A Fling

You're going to be disappointed in me but I'm afraid I've been unfaithful. I want to say it was spur of the moment decision but in truth I did have time to think.

Word get's around quickly, so I won't beat around the bush but it's true, I ran off with another blog.

Of course I want to tell you I only toyed with the idea,that I wasn't really serious but that is simply not the truth, I really did go all the way.... and publish my first post.

I'm ashamed to say I was going to string you both along for a while until I knew what I wanted but  my plans were shattered when I was cruelly exposed by that damned Google reader and it became clear that half my readers had already discovered my secret other.

So here I am torn between two blogs...

On the one hand, Diary Of A Premmy Mum is like the pair of shoes that fit perfectly on my feet, They don't look so great to the outside world but I'm comfortable in them.

Yet I see that there are far nicer shoes out there. Shoes that are colourful , shoes that hold purpose..Shoes that open up possibilities.

Do shoes really do that?


I guess what I'm really wondering is...Is it time to try something else?



The chart that goes with the shoes.






Wednesday, September 26, 2012

Preemie Pride And Predjudice

Forgive me readers but I've gone and done something cringeworthy. No it's not just cringeworthy, It's Mega cheese. :-/

You've seen those friken' awful survival video's on you tube right?  The ones with love song melodies playing in the background ? ( usually 'wires' ) Well I've only bleedin' gone and made one of those haven't I?

I know, I know..

But I can't help it, I'm going through a proud phrase!

See, when I first bought  Smidge home and bestowed her beauty on to the general public, not a single one of them knew just what a miracle she was.

They didn't see how big she was, they only saw how small. and when they learned that she was fifteen weeks early, they didn't see her struggle, they saw only her survival.


It wasn't that I didn't want to share what an amazing fighter she was, I did! but you have to understand readers, that when you are having a conversation with a person who thinks a premature baby looks like this...


....a parent such as me can end up feeling more than a little misunderstood and  others can come across as being insensitive, nosey, patronising or even quite dismissive.

Needless to say it was a HUGE relief when Smidge turned  fifteen and a half months (12 months corrected) and questions about her age no longer prompted a discussion on prematurity.

'She's just turned a year' I'd respond when asked about her age and I have to say, I found it really quite liberating. 

Not delving in to the whole NICU live/die saga with cheek pinching supermarket busy bodies was a welcome break for yours truly, However, more than relief from boredom, there was the opportunity to be 'normal,' there was a chance to be like your average Joe and it was almost as though suddenly, I realised that I was under no obligation to  re live my worst nightmare at random intervals and actually, I quite enjoyed not doing this and I certainly didn't miss some of the remarks.

Further more, these days, I try to make a point of not disclosing Smidge's early start to new people at first and sometimes not at all.  When I've talked to other preemie parents about this as a way of managing public prejudice, they say I should be strong, they say I should be proud. They have even said to NOT disclose her micro preemie background would be to be ashamed and that my Smidge may grow to be ashamed too...

I say this :

No one is more proud than this here Premmy Mum.

But does it really make me 'ashamed' because I don't want prematurity to define Smidge the way it has defined me for nearly two years?

Am I letting the side down because I want to give us both the chance to grow outside of the context of her early start?
.
I dont think so. 

See, I never planned to have a preemie. 

What I planned for was a  baby, a  baby girl if I was lucky.

And  lucky I was, I got my baby girl.

And whilst here at Diary Of A Premmy Mum she'll always be a  preemie, to others, I think she will always   be my daughter before she's anything else.



Wednesday, September 12, 2012

NEC

To say it was a juggle managing an older sibling when Smidge was in intensive care is an understatement.
I really wanted to make things as normal as possible for Mister G but no matter how hard I tried, I found it very difficult to think about anything else but Smidge.

I'd return home to our make shift home in Southampton and I'd collapse on the sofa exhausted, my mind still racing about all the discussions I'd had that day, What was the various meanings of terms the doctors had used? Was the consultant being entirely honest with me? Did the nurse think I coping really badly?

Mr G would try to talk me in to playing games of  top trumps with him but it was no good, the second my mind tried to turn it's attention to something other than Smidge, anxious thoughts would overcome me. Trying to block out the days events just gave rise to more intrusive thoughts, accompanied by an  overwhelming urge to focus all that had happened, all that was said.

But one morning, I'd awoken to decide that I wouldn't follow the usual routine of going directly to NICU, I'd decided to take Mister G in to the town to buy him some home learning things. I'd hoped to spend some time with him to make up for the complete lack of attention, maybe go for a burger or a KFC.

I'd already phoned the NICU that morning and nothing too alarming had been reported, nothing I'd picked up on any way, so I decided to go ahead with my plans to catch the train to town.

But just after we'd purchased our tickets, I thought I'd call again, just to double check. I liked the illusion of being in control and a little reassurance would make me feel I was doing the right thing.

The nurse taking care of Smidge came on the line, she was stumbling a bit and trying to find the right words.

'I'm er...waiting for the doctor to ring you actually...er..she won't be long.'

'Ring me? Why? what's happened?' I said, my heart sinking.

'Oh..I think it's probably better if she explains it...I er...wouldn't want to get it wrong if you know what I mean...'

'Can I speak to her then?'

'Um...she's a bit busy at the moment, talking to her colleagues...She'll ring you very shortly'

I put my mobile back in my pocket.

'C'mon Mister G, I'm afraid we can't go to town now, we have to drop you back home'

'Why?' said Mister G, scowling a disapproving look.

'I don't know' I stammered heading back towards the house and picking up a pace.

'Why?.... Why Mum?...Why? came the eleven year old voice chasing along  behind me.

'I don't know, I've got to get to the hospital'

After dropping him off I got straight in to the car It was a stupid automatic thing we'd hired and there was a particular way to get this car started, a regime I had to follow. I did so slowly and carefully so as not to cause any further delay.

A doctor had never needed to speak to me outside of ward rounds before, I had no idea what was going on, was I going to get there in time? How bad was she?

When I arrived at the hospital there was team around Smidge. She was laid in her incubator, her stomach blue and distended with tiny little blood vessels apparent all over the front of her body.Her face was white and she lay there stiller than still. She was in 80% Oxygen.

Smidge had NEC, a deadly bowel infection and the biggest killer of premature babies in the UK today.

A transport incubator had been wheeled in and it was placed next to her cot bay. The consultant strolled over and out her hand on my shoulder.

'Okay' she said.

'I want you to know that I am a little bit worried about Smidge, We've been talking to our colleagues over at the surgical unit, and they'd like her to be bought over there, where they can monitor her more closely'

'We've stopped her feeds for now and the transport team here are going to take good care of her en route. She's not being ventilated at present, which is encouraging, but you should know that I think it's likely she will require an operation on her tummy at some point in the near future'

Tears sprung to my eyes as I looked at the doctor in disbelief  'She will be okay, won't she?' I asked fearfully.

The Doctor placed her hand on my arm  before offering a warm sympathetic smile and said 'I'll give you  a minute with her  alone'

"Can I touch her?" I asked the tears streaming freely now.

"You can put your hands in the port holes"

And as I did just that, I could feel the warmth Smidge's tiny body and see the weakness in her breaths.  I started to sing quietly to her,but this time the words seemed painfully more apt as I quietly sang 'Everybody hurts' by REM.

After a few minutes the doctor nodded her head and directed the transfer team to proceed.

I could only stand by and watch them wheel my Smidge away in the back of an ambulance and pray she made it there safely...

A day I'll never forget.








Thursday, September 6, 2012

We're Through

I am so angry at Dyson right now, uugghh..

There is dog hair where I really don't want there to be dog hair.There is dust where I don't want there to be dust. There is sorting that refuses to be sorted and why? It's because of yoooooou Dyson... and now, this Dyson  related fury knows no bounds and holds no depths.

The over flowing laundry basket?... I blame dyson.

The untidy airing cupboard?...Dyson

The unwatered plants...Dyson again.

And now, as Dyson sits there  big and gray and  plastic, I ask myself again and again..

What did I ever see in you?

With in hours of meeting you, you started to show me your true colours, putting your weight around and bruising me on the stair case. But at the time I was vulnerable you see, having just come out of a long term relationship with vax.

And after that I swore nobody was going to make me cheap promises again, So when I saw you  stood there  with your special features and five year guarantee, I was charmed by you,  tricked like a fool.

But special features are no good when motor blows up are they dyson?

A five year guarantee is worth nothing, when your serviceman does not carry spare parts.

And now I feel I have come to a point in our relationship where I have to expose you for WHO YOU ARE, nothing but a big old plastic ugly eye sore with limited shelf life.

So fellow readers, bloggers, Mum's... You have been warned. Do not be taken in and exploited by this evil piece.







Thursday, August 23, 2012

The Loneliness Of NICU.

It's strange because you can have the most well meaning of nurses looking after your baby, You can have the very best of doctors  leading their care, You can have the most supportive family in the whole world and yet  still you can feel so incredibly alone when you have a  baby in intensive care.

The issues that caused me to feel isolated were things I didn't want anyone else to know about, they were deeply personal to me and even the slightest suggestion that others' had cottoned on to 'the inner me' had me flaring up inside with anger and resentment.

The problem that I had was, there were two sides to this  Premmy Mum. There was the side that went in to the NICU each day and put on a performance. The performance that  everything was good, fine and dandy. The side that sat along side the incubator trying to find words for a foetus that couldn't be touched, couldn't be held,couldn't be heard.

Then there was the secret Mummy that was heartbroken. Heartbroken because what she had wasn't what she had planned, yet she knew she was lucky to have a baby that was hanging on in there fighting for her little life.

And this Mother, the heartbroken one, could not bare the idea that she would be perceived as unbonded, disconnected or uncaring. Because she wanted that baby to live so much. Nothing in her life was more important or more crucial than that very thing.

So when, after a week a nurse held up a small premature baby nappy and asked me if I wanted to change Smidge, I was deeply hurt and offended.

'I don't need to change a nappy to connect with my child' Said the Heartbroken Mama with in.

'I'll change a million nappies when I get out of this place, and I'll sing to her, and I'll rock her and do all of the things we can't do here and we won't need you, bossing us about or leading the way, not now and certainly not then'

But the NICU Mum Smiled politely. 'You do it' she said sweetly.

The nurse nodded her head with understanding. She thought I'd declined because I didn't want to be involved, that I wasn't 'ready' to care for  Smidge.

I was ready.

I never stopped being ready.

I wasn't ready for 'being allowed'

I wasn't ready for 'being permitted'

But always,always I wanted to do my personal best for her.

But when staff came in with all their guidance and schedules, I didn't feel I was doing my best. I didn't feel I was being a Mother at all.

Which is one of the reasons I think this publication by Bliss is so important.



This booklet explains everything to Parents. In a nutshell, it tells them how they can learn to read their baby's cue's so that they, the parents may make informed decisions about  how to interact with their babies, when they might 'like' to be touched or handled.

And because this publication is written as though it is coming is from the  baby, it is disarming, endearing and empowering to Mum's in this situation.

I think these should beside every incubator as standard.

Eighteen Months down the line and four NICU's later, I think a great deal about what I was encouraged to do as a parent. There is no doubt at all that leading  the care of your baby helps the bonding process and affects the attachment relationship.

But NICU's vary hugely in their approach to how this is managed. Some unit's are very 'precious' over the babies with nurses leading the care in all instances. Bizarrely it was being in the two level 4 surgical units that enabled me to get more involved with Smidge, which was ironic because it was then when she was at her most unstable.



I'll never forget walking in to the surgical unit after Smidge was transferred. There was a big notification up on the wall. It read:

'ALL BABIES ARE ALLOWED OUT FOR KANGAROO CARE AT ALL TIMES UNLESS A CONSULTANT STATES TO THE CONTRARY'

It was music to my ears. Finally I could choose! Finally I could start being a Mother.

So If the sickest babies in the country can be cared for by their own parents.. Why can't all unit's commit to the same principles?








Monday, August 20, 2012

Waft Play

Well readers, It has to be said that the summer months have been kind to us so far.The absence of hospital admissions and lack of weirdly convulsing offspring has not gone unnoticed and what better way to celebrate this healthy breakthrough than a trip to the local germ fest soft play centre?

Yes you heard me right, I said soft play centre and check out this pic, it's my Smidge looking at a real boy.




Until this latest attack of 'must-try-and-be-normal', Smidge was starting to believe that other children only exist in two forms.

2D (story books) or 3D (on screen animated), So this here Premmy Mum has had to take emergency measures in order to restore some sense of normality.

How it happened:

I awoke one morning to the chirpy sounds of  Smidge lobbing soft objects out of the cot (presumably to provoke some sort of motion from yours truly) and suddenly and without warning this weird thing washed over me..

It wasn't emotion (good god no..) It was more like a thought process with the potential to lead to positive outcomes.

Thats it... Optimism.

Anyway, this optimism tried to convince me that soft play would be okay.. especially if we got to the centre early, before any germ ridden children put in an appearance.

Seizing the moment and packing a bag in record time, we arrived a little before 9am, Why, the doors had even opened.

Cool, only one granny standing outside with her apparently chicken-poccless/ non spluttering grand children.We go over and wait in the queue.

We are stood  there for a minute or two before Granny initiates some small talk,which is fine but then she utters the most disheartening sentence...

'Great offer isn't it?'

'Offer?'  I say, with a paranoid sceptical look on my face.

'Buy one get one free if you're in before 10.00am' says Granny.

Nooooo...


The place will be swamped. More kids, more germs. Damn that buy one get one free offer.

Bit it's too late to back out now. An excited Smidge is already peering through the glass door exclaiming 'Ball!' 'Ball!' ..over and over again.

So we enter the germ fest, anti bacterial wipes on hand, a defeated look on my face as I  reluctantly accept that the  possibility of wiping down 2000 balls is looking less and less achievable.

Smidge wonder's fourth and it's not long before shes in her complete element, climbing,tumbling, throwing balls and babbling excitedly, all the time reminding me repeatedly that there are balls.

Ten minutes in and I'm thinking 'well..she gets so much out it, look at her little face *oh the Joy* etc..etc..'

But then I smell something.

Then I get the waft.

It can not be. I tell myself.

But low and behold, I appear to have mopped up someone else's vomit with my jeans! Scooping Smidge up,I speedily vacate the premises to drive home and get changed. It's only then that I realise that we left her shoes behind.

'What were the chances of that happening?' said one day Hubby.

Pretty high actually.

Grrrrrr!!
















Wednesday, August 15, 2012

Moving

I've always been a bit a bit slow  meeting life's vital milestones on my journey into adult hood. The parents were always on my case...

At fifteen it was 'When are you going to get a job Leanna?' 

At twenty  'When are you going to get a drivers licence?' 

and from twenty five 'When are you going to buy your own house?' 

So I got the job, (or had the job I should say ) I sluggishly passed the driving test aged a feeble twenty five and all that is left before I consider myself well and truly en-drenched in Babylon is the mortgage.

Well one-day Hubby and I have always been lucky to have a rather nice, very big and virtually secluded *rented* home. We sort of fell on our feet you see, about five years ago, when a friend was moving out of her totally amazing house. She didn't have to tell us twice, we moved in the following month and we have had over five happy years here.

There's been chickens, There's been plums, there's been puppies and there's been bloody awful central heating that you couldn't turn off if you tried... and of course, there's been Smidge! 

But Babylon will wait no longer.

Babylon beckons to the materialist with in. So this here Premmy Mum has been scouring the markets, looking for a home for the family and me.

I've met a few estate agents... A funny breed arn't they? And in general I've found this house shopping malarkie really brings out my bi-polar side.

 It goes like this...

I see a house. I look at the photo's.I like it.

I consider the area, the pros the cons, I look at the photos again.

Quick!...a creative vision is coming! gets on the Ikea website without delay! living room inspiration takes centre stage on the screen..creative vision confirmed.

It's all worked out. 

I know where I'm putting the sofa. 

The one I'm going to buy from dfs because although slightly more expensive, it will last longer than the one from ikea so overall will work out to be better value etc etc *enters manic phrase simulating Stacey from Eastender's*

Goes to sleep dreaming of decor schemes, goes to sleep plagued with thoughts about weather shabby chic is tacky or not...!?

Wakes up in the morning, phones up agent... 'I want that house on the website!'

'Well can I take your details madam?'

'No! I don't want to bore myself silly listening to the sound of my own voice telling yet another agent my details, nor do I wan't 400 emails a day or voice mail box full of crap...All I want is that house!....'

'Can I have that house?

'Which house?'

'House listing number 4356,  on your website!'

'Oh no madam...that's under offer I'm afraid..can I interest you in this other property, a one bedroom flat in a popular residential area....?'


*Sigh* Back to the drawing board.






Tuesday, August 7, 2012

Anxiety And Feedback - A Very Fine Line

I don't know about anyone else, but when Smidge was going through NICU it felt to me like there was a very fine line between making a point known and being perceived as 'not coping'.

See if you're anything like me, then you'll like to take a view on things, particularly on the care of your own  child, After all, that's what being a parent is all about isn't it?

But what if being a parent, if looking after your child (or taking a view on their care) feels like a risk? A risk that you'll insult someone, upset them or turn the old apple cart... so to speak.

And does speaking up about things  make you even more vulnerable at an already hideous time?

This, to my way of thinking, is one of the many spins on parenting that one-day hubby and I were not prepared for, one of the many obstacles we had to over come when trying to care for our Smidge.

Little things.

Things like staff going from one baby to another and not washing their hands, or giving  Smidge milk that had not been warmed. Comments about how anxious I looked,  Or how much less-anxious I looked - they irked me, and practically eVeRyThInG  highlighted my lack of control, my inability to move forward in my role as Mum.

Mentioning these things though, actually speaking up, was like seeing a train pulling into a station at quiet rural location. It lets out a loud, long predictable screech and everyone turns their attention  to that particular area as the microphone announces 'The train has arrived at platform one'

Or in my case 'The Mother at bay six has made herself known'

Followed by 'Please be careful when entering bay six'

Of course this is all about how it felt. How seriously staff take parental concern and to what extent parents are deposited in to the 'stressed out parent box' I couldn't actually say, and it would be unfair to say that any concerns I had were not addressed in the most humane way possible.

 But actually speaking up? actually taking that step...when they were looking after my baby..

 that was the hard part.


Sunday, August 5, 2012

You Know Her Best Mum

When I was handed my BFT (Big Fat Termie) all those years ago, I didn't know it, but immediately I became an expert mummy. I knew him you see, better than anyone else, he'd been growing inside me, wriggling around. For months I'd monitored his movements, felt him growing big, healthy and strong.

He was placed on my chest with in seconds of delivery, and there he was before me, a slightly blue, prune like bubba with a darling little face staring up at mine.

He was a colicky little fellow, wanted attention constantly. He was rocked, patted and pushed but over all I had no concerns about his health, why he was a baby, my baby, so surely I would know if he became sick, needed help or medical support.

Like all new mum's I worried a little. Worried when I laid him down to sleep at night and I would check on him regularly, but if he was awake, active, grouchy or wriggly I was happy with that, I  trusted my instincts totally.I fully believed that I would know if there was any problem.

Eleven years on and little Smidge was born, being under a general anaesthetic at the time I was oblivious to her state of well being. I was by far not the first to meet my little girl, in fact, other parents visiting the NICU laid eyes on her long before I did.

When I caught glimpse of her lying in the incubator, her face the size of a tiny jaffa cake,the wires and tubes in all their abundance concealing her tiny body, I felt like I didn't 'know' very much really.

As time went by, I got to know what the various machines were telling me, but I didn't 'know' her, not as I wanted to know her.

Do you know what it's like to have your relationship with your own child almost completely defined by a monitor?

"Oh.... you touched her and she desaturated to 62" The monitor would laugh.


"She doesn't like that........ she doesn't like you."


But hang in there mummy because she might, (and it really is a might) live to like you one day.

So that was the very early days.

And of course, in the days and weeks that followed, the nurses showed us how we could care, sometimes.

Sometimes we could change her nappy.

Sometimes we could wipe her tiny mouth with a little patch of gauze.

And sometimes, on very special days, when everyone agreed and when the monitors said so..

We could have a cuddle.

In between these rare moments, there were charts,teams,transfusions,alarms, pressures,masks,prongs,evaluations,medications,investigations,transfers,more doctors, more teams, more treatment plans,more monitors,wires,tubes,devices..

and then would come the old neonatal catch phrase..

'You know her best Mum...what do you think?'

No, I really don't know her best.

'How does she seem to you?'

Um...um....um....

She seems like a very sick baby. a very sick very small baby..who has always been very small and very sick.

Will she 'like' me soon?













Saturday, July 28, 2012

Favourite Sorts Of Nurses

Everyone has their favourite nurses when staying in the NICU and for me, favourite types of nurse came in two different forms.

I loved the rule breakers. These are the nurses that will go that one step further. They put themselves on the line really. They say things that NICU nurses must surely never say, They talked about the day I would take Smidge  home, even when the future was looking uncertain. 

They share a little of themselves ...but not too much, not so much that I was left questioning their dedication to the most important thing in the world, My Smidge.

These sorts of nurses will conspire a little, but remain loyal to their team. They seemed to know the perfect balance between keeping my confidence and behaving like a human being. They raised their eyebrows in all the right places and come across as warm, personable and professional.

Then there are the clinical types. These sorts of nurses would see Smidge in the context of probability and variables. Not presenting as soft faced or warm hearted,  still they offered a strong sense of safety, making me feel that Smidge was in the very best of hands.

Each child they nursed, they did so with confidence. In some respects, it seemed they didn't need to do 'small talk' as their handling of the babies' along with the detailed descriptions of how their care was being managed was enough to alleviate any concerns. These sorts of nurses are efficient, communicative and very to the point. 

Smidge had over 150 nurses take care of her throughout her NICU stay and although my relationships with them were often characterised by an array of mixed emotions, each one bought something unique to the dynamic.

Who were your favourite nurses and why? 


Saturday, July 21, 2012

A Bit Of A Snivel


Well It's been two months now since our last big scare and despite my mammoth best efforts to  keep Smidge away from bugs and virus's, it hasn't worked.

I am aware how utterly ridiculous this next sentence is going to sound but...

*Smidge has a cold*

Settling her down to sleep last night, I knew I was in for a night of cot watching because it's the first time you see, since that time, that Smidge has gotten ill.

So when I awoke this morning to see a non-convulsing Smidge stood in a bi-pedal fashion, shouting 'Da!' and summonsing her father to retrieve her from the cot, I was both delighted and relieved.

Delighted because at the first sign of illness she wasn't doing her weird fitting thing and relieved because if she isn't doing that then maybe we can start getting our old life back.

Wait, maybe I'm getting over excited.

Maybe getting our old life back is a bit too keen.

This is what happened the last time we went and got all relaxed, and if there's one thing I've learned it's that too relaxed isn't good.

On the other hand, swing too much the other way and I end up making a complete arse of myself. Like last month when I rushed Smidge down to A&E.

The atmosphere in the car was one of complete dread. One -day Hubby, Mr G and I drove in deathly silence as we made our way to the hospital.

Being a young'un, Mr. G desperately tried to make lighten the conversation.

'Please, I'm not in the mood..' I stated grimly, my face one of complete fear and seriousness.

Making our way through the sliding doors, I announced our arrival, declaring with some certainty our fast track status. Smidge was seen by a doctor without delay.


After the examination the doctor looked up, his face a mixture of frustration and sympathy.

'It's not a tumour' he stated Blankly.

'What do you think it is then?' I say with a frantic look in my eye, begging him to put me out of my misery.

'It's her rib'

'Oh'.

Looking up sheepishly,I quickly gather our belongings, apologising profusely whilst simultaneously making a speedy exit...

Why oh why can't I get the balance just right?!

I am like the adult that sits on a child's sea-saw,

I am the vinegar that swamps the chips..

But one day readers, I'll get the balance just perfect...

I'll be easy going in all the right places,

I'll know just the right moment to boo-hoo a G.P opinion.

One day, I'll look back and I'll  laugh and I'll say 'ha! I was scared of the common cold, Can you imagine?'

And I'll laugh all the way to the chemist.









Monday, July 16, 2012

Missing Out


It's a funny thing, how things change, how people change after they have faced a trauma. Take for example when I was in the NICU, I was so excited at the idea of bringing a baby home, I'd made plans, big plans..

I was going to have a party you know, invite all my friends and family to celebrate my miracle girl. There was going to be cake, gifts and bunting and everyone was going to tell me how beautiful she looked and how well she'd done, how well we'd all done.

But then two weeks before discharge a nurse took me to one side and told me that it was looking likely that my Smidge was going home on oxygen.

'Oxygen?...no she won't be going home on that..' I remarked, batting my eye lashes up and down repeatedly with a bemused look on my face.
Raising her eye brows slightly the nurse looked at me firmly and said 'Well you need to prepare yourself for that as a possibility'
'There is no need' I argued 'She won't be coming home on it, I just know it'

Coming home on oxygen? You don't even know how much I didn't want that. It didn't fit you see, with the bunting and the fairy cakes.

But what I didn't know then, was that the fairy cakes and Bunting didn't fit either because the welcome home party I envisaged was a far cry from what I was capable of, emotionally speaking.

A week at home and suddenly it occurred to  me, I had a vulnerable baby to look after. We couldn't have all those people in the house, what with all their germs!

What if the guests were so excited about the bunting and the fairy cakes that they thought a little snivel didn't matter?
What if they came expecting a glass of wine and good time all they got was a squirt of alco-gel and cross examination?

Better Cancel I thought, and One-day Hubby agreed.

But we've come a long way since those early days, or at least I thought we had, until this May, when everything changed.

See, in May, when Smidge had three unexpected hospital stays due to virus's, respiratory issues and febrile seizures it was like it set us back.

All the confidence I had gained and all the developmental benefits that were Smidge's were stolen from us in one horrid month.

And now it is like we are back there, bug watching, germ spotting and hand washing. We are the infection police again and risk assess our social contact and I don't want it to be this way but it so is this way.

When Smidge had her second seizure, I sat by and watched the doctors try for 25 minutes to stop her from  fitting. I then watched my unconscious child lie in a hospital cot hour on hour, oblivious to the world around her. And a usually crawling, usually chattering Smidge was a vacant,empty being and there was nothing I could do make her come to and realise I was there.

Once again, I was a powerless, scared and freaked out Mummy, unsure of how she'd been affected by this latest twist of fate. I had no control what so ever.

But *Good News People* Now I have the control again, Now I have the responsibility, and rightly or wrongly I just want to wrap her up in cotton wool and keep her really safe.

So we've stopped the baby groups she adored, the little sing song's she used to like to  go to. No more isthe park during peek hours  and we are back to asking guests if they are healthy, being mindful of supermarkets and being careful not to get lost down a country road with no phone signal.

Because as with the oxygen and fairy cakes, The high dependency unit, the hospital, it doesn't fit with my plans you see..

and as much as I love bunting, baby groups, and biscuits..

I love my Smidge more.





Saturday, July 14, 2012

Just Passing.

I've just popped my head in to let you know I've done a guest post over at Not Even A Bag of Sugar today. She's off on holiday you see, (selfish woman) and has an array of fabulous guest posts lined up for the week... So do pop over and check out her fabulous blog and also get acquainted with some other Parent Bloggers who will be posting in that corner of cyber space of the course of the week.

Have a nice weekend x

Thursday, July 5, 2012

Pleasantries or Truth?

Did any one else notice when they were on the Neonatal Unit how much the other Mum's would tell the Nurses what a great job they were doing? I did...

 *Cringe*

 Great job? Are you kidding me? That's my job you've just stolen there, My job!

It's like when your disorganised, obnoxious, slightly less paid colleague gets promoted to manager,You're left shell shocked, dumb founded and alarmed. On the outside you're smiling and saying 'wow..congratulations' on the inside you're thinking that Moron couldnt arrange a **** up in a brewery.

It wasn't that they didn't do a good job.. the nurses, they did, mostly. But the pleasentaries were in my view overdone  and I could really only muster them up if there was no other option.. like if I had to leave Smidge after I'd dared to express how worried I was.

The old "It's not you, It's me" line was pulled out of the bag quite often post- insult, and when not over used goes a long way in these situations.

Let's say for example Smidge was having a bad day, She'd had clusters of apnoea's and no one knew why. I'd be feeling extra anxious . I'd be involuntarily zapped in to a vortex of fear and things that were usually just terrifying would become unthinkably scary. The usual calm stroll to the incubator mid-alarm would appear to me like some sort of egg and spoon race on replay or like Neil Armstrong landing on the moon for the very first time.

It was agonising to watch and I wanted to jump up there and then and shout 'Hurry the **** up, that's my Smidge turning blue..get your skates on lady' However, I learned (as all Mum's do) to curb these urges  and show some restraint, however sometimes, just sometimes I just couldn't ignore it... I couldn't just sit there and SAY NOTHING. So I'd say SOMETHING and then worry that I'd said TOO MUCH. That's when the 'It's not you it's me line' would come in to play. Followed by the ' You do such a great job'
* AKA  now I've got to leave my baby here with you, who I just insulted' *

So for the record then, do I think Neonatal Nurses work hard? Mostly Yes.

Did I mean it Every time I said they were doing a great job? Er, actually, no. :-/

(favourite nurses, you know who you are, and are exempt from these rambings)














,

Thursday, June 28, 2012

What I Didn't Know.

Some of the most ignorant attitudes best opportunities for self development I have encountered since coming out of the NICU  have arisen from the conversations I've had around premature birth and people's understanding of how it works.


I cant get too uppity about it though. After all, I was one of those people. I was one of those people who thought that babies born too early were just smaller, cuter versions of their full term peers.


'How sweet they must be' I thought, envisaging a real life tiny tears doll. 'It must be just a little bit special for those parents to have a tiny little miniature baby' - Oh yes, it was a little bit special all right.


And when I thought about  those 'special  babies' in incubators, I imagined  them being popped inside to be kept warm until they grow big and cuddly and their Mum's can take them home.


I assumed the taking them home bit was a 'given' once they'd survived the birth.


I had no idea that these babies had to fight for their tiny lives, sometimes for months on end, every day another hill to climb, another infection, another setback, another threat to their survival...


Monitors, heart rates and saturation levels, That was  stuff to be seen on casualty. It was high tech medical equipment- to be used only in the height of drama!


I didn't realise that in the NICU the 'height of drama' goes on and on, that its neverendingly-horrid and that no doctor or nurse will ever dare to even suggest you  might actually get to take a baby home.  (until you are actually expected take a baby home).


And finally didn't know why, a year or two after it happened, parents of premature babies still talked about premature birth like it was yesterday, even when they clearly had a thriving child before them, who seemed fit,healthy and well.


I didn't know a lot of things back then.


I do now.

Sunday, June 24, 2012

A Great Doctor, A Great Deal.

It's Smidge's consultant appointment this week and I'm really looking forward to it. I love her consultant, he is an incredibly understanding man with a trunk load of patience, and believe me you a need a whole lot of patience when dealing with this here Premmy Mum.

The thing I am most excited about showing him is Smidge's amazing walking, I just know he's going to love it! It means so much to us as a family, to have a doctor who cares and who puts his time and confidence in to us.


When I first him, the man I describe above, we were nearing the end of our NICU journey. 


Locked into a fearful way of thinking, I was terrified he was too relaxed. Didn't he know Smidge was most important baby there? The centre of the entire universe? 


'Do you remember when we first met? he once remarked, smiling. 'I had to spend nearly an hour convincing you that I was up to the job!' 


*Blush* The man had at least 30 years clinical experience.


I have to say he was incredibly understanding about our situation, which had been difficult, we were  moved around a lot you see, throughout our NICU journey. 


Between the 4 different hospitals we stayed in, there were at least 30 different consultants taking the lead on Smidge's care. Not to mention the numerous registrars and SHO Doctor's who helped Smidge along her way. 


On arrival at the final unit we were washed out and tired. There had been so many transfers and setbacks,so many different medical opinions. I was not fully understanding the emotional upheaval that was mine. 


What I did feel was a great sense of responsibility as an advocate for Smidge. After all, One-day Hubby and I were the only consistent people involved in her care. It was us who followed her  around the south west, like add-ons in some sort of frightful version of  'follow the leader'


But our designated Doctor seemed to know all too well what we had been through because he never lost his patience even when I doubted every second word he said, even when I outwardly challenged his professional judgement and did nothing but convey my own (rather poorly informed) views and opinions.


*Blushes again*


And despite the emotional upheaval, the upset and the totally barking behaviour from me, our doctor has never failed to show us his support, to tell us that we are doing great jobs as parents to Smidge and that she  is doing brilliantly as a tiny developing being.

And that has meant a great deal to us, her Mum and Dad, a great deal indeed.

Friday, June 22, 2012

Even Less Of A Mum.

Lying in the hospital bed, post c-section, I was unable to move. I would hear the telephone ringing in the corridor. Was it the Neonatal Unit? Were they calling to inform the nurse they'd soon be down to tell me the bad news? Each ring made my heart leap, my mouth would dry with worry. Tilting my head slightly, I'd strain to hear the tones of the midwife talking on the phone. They were barely audible. Did she sound cheery? surprised? concerned?

This was very much the nature of my mental state during those early weeks, I can truly say I have never known anything like it. No words can describe how it is to have a child on the cusp of survival, week on week on week.


It's like a never ending game of deal or no deal, each day having to re-live  the moment  they uncover the cards, has your dream come true or have you lost everything?

The day I was discharged from the hospital. One day Hubby and I went to stay in a room across the road. We wern't far away but for the first time since she was born I wasn't under the same roof as Smidge. I was away somewhere else breathing fresh air, away from the bleeping telephones and the sound of rubber soles pacing the corridors at variable speeds.


It was a relief you know. A much needed break and for one mad moment in time, I didn't want to go back ever. I'd decided, to put it simply, that I didn't like it.

I didn't like the monitors and machines.I didn't like the intercom and the lingering at the door. I didn't like the lockers for my bag or the hospital coffee or the sitting in a blue plastic covered chair looking like I was at peace with the situation and coping just brilliantly when I wasn't.


And for that one crazy day I just couldn't face it all over again so I didn't. For just one day, I was even less of a Mum.

Monday, June 18, 2012

Soooo Not Moving On.

A lot of my posts recently have been about how I need to improve on myself, be cheerier, put the past behind me, that sort of thing.

But today I'm not going to post about that. Today's post is going to be like the big fat slice of chocolate cake that you're not really meant to have.

Today's post is going to be like maxing out on your credit card when you're current account is already overdrawn. In short, today's post is going to be an indulgence. 

The thing is you see, I'm feeling miserable.

Miserable that my Smidge, (The cutest baby that walked the earth this decade) is not able to go to baby groups any more due to stupid illness. Not the illness of her you understand, but that of the other babies (The one's we pretend to like because of the developmental benefits)

And now my Smidge has gone and made me prouder than proud by learning to totter, probably even beating some of her full term peers and now we have no one to show off to. How enormously frustrating.

I feel maybe just a tiny bit selfish that I am keeping Smidge from the groups but I can not, just can not see my little girl get sent back to hospital again.

I hate the hospital.


I hate standing around in resus an anxious gibbering wreck...
I hate prizing my moody pre-teen away from the computer and telling him in a fake-chirpy voice that we're 'popping' to the hospital, again. 

>I hate seeing my Smidge crowded by doctors and having needles poked in to her tiny veins.

I hate knowing that every decision I make is considered in the context of her medical history, her medical present and her medical future.

I hate that I carry the fear of making the wrong decision with me.


I hate feeling like I am selfish for protecting her because I can't face another trip to A&E

And I hate the fact that it really didn't end when we got discharged from NICU and that here we are today, still feeling like we're waiting on that dreaded NICU phone call.

And even when I see my Smidge playing happily in front of me, pouring cups of imaginary tea and shouting 'dog! 'dog!' (not at me), I am still in my minds eye ready and waiting.


Still a part of me sits braced for tragedy, ready  to act, ready to grieve.

And no part of me wants to feel this way or think these things.

This, to me is not depression or some other clinical condition, it is a reality placed in truth and the only thing that can take it away or make it better is good health and time, until then, I'm just going to have to wear it.


*Picks up napkin and wipes chocolate crumbs from mouth*

Thank you so much for being interested in my life.


Here is your reward...

Tuesday, June 12, 2012

Febrile And The NICU Garden.

Not so long ago, before Febrile came in to our lives, I wrote a post about trying to move on from the whole NICU saga. You can read about it here.

I'm a great believer you see, that thought creates reality, or at least I used to be until reality started to create thought, then it all changed.

Putting things behind me and moving on..It's still on the agenda, however  recent events seem to have set me back and that pesky Febrile just won't leave me alone.

Take the other day for example, I popped down to the supermarket to pick up some veg and mid-way through selecting a sweet potato, Febrile popped in to my head. I reached in to my bag, pulled out my phone and rang  One Day Hubby. The conversation went like this.

ME: 'Hi, it's me, is Smidge okay?'

ONE DAY HUBBY: 'Er Yes...Why?'

ME: 'I just wondered..is she hot?'

ONE DAY HUBBY: 'No...Why?'

ME:'I just wondered..'

ONE DAY HUBBY: 'Why?'

ME: 'Pardon?'

ONE DAY HUBBY:'Why did you wonder?' (a bit louder)

ME:'Because I was feeling anxious (quietly)

ONE DAY HUBBY:'What?'

ME:'Because I was feeling anxious'  (slightly louder with shady look on face)

ONE DAY HUBBY: 'What?'

ME:'We'll talk about it when I get home'

ONE DAY HUBBY:'What do we need to talk about when you get home? was there something wrong with Smidge?'

ME: 'No....its just me!' *blushes*

ONE DAY HUBBY:'What's wrong with you?'

ME: 'Nothing'

ONE DAY HUBBY: 'What's wrong with Smidge?'

ME: 'Nothing'

ONE DAY HUBBY: 'Every things okay then?'

ME 'Yes, every things Okay'

ONE DAY HUBBY: 'Okay then....'

So sometimes, the fear, it takes me over. It's like the weed that will not disappear. It's wildly out of control  creeping out through the smallest of cracks. It's stalks are thick and stubborn and even if I cut it down with garden sheers and spray it away with weed killer, it's there, lurking in the background,waiting to recreate itself in all sorts of ways.

The weeds in the NICU garden, they are plentiful and need no attention to thrive.

The weeds in the NICU garden will willingly pop up through the flower beds and overwhelm everything that's beautiful.

And all that is pretty in the NICU garden, the vibrant flowers and plants, they don't thrive all alone, they need time,care and attention.

But if each time I'm the NICU garden, I just kill the weeds, then nothing else will grow.nothing else will be nurtured, nothing else will thrive.

And sweet potato shopping wont get any easier either, that's for sure.
















Friday, June 8, 2012

Widget And The Gang.

Well HUGE congratulations are in order for Ruby-Dog who gave birth to a litter of five puppies just the other night.

They were born a little earlier than we would have liked and sadly, we did loose one during the birthing process but the others are doing fine, with the exception of the smallest one, Widget.

Widget was the second of the five to be born, weighing a little over 300 grams. He made a fighting start, getting in there with Ruby, suckling for milk. We thought he was doing great.

But last night during the family meal, I looked over to Ruby-Dog's whelping box to see little Widget lying there apparently limp and  lifeless, One-day Hubby jumped to attention, scooping him into his hands and started stimulating him rapidly but Widget was frightfully unresponsive.

I called the breeder for some emergency advice who told us to keep trying to stimulate the puppy and keep him very warm.

After a few minutes One-day Hubby cried out that he thought he had seen him open his mouth, and would you believe it, he had!  and just a few minutes later he made some faint squeaking noises.

In something of a fluster I quickly filled a tupperware tub with some warm water and wrapped it in a towel. We then placed the puppy on the make shift incubator whilst continuing to rub him.

Ruby-Dog did look a little concerned at our intervening as she looked on with fear, We did try to keep her  as involved as possible, allowing her the odd lick  but Widget was week, his life hanging in the balance.

Then the makeshift incubator started to melt, So he had to be provided with some emergency Kangaroo Care whilst a hot water bottle was located.

With in ten minutes, our breeder arrived with some nutra-drops, a glucosey type mixture that is fast acting.
After tasting the mixture he slowly started to pick up. We tried to get him to take some milk from his Mother but the poor little soul was still weak as he slid off the nipple, tired and exhausted.

Next we tried to express some milk from Ruby to raise his energy levels, but I am not adept in the realms of dog milking and the amounts were insufficient.

Acting on the breeders advice, we continued to give the drops every few hours until the puppy built up some energy. We put him next to Ruby and willed the little fellow on, hoping for the best.

One-day hubby and I decided it would be a good idea to keep a closer eye on all of the the pups, so we marked them apart using tipex, this way we could tell more easily how often each puppy was feeding.

We drew up some observation charts to monitor their progress, noting their sucking and sleeping activity every two hours through the night.

Then, the puppies were officially named. We called them Gadget, Sprocket, Widget and Disqus, with Disqus being the only girl.

And would you believe it, hour on hour little Widget's strength grew and once again he was active, suckling from his Mumma.

Today Widgets suckling away like a champ, sweetly nestled in with his brothers and sister.

We are so proud.



Friday, June 1, 2012

Intellect and Instinct

Quite often, animals who are bred in artificial environments end up rejecting their babies early on because they don't believe that they will survive and who can blame them?

Thousands of years of evolution have caused these creatures to develop powerful instincts, Instincts that equip them to give birth to and nurture their offspring in a way that only they know how, In a way that keeps them alive, protects them and prepares them for life in the wild.

So when a Lioness, Tigress, Giraffe or Elephant finds themselves clock watching for the next bucket feed in concrete  enclosure with windows looking in, you can easily imagine why they might think...what's the point?

Just like a zoo animal, this here Premmy Mum had those doubts and worries, those fears and concerns. What was this place I was in? These machine's have nothing to do with what I'm geared up to provide. Who are all these people interfering and watching me? (The looking like an elephant wasn't so far from the truth either)

But unlike my primitive friends, as a human being I have cognitive functions that allow me to see things from numerous different perspectives, the ability to understand what others may be thinking and why they act in the way they do.

So when I saw these doctors and nurses interfering with my baby, stealing my role and keeping her safe, I accepted it, tolerated it, understood it but it went against all that felt natural, against everything instinctive.

It was no wonder it was confusing, these two processes occurring simultaneously, I felt torn between what I hoped for and what I felt.

It was the intellect that reminded me to hold on to tomorrow, to the idea that I could one day take over, be the Mother I wanted to be, knew I could be. It was intellect that took me to the unit each day, that motivated me to express the milk, to sit along side an incubator hour upon hour.

But the instinct was a selfish and nagging source of contention. A persistent and constant reminder that my baby was not my own. Not in my arms, Not protected by me. Not nurtured by me. leading me to believe on an unconscious level that my actions were fruitless, inconsequential, pointless.

So when I think about the issue of bonding, of connectedness of being a 'good' mum. Do I feel guilty? 

A little.

But I also see that I fought my way through the fear, cuddled through wires,machinery and bleeps and found some hope in hideousness..

And for that I feel okay.