tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-83726662145715047712024-03-05T01:40:25.352-08:00Diary of a premmy Mumdiary of a premmy mumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13829424922988781001noreply@blogger.comBlogger93125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8372666214571504771.post-2581902660215892602013-05-20T15:58:00.002-07:002013-05-20T15:58:52.212-07:00Old BootsDearest readers and treasured friends,<br />
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Today we received the fabulous news that my Smidge, my Roo, (my tiny little Roo...) has hit a major and final milestone in the preemie world.<br />
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Yes, today friends, some two and half years after she made her entrance in to this world with uber-keenness (and staying power that would put a halted train to shame,) Smidge has finally been discharged from consultant led care.<br />
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Unsurprisingly, I feel a little emotional posting today. I guess there are tears of relief mixed in with a little bit of sadness with a fat dose of luckiness piled on the top. Today is like having a knicker-blocker-glory, the one without the bubble gum in the bottom.<br />
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Happy, cautious and slightly vulnerable ..that's how I feel I think and I wonder just how I'll get along with out the support of the lovely doctor who has helped carry us through the last two and half years.<br />
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It's a funny relationship inst it? The one between a doctor and his patient. I like to think of it as a bit like wearing old boots.<br />
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You can go on many adventures in a pair of boots, they'll carry you through stormy weather, they'll take you over rough terrain and even though you look down at them and you think... "y'know, I <i>really</i> could do with something else now, <i>something more in keeping with my new look...." </i>These old boots <i>are</i> comfy, they kind of mould around your feet and they are reliable, sturdy and still have some life left in them..So you loathe to give them up... and yet you loathe to keep them on.<br />
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So yes, there will always be a respect there for the doctor who's been so kind to us, for the one whose been there for us along the way, the one who watched me rant, cry, complain, stamp my feet and wave at him manically in the corridor..<br />
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and to think he watched all of that and barely raised an eyebrow.<br />
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He was the kindest pair of old boots I ever did meet!<br />
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<br />diary of a premmy mumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13829424922988781001noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8372666214571504771.post-86382374089167516092013-04-20T08:08:00.004-07:002013-04-20T08:08:58.982-07:00Peer Support -Through Insanity and Beyond.I've been thinking a bit lately about the benefit of peer support. You know, the importance of sharing experiences with others who have been through NICU too.<br />
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When Smidge was tiny and ill, we were moved around a lot from hospital to hospital. It was hard forging friendships under those circumstances and being so far from home.<br />
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It's also hard to predict how much other families want to talk to you in this situation. I always worried that fellow Mum's wouldn't want to make friends, that they were busy dealing with their own baby and their own stuff that they wouldn't want to talk to me.<br />
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Thanks to the fabulous matron at our local unit, I made some great new friends after I left and if it wasn't for these friends then goodness knows where I'd be today.<br />
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These friends, who'd shared similar experiences to me, were the bridge between hospital and home and thinking back, they were probably the difference between sanity and insanity.<br />
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See, when I first came home, to the outside world I was just an ordinary Mum.<br />
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I took day trips to the park. I cooed over my small baby and watched her gentle first smiles..<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiX82rPrzML4brH-dG8AKP6dsCj67SiSEG4b3R2S6Va7g-PqOKHcv1OIdgYZyckGKlMK1lEaKlD0sbSEl_GHZ0F_rYKntiHp9Ovzmoyz9ygG5YeBYC3HWSXqmCr2c5bUa5JwlX50yTnYYY/s1600/smidge+park.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiX82rPrzML4brH-dG8AKP6dsCj67SiSEG4b3R2S6Va7g-PqOKHcv1OIdgYZyckGKlMK1lEaKlD0sbSEl_GHZ0F_rYKntiHp9Ovzmoyz9ygG5YeBYC3HWSXqmCr2c5bUa5JwlX50yTnYYY/s320/smidge+park.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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But as heart melting as those moments were, Inside I think I felt different to other new Mum's.<br />
I felt that 'who' I was, (or who I had become,) was not the person that they saw in front of them.<br />
I felt I'd changed, to the point that even I wasn't sure who I was now because only weeks before everything was so different.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicOsPtlSlAiK_tnTSBLZ7QNtW5VpKKrRFNIbBjS9jSApDmrOMJdp08BxvlwL9NPB499vzebI3jrd51Xysc3OcT2HUQ0JsP1kAuoVKXT8_2CiOzGiHzRjT9D9ntibj0Kew1x-M7JNLu2Ko/s1600/smidge+hospital.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicOsPtlSlAiK_tnTSBLZ7QNtW5VpKKrRFNIbBjS9jSApDmrOMJdp08BxvlwL9NPB499vzebI3jrd51Xysc3OcT2HUQ0JsP1kAuoVKXT8_2CiOzGiHzRjT9D9ntibj0Kew1x-M7JNLu2Ko/s320/smidge+hospital.JPG" width="239" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The people in the park didn't know about n.g tubes and sats monitors.</td></tr>
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I guess there was something about Smidge's home coming that made me feel that something was missing, even though it was perhaps the time I should have felt the most complete of all.</div>
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And it was almost as though, everything that happened, I was one step behind in how I was experiencing things.</div>
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Where there was shock there was denial, </div>
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Where relief should have been, there was shock!</div>
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and then... relief finally came there was fear... so much fear.</div>
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Fortunately, with good peer support and counselling I came to realise that all these feelings were normal. Perhaps not normal for everyone, but normal for us Premmy Mum's.</div>
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So in Today's post I want to say a big THANK YOU to all my Premmy Mum friends for being there for me, for listening to my worries, for letting me know that I was never alone.</div>
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You have made such a difference to our family!</div>
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<br />diary of a premmy mumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13829424922988781001noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8372666214571504771.post-68869187210981357242013-02-14T06:25:00.003-08:002013-02-14T09:29:14.335-08:00Expressing, the pro's and con's - My take.Check out these babies....<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgltRKc5UZBn4wu8UIP8didcS9k2KVVlCjI8zPxuqbmbyDmy6lLtosEq6NFJ1hGv-UxEnNqW7TVOfP60n8nowjr4a6LpE7w-tK8KbboEXptJAdAqOa3P3lqTLxdeoy_lmmzrP3hRKBGQaY/s1600/photo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgltRKc5UZBn4wu8UIP8didcS9k2KVVlCjI8zPxuqbmbyDmy6lLtosEq6NFJ1hGv-UxEnNqW7TVOfP60n8nowjr4a6LpE7w-tK8KbboEXptJAdAqOa3P3lqTLxdeoy_lmmzrP3hRKBGQaY/s1600/photo.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lactation Cookies to boost Milk supply.<br />
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Mmmm. Scrummy. I made them on behalf of our local support group, for Mum's on the Neonatal Unit.</div>
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It doesn't feel like that long a go that it was me sat in front of the old milking machine, desperate to squeeze a few more drops and as advanced as the modern devices are, coming up with the goods can be a painful struggle at times.</div>
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When I first found out that my body was capable of producing milk for my 25 week gestation baby, I was genuinely amazed! I have to say though, my excitement soon dwindled when I found out precisely how this was going to happen!</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Warning! This beast bites back!</td></tr>
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Maintaining a milk supply with a baby in NICU is extremely hard work and there are number of factors that seem to make it even more of a mare. Based on my four month experience expressing, I bring you my take on what makes it <i>even more</i> hideous.</div>
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<b>Stress. </b></div>
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Quite obviously stress is<b> </b> is a major yet inevitable factor that influences milk supply, not just the emotional side of things but the physical too.</div>
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Personally, I will never forget the night I first met the great green mean machine. It was wheeled in to my room in the dark of night,I was still trying to shake off a general aesthetic at the time, not to mention a truck load of drugs and the effects from major surgery.Needless to say, messing about with plastic fixtures at that hour of the day left me none too impressed.</div>
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<b>Practicalities</b> </div>
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The actual practicalities of regular expressing leave a lot to be desired. Sustaining adequate milk supply involves living your life as though you have a newborn baby in tow, (ideally expressing every two to three hours.) Well that would be fine if you were a standard post natal Mum but for Neonatal Mum's it's a very different story, as they are existing in two different environments, at home and at the hospital.</div>
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It's not unusual for hospitals to be over an hours drive from home and to top it all, if you've had a c-section then you can't drive for six weeks. Brilliant.</div>
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<b>Calories </b></div>
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Then there's the <b>eating </b>thing, to be able to make milk you have to eat...heaps. </div>
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No calories in, no calories out, that's the way it works, so you really have to look after yourself when expressing but the reality is, with all the travelling, stress and exhaustion, the very last thing most Mum's want to to do at the end of a long day is cook themselves a wholesome meal.</div>
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What is in fact more common, is Mum's not eating properly because they are racing to the unit each day to catch the morning ward round or not wanting to leave the unit to get lunch because their baby is unstable. </div>
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<b>Hydration</b></div>
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Hospitals are dry environments and yet some how when you are in them, you feel as though you acclimatise.</div>
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Ideally Mum's would drink water before they even felt thirsty but in reality time just passes you by on the Neonatal unit and you realise you haven't drank nearly as much water as you should have to produce good milk.</div>
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<b>Equipment availability.</b></div>
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It's not always possible for hospitals to lend out expressing machines and sterilising equipment to take home (although most will have some available) Where this is not available it's another thing to pay for, that is on top of your hospital cafe meal costs and hospital travel fee's. I know it's amazing we get so much on the NHS in this country but none the less, the expenses to a family after a child has been born prematurely do add up.</div>
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Another difficulty is getting hold of expressing equipment when there are hospital transfers. We had five transfers between hospitals when I was expressing and believe me, you have to be extremely motivated to be hunting down one of those machines!</div>
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<b>Other Children</b></div>
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Many Mum's obviously have other siblings to look after too and between hospital visits and spending time with them,Is there time for expressing too? The average Mum will spend between 4 and 6 hours a day expressing, that's practically a whole third of your awake time.<br />
The one time my eldest child made a fuss through out the whole NICU experience was the day I promised him some quality time. The plan was to go to the cinema and pick up a KFC on the way back, the KFC part never happened because I needed to get back to pump! There was a major melt down in multi-storey car park. :(</div>
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<b>Tiredness</b></div>
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It's really quite annoying when people think that NICU Mum's get a good night sleep because their babies are being looked after by someone else! When you express, you are an utter slave to the machine and even if you don't express, I doubt many Mum's get a good nights sleep anyway!.Sleep deprivation leaves all new mothers tired but with added stress of a baby in NICU and all of the above to organise, tiredness is the last thing you need.</div>
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So with all this to contend with, it's not hard to see why so many Mum's supply's dwindle and they end up ultimately turning to formula and quite honestly, I cant say I blame them.</div>
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However, If, like me you manage to walk out of those NICU doors with a fully breast feeding baby, it really is the best feeling in the world. Here are some of the reasons why it is so cool.</div>
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<b>Eating</b></div>
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It's true, you can eat more cake when you're breast feeding. Yes really, there's no rush to loose the pregnancy pounds with a hungry baby to feed. Which means cafe surfing and cake eating is in...<br />
and that's every new Mother's right,isn't it?</div>
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<b>Amaze your friends</b></div>
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If you've been a slave to machine for months like I was, make no secret of it. If an every day Mum is proud of herself for breast feeding, be a thousand times more proud! we fully earned our right to gloat.</div>
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<b>Dependence</b></div>
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After having Smidge be dependant on the doctors and nurses for so long, I needed her to be dependant on me, I wanted to claim my baby back!</div>
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My little Smidge,she was born to me, grew in my womb. To have her suckling at my breast was like having her come home. The most beautiful feeling in the world.</div>
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<b>Convenience </b></div>
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I predominantly breast fed Mister G, who was born at term, How people can say formula feeding is more convenient is beyond me. I had a small taster of what it must be like when I was having to sterilise and store all that expressing equipment. With breast feeding a all I'd have to do is find a quiet corner, no preparation needed. </div>
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<b>Expense</b></div>
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It's free. need I say any more?</div>
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<b>Health</b></div>
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I nearly forgot to add this in but obviously it's a major benefit. I felt more confident taking Smidge out in public and to baby groups etc, knowing she had the increased protection of the antibodies from my breast milk. </div>
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and finally...</div>
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<b>Sobriety!</b></div>
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That's right, with a dependant baby in the house and a four month NICU stay to come to terms with, lets just say breast feeding helped promote an altogether more savoury life style!</div>
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If you would like to make some lactation cookies for a Breast feeding or expressing Mother then check out this <a href="http://www.bellybelly.com.au/breastfeeding/breastmilk-supply-increase-breastmilk-lactation-cookie-recipe">awesome recipe!</a></div>
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diary of a premmy mumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13829424922988781001noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8372666214571504771.post-43161641132569018132013-02-01T06:37:00.001-08:002013-02-01T06:37:11.863-08:00A Sad State Of AffairsNow that Smidge is sporting some super strong lungs and is getting that bit older I've been looking out for new places to take her.<br />
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Browsing over the leaflet that was deposited through my letterbox this morning, I did momentarily contemplate using the local children's centre.<br />
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The thing that puts me off, no, <i style="font-weight: bold;">really puts me off, </i>is the presence of<span style="font-weight: bold;"> </span><i style="font-weight: bold;"> </i>'family support workers.'<br />
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Call me conservative but since when did we all need a family support worker? Are there not enough 'experts' leading the way in this country?<br />
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Is being a stay at home Mum and spending time with your child not enough these days? Do we have to compete with the likes of nurseries and pre-schools before our children are even out of nappies?<br />
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The saying 'Parenting doesn't come with a manual' is certainly a thing of the past as the neatly stacked shelves of WHSmith were never more packed with advice on every aspect and style of parenting.<br />
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Well you know what? I think we all just need to calm down a bit and have a double vodka. The trend to create an industry out of something so natural is frankly annoying.<br />
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So you make your own cookie cutters out of bog roll tubes do you?<br />
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And you haven't taken your baby out of the sling for 6 months.<br />
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Congratulations.<br />
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And what about our parents and our parents parents? Surely it is a major blow for them to watch their own children turning to the text book to learn how to be a Mum. What happened to looking to your family for guidance and support?<br />
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So when I see a Children's Centre family worker, I don't see 'messy play,' glue sticks and pom pom's. I see the breakdown of family values and guidance. I see the emergence of an economy based on creating social problems.<br />
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I see bored Britain.<br />
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<br />diary of a premmy mumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13829424922988781001noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8372666214571504771.post-40842003263166163222013-01-27T14:28:00.001-08:002013-01-27T16:07:37.296-08:00Coping With ChangeOne of the things I was forever being told off about in hospital was not getting with the program.<br />
Whilst professionals were always very keen to push things forward, I dragged my feet behind, wanting to slow things right down so I could pause and enjoy my Smidge if only for a minute.<br />
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<b><i>'Do you really think it's a good idea to start up her feeds again?</i></b> 'I'd probe at the morning ward round.<br />
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<i>'<b>I mean, if we start her feeds again so soon after the last infection, couldn't it set her back with her breathing?</b></i><b> </b><br />
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<i><b>'Well.... it's not really a case of </b><b>IF we start the feeds' </b></i>the good Doctor would steer, <b><i>'but more a case of when...'</i></b><br />
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hmmmph.<br />
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Change, I suppose, is never easy and when it puts your newborn's life at risk, it's especially hard to embrace. Yet still, coping with change is such a vital part of being a parent, not just in the intensive care setting but in <a href="http://diaryofapremmymum.blogspot.co.uk/2012/01/attachment-fear-and-neonate-please-mind.html">preparing for home </a>and in <a href="http://diaryofapremmymum.blogspot.co.uk/2012/03/like-it-never-happened.html">coping with life in the community.</a><br />
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I think the challenges that Smidge and I have faced have helped to shape us as people, as much as anyone's experiences help shape them I suppose. Still, what I want to make sure of now is that Smidge's extreme prematurity and subsequent health issues do not continue to negatively affect us, that we continue to grow and develop outside of the context of her prematurity.<br />
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As I write that paragraph, I know how incredibly lucky I am to have this choice, that there are people, friends who have lost their babies, who will never have the choices that I have today,and I owe it to them and to my Smidge to make the very best of the chance we've been given.<br />
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In the spirit of making this happen, I've initiated a few changes.<br />
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<b>Firstly</b>, I've stopped uploading blog posts to my facebook news feed.Well actually I never did upload posts to my facebook news feed but <a href="http://www.networkedblogs.com/panorama">a very annoying program </a>did it automatically. This was incredibly frustrating at times (especially when I'd just added new friends!! ) and I'd often find myself rushing to delete posts before they popped up.<br />
I can't quite bring myself to give up blogging completely but lets just say that from now on it will be my guilty pleasure. I want people to start seeing Smidge for the beautiful growing girl that she is, not just as a survivor of prematurity.<br />
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<b>Secondly</b>, I've decided not raise the matter of Smidge's prematurity at pre-school, when she starts in just under a year. ODH and I talked this over with her consultant back in early December and we are going to to act on his advice, not to make an issue out of her prematurity.<br />
If Smidge is struggling in any aspect of school, be it social or academic then of course we would review this. However we are extremely lucky to be in the situation where we can give her the benefit of the doubt and let her go out there and show them what she's capable of. Yay! Go Smidge!<br />
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<b>Thirdly</b>, We've booked a short break away in France. It's a real leap of faith but I think we need a little time away to relax, to be together, to be the family we were always meant to be. I know I need to let go of the dependence on the hospital being down the road. I need to work harder at leaving the past behind and start fostering positive thoughts and ideas, such as the possibility of good health and well being. I think only then am I going to be the change I want to see!!<br />
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<br />diary of a premmy mumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13829424922988781001noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8372666214571504771.post-26567405006375086302013-01-22T12:29:00.000-08:002013-01-22T12:32:46.553-08:00The one where I come out about the PTSDSo I've been meaning to do one of those round up posts,you know, the type that wraps up 2012 and sets some goals for 2013, I guess I put it off until the last minute...just in case the world did end but what do you know? it's 2013 and we are all still here.<br />
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It's been kind of odd looking back through last years posts and reflecting on the events that happened. The year started out quite well I think, Smidge had just turned one and I was on a high. I'd managed to keep my preemie alive at home for eight whole months and what's more she was doing great developmentally, I was so elated.<br />
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However come the spring things came crashing down around me as we faced more hospital admissions, some of which were perfectly ugly and utterly frightening.<br />
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In a bid to cope with it all I exercised more, drank less and <a href="http://diaryofapremmymum.blogspot.co.uk/2012/05/hard-lump-to-swallow.html">blogged</a> often.<br />
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I readily engaged in counselling and my counsellor was a lovely, kind woman.She was gentle and ever so understanding, taking things at my pace.<br />
However, with Smidge's health issues all the time bringing new challenges, I think I found it hard to feel the full emotional impact of the events we talked about.<br />
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Literally, when it came to discussing feelings I'd draw a blank.<br />
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Events, yes.<br />
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Feelings, no.<br />
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Yes readers,I could literally talk about NICU till I was blue in the face (no pun intended) but it evoked very little in terms of emotion. I found it very hard to be open to experiencing my own feelings..<br />
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How can you heal when you are unfeeling?<br />
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How can you make yourself more vulnerable when deep down inside you still don't feel safe?<br />
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Anyway, when the counselling ended and the hospital readmissions lessened I can recall things coming to a bit of a head one night. I don't know quite what prompted it, one minute I was seemingly fine (ish) the next I was bawling my eyes out telling One day Hubby over and over that I did't want Smidge to die. That I'd been scared, very, very scared and still was.<br />
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I think something must of kind of shifted that day as ODH soothed me and confessed he still has nightmares too and reassured me everything was okay.<br />
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Since then, I found my general state was all together more emotional and not always in a good, clear way.<br />
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I was indeed a mother venting.<br />
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So towards the end of last year I decided I couldn't go on as I have been, that I needed more help.<br />
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So I re referred myself for a comprehensive assessment, the conclusion of which was that I have Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. Apparently up to 70% of parents with sick or premature babies suffer with it.<br />
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I can't say this came as much of a shock, as truly I didn't expect anything else.However taking that step and recognising that I was being affected by a trauma in my day to day living, is hopefully one step closer to healing.<br />
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I'm not entirely sure of all the details of my treatment plan as yet but I'm already looking forward to a brighter 2013, I'm not sure how I'm going to get there but I just know I will x<br />
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<br />diary of a premmy mumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13829424922988781001noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8372666214571504771.post-75077250571353336422013-01-20T09:08:00.000-08:002013-01-20T09:08:31.428-08:00Doors.<br />
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So...<br />
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Doors. plural of door (Noun)<br />
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<i style="color: black; font-size: small; line-height: 15px;">"A hinged, sliding, or revolving barrier at the entrance to a building, room, or vehicle, or in the framework of a cupboard".</i></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent;">Not too much of a problem once one reaches a suitable height.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent;">Unless they are locked that is.... </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: transparent;">Unless they are locked and you really need to get through them, to get to the other side because there's something important there, something you need.. </span></div>
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like your baby for example!<br />
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You guessed it, I'm talking about access to NICU. </div>
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Now don't get me wrong I know security is important. Goodness know's when you go home at night you need to know that your baby is being kept safe. However on the flip side of that, if I were to create a list of the most needed things you could want in this highly anxious situation, locked doors is SO not featuring, it's totally off the page.<br />
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A friend and I were discussing it the other day and were commenting that despite the HUGE emphasis and metaphorical magnifying glass that hovers over the Mother/child bond, the fact that a Mother is left stood on the wrong side of a locked door for up to ten minutes waiting for someone to open it, is not considered a shaping factor at all.<br />
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Well let me tell you readers, it's already a pretty sorry state of affairs when you can do naff all for your baby.This factor alone makes you feel about as handy as a chocolate tea pot but that <i>urge</i> to go to the unit, to look in on your babies sweet little face, it still exists, in part and when the urge takes you, it is not a might, a could or a should, It's a must, A maternal drive that must be satisfied before the fear and angst overcome you again.<br />
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Interestingly enough, I discovered that the thought process that I'm about to describe (occuring in the five/minute wait at doors) is not one unique to me but seemingly universal to all NICU Mum's, bringing a most unwelcome spin on the daily NICU visit. Typically, it goes like this..<br />
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>>>>Rings buzzer.>>>><br />
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No answer.<br />
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Thought 1: 'Why are they taking so long?' ....They are probably just busy!<br />
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Thought 2: Who are they busy with? Is it my baby?<br />
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>>>>Rings buzzer again >>>><br />
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Thought 3: They know I am coming, They know I am here.They are avoiding letting me in because she's unstable.<br />
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Cue: Panic.<br />
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Cue Wants to ring buzzer again but doesn't want to be rude.<br />
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Cue: Really wants to see baby right now and really can't seem to gain entry...<br />
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Temporary reinforcement of feelings of powerlessness and maternal failure<br />
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>>>>>Rings buzzer again>>>>>> (longer, louder, more angry sounding bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz)<br />
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The great intercom speaks finally.<br />
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>>> Enter's NICU Mummy >>><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">and all is forgiven.</td></tr>
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diary of a premmy mumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13829424922988781001noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8372666214571504771.post-87148233609509621942013-01-07T08:41:00.000-08:002013-01-07T08:50:03.982-08:00StrongerWell readers,I can hardly believe it but Smidge has managed to stay out of hospital for over six months.<br />
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I know..I know.... don't tempt fate but I can't help it, I'm proud.</div>
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Prouder than proud!</div>
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As the winter months drew in following a turbulent spring, I told myself that I'd be happy with say, just three admissions to hospital. </div>
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Well how many readmissions have we had? </div>
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None I tell you, None! and I want it documented, whilst it's a reality.</div>
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I attribute this fully awesome turn around to my strict socialization rules, good hand hygiene and... well, the fact little Smidge is not such a little Smidge any more...</div>
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I have been very lucky to have such considerate people around me to help me through so far. Friends who have reserved judgement on my strictness.</div>
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I am truly thankful for having these people in my life, for meeting up with me for play dates, for having coffee and chats, for cancelling our arrangements if their children have colds or seem a bit off colour. Basically for respecting my decision to minimise 'immune building' for a while. </div>
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Of course I haven't been able to protect her fully. Still she has had four colds and two sickness bugs ( Yes,I count them! ) but she's coped with them well and hasn't had seizures or needed oxygen.*Hooray*</div>
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So now I feel I am <strike>being lulled</strike> reaching a point where she is getting stronger, meaning I can be all together a little more liberal about the stuff we do together. for example, Going to toddler groups.</div>
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Maybe.<br />
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diary of a premmy mumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13829424922988781001noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8372666214571504771.post-39527994289014686792012-12-19T08:03:00.000-08:002012-12-19T14:52:06.630-08:00Top Five Doctor's Who Have Saved My SanityGenerally 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.<br />
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So in today's post I bring you my top five Doctors.<br />
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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.<br />
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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!<br />
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So here they are.. in no particular order.<br />
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<b>Dr Dylan Watkins. (G.P) Leatside Surgery Totnes. </b> <br />
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.<br />
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.<br />
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.<br />
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.<br />
Dr.Watkins also writes his own <a href="http://leatside-surgery.blogspot.co.uk/">blog</a>, where he raises awareness, shares his views and talks about community and medical issues.<br />
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<b>Dr David Mabin. Paediatric Consultant and Neonateologist</b><br />
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.<br />
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.<br />
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.<br />
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.<br />
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.<br />
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<b>Dr.Richard Thwaites. Paediatric Consultant and Neonatologist at Q.A Hospital, Portsmouth.</b><br />
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.<br />
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.<br />
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.<br />
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<b>Dr Alice Martin. Registrar at RD&E Exeter</b><br />
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.<br />
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.<br />
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.<br />
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<b>Dr Liz Donovan. Paediatric Consultant and Neonatologist Q.A Hospital Portsmouth</b><br />
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.<br />
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.<br />
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.<br />
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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?<br />
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<br />diary of a premmy mumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13829424922988781001noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8372666214571504771.post-20940495231417381982012-12-07T01:44:00.002-08:002012-12-07T01:49:31.238-08:00AsdaBright strip lights blaze down, glowing yellow over the supermarket isles.<br />
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Over sized cardboard pointy fingers are directing customers to the shortest available queue. </div>
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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.</div>
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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.</div>
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What would be the right thing she wonders..</div>
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But she doesn't wonder for too long. </div>
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She doesn't wonder too much. </div>
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What if something happens when she is wondering?</div>
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Mummy-bot quickly reaches in to her pocket to feel the presence of her phone. It's there, that's good.</div>
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It's not vibrating either, that's good.</div>
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Pulling it our of her pocket she checks for missed calls. There are none.</div>
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She stands still a moment. blankly fixated on the clothes department.</div>
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A woman in a green uniform pop's out of nowhere. she's wearing sparkly read earring's.</div>
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'Can I be of any help at all?'</div>
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Mummy-bot looks up and mindlessly recites 'I came to get clothes' She is like an Alien in a foreign land.</div>
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She picks up the first thing she sees.<br />
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She only wore that dress once.</div>
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> > > >Two years later (or there abouts) > > > ></div>
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Over sized cardboard pointy fingers are directing customers to the shortest available queue. </div>
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Those fingers are still stupid but now they are local stupid pointy fingers instead, we are back in Devon.</div>
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And this time I am not shopping for clothes but for party food for my beautiful sweet baby girl.</div>
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Lists, Lists...so many lists.</div>
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But no matter how busy I am I still remember.</div>
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No matter how healthy she seems I still reach in to my pocket and eagerly await the reassurance of a blank telephone screen.</div>
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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.</div>
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Sometimes I wonder what it would be like to not think like that.</div>
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Sometimes I wonder when being me will feel okay again.</div>
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diary of a premmy mumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13829424922988781001noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8372666214571504771.post-66880570722361499752012-11-14T02:14:00.002-08:002012-11-14T13:13:28.419-08:00Anxiety 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.<br />
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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.<br />
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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.<br />
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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.<br />
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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'<br />
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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.<br />
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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.<br />
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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.<br />
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'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.'<br />
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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.<br />
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I guess what it boils down to is this.<br />
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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.<br />
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To be reminded there is no right or wrong way to be or behave in these situations would have been sanity saving.<br />
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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.<br />
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The nurse said "It's because we recognise that this is an anxious <i><b>situation"</b></i><br />
<i><b><br /></b></i>
And that was the very first time it occurred to me that it might be okay to be anxious.<br />
<br />
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<br />diary of a premmy mumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13829424922988781001noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8372666214571504771.post-39221900330100735512012-10-22T15:34:00.001-07:002012-10-23T11:03:40.211-07:00"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.<br />
<br />
Dear Government,<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
But they did keep her alive and warm and we are so grateful for that.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
I liked that hospital but I wish there had been time to say goodbye.<br />
<br />
I liked hospital number three too, we were there for a week but sadly we couldn't stay.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
It was old there, chaotic & smelly.<br />
<br />
But they kept her warm and alive so thank you for that.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
Thank you for all of that.<br />
<br />
But dearest Government,whilst I am grateful for all of these things I want you to know this.<br />
<br />
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 <b>Every Single Day </b>you put their tiny lives at risk and your promise becomes a dangerous game of Russian roulette.<br />
<br />
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<br />
<br />
Because a life is a life..<br />
<br />
No matter how small.<br />
<br />
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<br />diary of a premmy mumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13829424922988781001noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8372666214571504771.post-89151267892302215622012-10-10T13:03:00.000-07:002012-10-10T13:03:06.045-07:00That Question<br />
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
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.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Yes I'm talking about
about the old 'So what do you do?' Question.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
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.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
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.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
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.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
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.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
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. </div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
I choose sounding
like I'm the voice over in trainspotting.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
I choose Stay At Home Mumism. </div>
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diary of a premmy mumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13829424922988781001noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8372666214571504771.post-43269157575890504292012-10-04T14:49:00.000-07:002012-10-04T14:49:46.134-07:00A Bit Of A FlingYou'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.<br />
<br />
Word get's around quickly, so I won't beat around the bush but it's true, I ran off with another blog.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
So here I am torn between two blogs...<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
Yet I see that there are far nicer shoes out there. Shoes that are colourful , shoes that hold purpose..Shoes that open up possibilities.<br />
<br />
<i><b>Do shoes really do that?</b></i><br />
<br />
<br />
I guess what I'm really wondering is...Is it time to try something else?<br />
<br />
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The chart that goes with the shoes.</div>
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<br />diary of a premmy mumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13829424922988781001noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8372666214571504771.post-84655405429107189042012-09-26T14:39:00.000-07:002012-09-26T14:39:34.709-07:00Preemie Pride And PredjudiceForgive me readers but I've gone and done something cringeworthy. No it's not just cringeworthy, It's Mega cheese. :-/<br />
<br />
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?<br />
<br />
I know, I know..<br />
<br />
But I can't help it, I'm going through a proud phrase!<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
They didn't see how <span style="font-size: large;">big</span> she was, they only saw how <span style="font-size: xx-small;">small. </span>and when they learned that she was fifteen weeks early, they didn't see her struggle, they saw only her survival.<br />
<br />
<br />
It wasn't that I didn't <i><b>want</b></i> 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...<br />
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....a parent such as me can end up feeling more than a little misunderstood and <i><b>others</b></i> can come across as being insensitive, nosey, patronising or even quite dismissive.</div>
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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.</div>
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'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. </div>
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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 <i><b>average Joe</b></i> 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.</div>
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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...</div>
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I say this :</div>
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No one is more proud than this here Premmy Mum.</div>
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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?</div>
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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?</div>
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.</div>
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I dont think so. </div>
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See, I never planned to have a preemie. </div>
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What I planned for was a baby, a baby girl if I was lucky.</div>
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And lucky I was, I got my baby girl.</div>
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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.</div>
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diary of a premmy mumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13829424922988781001noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8372666214571504771.post-70294753288392944362012-09-12T14:04:00.002-07:002012-09-12T14:46:02.310-07:00NECTo say it was a juggle managing an older sibling when Smidge was in intensive care is an understatement.<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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?<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
The nurse taking care of Smidge came on the line, she was stumbling a bit and trying to find the right words.<br />
<br />
'I'm er...waiting for the doctor to ring you actually...er..she won't be long.'<br />
<br />
'Ring me? Why? what's happened?' I said, my heart sinking.<br />
<br />
'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...'<br />
<br />
'Can I speak to her then?'<br />
<br />
'Um...she's a bit busy at the moment, talking to her colleagues...She'll ring you very shortly'<br />
<br />
I put my mobile back in my pocket.<br />
<br />
'C'mon Mister G, I'm afraid we can't go to town now, we have to drop you back home'<br />
<br />
'Why?' said Mister G, scowling a disapproving look.<br />
<br />
'I don't know' I stammered heading back towards the house and picking up a pace.<br />
<br />
'Why?.... Why Mum?...Why? came the eleven year old voice chasing along behind me.<br />
<br />
'I don't know, I've got to get to the hospital'<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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?<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
Smidge had NEC, a deadly bowel infection and the biggest killer of premature babies in the UK today.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
'Okay' she said.<br />
<br />
'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'<br />
<br />
'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'<br />
<br />
Tears sprung to my eyes as I looked at the doctor in disbelief 'She will be okay, won't she?' I asked fearfully.<br />
<br />
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'<br />
<br />
"Can I touch her?" I asked the tears streaming freely now.<br />
<br />
"You can put your hands in the port holes"<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
After a few minutes the doctor nodded her head and directed the transfer team to proceed.<br />
<br />
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...<br />
<br />
A day I'll never forget.<br />
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<br />diary of a premmy mumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13829424922988781001noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8372666214571504771.post-36964301175896243042012-09-06T04:24:00.000-07:002012-09-06T04:24:38.721-07:00We're ThroughI am so angry at Dyson right now, uugghh..<br />
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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.<br />
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The over flowing laundry basket?... I blame dyson.<br />
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The untidy airing cupboard?...Dyson<br />
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The unwatered plants...Dyson again.<br />
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And now, as Dyson sits there big and gray and plastic, I ask myself again and again..<br />
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What did I ever see in you?<br />
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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.<br />
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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.<br />
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But special features are no good when motor blows up are they dyson?<br />
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A five year guarantee is worth nothing, when your serviceman does not carry spare parts.<br />
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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.<br />
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So fellow readers, bloggers, Mum's... You have been warned. Do not be taken in and exploited by this evil piece.<br />
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<br />diary of a premmy mumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13829424922988781001noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8372666214571504771.post-88573333253865694832012-08-23T14:01:00.000-07:002012-10-26T14:42:23.880-07:00The 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.<br />
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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.<br />
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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.<br />
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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.<br />
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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 <i>so much</i>. Nothing in her life was more important or more crucial than that very thing.<br />
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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.<br />
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<i><b>'I don't need to change a nappy to connect with my child'</b> </i>Said the Heartbroken Mama with in.<br />
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'<i><b>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'</b></i><br />
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But the NICU Mum Smiled politely<i style="font-weight: bold;">. 'You do it' </i>she said<b><i> </i></b>sweetly.<br />
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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.<br />
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I was ready.<br />
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I never stopped being ready.<br />
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I wasn't ready for 'being allowed'<br />
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I wasn't ready for 'being permitted'<br />
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But always,always I wanted to do my personal best for her.<br />
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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.<br />
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Which is one of the reasons I think this publication by<a href="http://www.bliss.org.uk/"> Bliss</a> is so important.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8UCZtymtjSa27st0ZY47IFkLW7x7OrylB6ZXi6Ls9MgoCwAzJDwBrcDwzWRYCwVQ-FeaQSZXtHn-H4EASAp3fHW9D3ei9xHIfIX8tGtL8H41sxdTZUxjRqDz57BSN_PtqbqFRKPArLAo/s1600/photo+(35).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8UCZtymtjSa27st0ZY47IFkLW7x7OrylB6ZXi6Ls9MgoCwAzJDwBrcDwzWRYCwVQ-FeaQSZXtHn-H4EASAp3fHW9D3ei9xHIfIX8tGtL8H41sxdTZUxjRqDz57BSN_PtqbqFRKPArLAo/s320/photo+(35).JPG" width="239" /></a></div>
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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.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDgDXE2Jhurk5up43yMAPNqg-rl2XGeHS_Rx5JrlEHFN1OX1z3KWnKp93j-tkYDnbfeKM9Fl56FanBhzwtW9fuFueHsdw_v_iLLiGN2O3BRV-A1XrFzCBXru7fGYbmZ4p5Q09P_FeVTV4/s1600/photo+(36).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDgDXE2Jhurk5up43yMAPNqg-rl2XGeHS_Rx5JrlEHFN1OX1z3KWnKp93j-tkYDnbfeKM9Fl56FanBhzwtW9fuFueHsdw_v_iLLiGN2O3BRV-A1XrFzCBXru7fGYbmZ4p5Q09P_FeVTV4/s320/photo+(36).JPG" width="239" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small; text-align: start;">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.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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I think these should beside every incubator as <i>standard.</i></div>
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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.<br />
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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.<br />
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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:<br />
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'<i>ALL BABIES ARE ALLOWED OUT FOR KANGAROO CARE AT ALL TIMES UNLESS A CONSULTANT STATES TO THE CONTRARY'</i><br />
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It was music to my ears. Finally I could choose! Finally I could start being a Mother.<br />
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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?<br />
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diary of a premmy mumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13829424922988781001noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8372666214571504771.post-23230245472386340692012-08-20T15:36:00.000-07:002012-08-21T02:57:24.934-07:00Waft PlayWell 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 <strike>germ fest</strike> soft play centre?<br />
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Yes you heard me right, I said <b><i>soft play centre</i> </b>and check out this pic, it's my Smidge looking at<i> a <b>real boy.</b></i><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYIS3FvrtloAtCioGnG1dl0AIImQ6XkutpTR-WL8zz18HyZc_9Kno8IwotxTkKnddVPJdBWzTu_c7Km2PZpsCCJE_ocqo8EO0F8O4jaVipihhL927PbNKwvetAa0d4bqZkjF7d0B4TzYQ/s1600/photo+(33).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYIS3FvrtloAtCioGnG1dl0AIImQ6XkutpTR-WL8zz18HyZc_9Kno8IwotxTkKnddVPJdBWzTu_c7Km2PZpsCCJE_ocqo8EO0F8O4jaVipihhL927PbNKwvetAa0d4bqZkjF7d0B4TzYQ/s320/photo+(33).JPG" width="239" /></a></div>
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Until this latest attack of 'must-try-and-be-normal', Smidge was starting to believe that other children only exist in two forms.<br />
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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.<br />
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How it happened:<br />
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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..<br />
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It wasn't emotion (good god no..) It was more like a thought process with the potential to lead to positive outcomes.<br />
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Thats it... Optimism.<br />
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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.<br />
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Seizing the moment and packing a bag in record time, we arrived a little before 9am, Why, the doors had even opened.<br />
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Cool, only one granny standing outside with her apparently chicken-poccless/ non spluttering grand children.We go over and wait in the queue.<br />
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We are stood there for a minute or two before Granny initiates some small talk,which is fine but <i><b>then</b></i> she utters the most disheartening sentence...<br />
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'Great offer isn't it?'<br />
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'Offer?' I say, with a <strike>paranoid</strike> sceptical look on my face.<br />
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'Buy one get one free if you're in before 10.00am' says Granny.<br />
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Nooooo...<br />
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The place will be swamped. More kids, more germs. Damn that buy one get one free offer.<br />
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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.<br />
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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.<br />
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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.<br />
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Ten minutes in and I'm thinking 'well..she gets so much out it, look at her little face *oh the Joy* etc..etc..'<br />
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But then I smell something.<br />
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Then I get <i><b>the waft.</b></i><br />
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It can not be. I tell myself.<br />
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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.<br />
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<i>'What were the chances of that happening?' </i>said one day Hubby.<br />
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Pretty high actually.<br />
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Grrrrrr!!<br />
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<br />diary of a premmy mumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13829424922988781001noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8372666214571504771.post-76362020346269351322012-08-15T14:40:00.001-07:002012-08-15T14:44:17.703-07:00MovingI'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...<br />
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At fifteen it was 'When are you going to get a job Leanna?' </div>
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At twenty 'When are you going to get a drivers licence?' </div>
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and from twenty five 'When are you going to buy your own house?' </div>
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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.</div>
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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.</div>
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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! </div>
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But Babylon will wait no longer.</div>
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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.</div>
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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.</div>
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It goes like this...</div>
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I see a house. I look at the photo's.I like it.</div>
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I consider the area, the pros the cons, I look at the photos again.</div>
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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.</div>
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It's all worked out. </div>
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I know where I'm putting the sofa. </div>
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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*</div>
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Goes to sleep dreaming of decor schemes, goes to sleep plagued with thoughts about weather shabby chic is tacky or not...!?</div>
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Wakes up in the morning, phones up agent... 'I want that house on the website!'</div>
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'Well can I take your details madam?'</div>
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'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!....'</div>
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'Can I have that house?</div>
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'Which house?'</div>
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'House listing number 4356, on your website!'</div>
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'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....?'</div>
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*Sigh* Back to the drawing board.</div>
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diary of a premmy mumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13829424922988781001noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8372666214571504771.post-24170057928506481822012-08-07T05:31:00.000-07:002012-08-09T04:58:37.132-07:00Anxiety And Feedback - A Very Fine LineI 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'.<br />
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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?<br />
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But what if being a parent, if looking after your child (or taking a view on their care)<i> feels</i> like a risk? A risk that you'll insult someone, upset them or turn the old apple cart... so to speak.<br />
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And does speaking up about things make you <i>even more</i> vulnerable at an already hideous time?<br />
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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.<br />
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Little things.<br />
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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 <b>eVeRyThInG</b> highlighted my lack of control, my inability to move forward in my role as Mum.<br />
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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'<br />
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Or in my case 'The Mother at bay six has made herself known'<br />
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Followed by 'Please be careful when entering bay six'<br />
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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.<br />
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But actually speaking up? actually taking that step...when they were looking after my baby..<br />
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that was the hard part.<br />
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<br />diary of a premmy mumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13829424922988781001noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8372666214571504771.post-4430719477076013572012-08-05T03:09:00.000-07:002012-08-05T13:51:50.206-07:00You Know Her Best MumWhen 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.<br />
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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.<br />
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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.<br />
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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.<br />
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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.<br />
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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.<br />
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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.<br />
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Do you know what it's like to have your relationship with your own child almost completely defined by a monitor?<br />
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<i>"Oh.... you touched her and she desaturated to 62" </i>The monitor would laugh.<br />
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<i>"She doesn't like that........ she doesn't like you."</i><br />
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But hang in there mummy because she might, (and it really is a might) live to like you one day.<br />
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So that was the very early days.<br />
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And of course, in the days and weeks that followed, the nurses showed us how we could care, sometimes.<br />
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<b><i>Sometime</i>s</b> we could change her nappy.<br />
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<i><b>Sometimes</b></i> we could wipe her tiny mouth with a little patch of gauze.<br />
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And <b><i>sometimes,</i></b> on very special days, when everyone agreed and when the monitors said so..<br />
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We could have a cuddle.<br />
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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..<br />
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and then would come the old neonatal catch phrase..<br />
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'You know her best Mum...what do you think?'<br />
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No, I really <i>don't</i> know her best.<br />
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'How does she seem to you?'<br />
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Um...um....um....<br />
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She seems like a very sick baby. a very sick very small baby..who has always been very small and very sick.<br />
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Will she 'like' me soon?<br />
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<br />diary of a premmy mumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13829424922988781001noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8372666214571504771.post-67154313705849369482012-07-28T15:08:00.001-07:002012-07-28T15:10:38.922-07:00Favourite Sorts Of NursesEveryone has their favourite nurses when staying in the NICU and for me, favourite types of nurse came in two different forms.<br />
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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. </div>
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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.</div>
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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.</div>
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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.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div>
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. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
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.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Who were your favourite nurses and why? </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
</div>diary of a premmy mumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13829424922988781001noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8372666214571504771.post-22502335713292740502012-07-21T13:49:00.001-07:002012-07-21T14:17:35.651-07:00A Bit Of A Snivel<br />
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.<br />
<br />
I am aware how utterly ridiculous this next sentence is going to sound but...<br />
<br />
*Smidge has a cold*<br />
<br />
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 <i style="font-weight: bold;"><a href="http://diaryofapremmymum.blogspot.co.uk/2012/05/more-about-new-lucky.html">that time,</a> </i>that Smidge has gotten ill.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
Delighted because at the first sign of illness she wasn't doing her <i>weird fitting thing</i> and relieved because if she isn't doing <i>that </i>then maybe we can start getting our old life back.<br />
<br />
Wait, maybe I'm getting over excited.<br />
<br />
Maybe getting our old life back is a bit <i>too</i> keen.<br />
<br />
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 <i>too relaxed</i> isn't good.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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. <br />
<br />
Being a young'un, Mr. G desperately tried to make lighten the conversation.<br />
<br />
'Please, I'm not in the mood..' I stated grimly, my face one of complete fear and seriousness.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
<br />
After the examination the doctor looked up, his face a mixture of frustration and sympathy.<br />
<br />
'It's not a tumour' he stated Blankly.<br />
<br />
'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.<br />
<br />
'It's her rib'<br />
<br />
'Oh'.<br />
<br />
Looking up sheepishly,I quickly gather our belongings, apologising profusely whilst simultaneously making a speedy exit...<br />
<br />
Why oh why can't I get the balance just right?!<br />
<br />
I am like the adult that sits on a child's sea-saw,<br />
<br />
I am the vinegar that swamps the chips..<br />
<br />
But one day readers, I'll get the balance just perfect...<br />
<br />
I'll be easy going in all the right places,<br />
<br />
I'll know just the right moment to boo-hoo a G.P opinion.<br />
<br />
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?'<br />
<br />
And I'll laugh all the way to the chemist.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br class="Apple-interchange-newline" />diary of a premmy mumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13829424922988781001noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8372666214571504771.post-39648724984560429722012-07-16T06:09:00.000-07:002012-07-16T12:58:25.025-07:00Missing Out<br />
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
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..
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
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.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
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.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'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.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Raising her eye brows
slightly the nurse looked at me firmly and said 'Well you need to
prepare yourself for that as a possibility'</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'There is no need' I
argued 'She won't be coming home on it, I just know it'</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
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.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
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.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
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!
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
What if the guests were so
excited about the bunting and the fairy cakes that they thought a little
snivel didn't matter?
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
What if they came
expecting a glass of wine and good time all they got was a squirt of
alco-gel and cross examination?</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Better Cancel I
thought, and One-day Hubby agreed.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
But we've come a long
way since those early days, or at least I thought we had, until this May,
when everything changed.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
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.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
All the confidence I
had gained and all the developmental benefits that were Smidge's were
stolen from us in one horrid month.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
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 <i>so is</i> this way.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
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.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
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.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
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.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
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.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Because as with the
oxygen and fairy cakes, The high dependency unit, the hospital, it doesn't fit with my plans you see..</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
and as much as I
love bunting, baby groups, and biscuits..</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
I love my Smidge more.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>diary of a premmy mumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13829424922988781001noreply@blogger.com0