Other Mums

For quite a while, I was a bit suspicious of other parents. They did everything better and had cleaner more stimulated children. They had the secrets to Good Parenting and I could never join their ranks.


Then I began to notice that they had bags under their eyes too. And odd socks. And a baked bean stuck their jumpers. And a look of exasperation when their well behaved child started up. And occasionally, said well behaved child would lob a petit filous pot across the room. I noticed that some parents looked sad, and some looked wary. Some worn out, and many just really, really looking for a friendly face and a cup of coffee. And maybe a bit of cake. No, definitely a bit of cake. And to hell with the organic, sugar-free, slimming plan.


Other parents can be a lifeline in times of need. And times of need can be anything from One Of Those Days to a true crisis point. Other parents can act as a mirror to reflect your own needs and desires and they can demonstrate understanding that many times can only come from someone who truly knows how you are feeling. They are the people that are there to help celebrate the highs and commiserate the lows. They will be the ones helping to pack up party-bags to delegating exactly whose fault was the hair pulling. Although my own parent network is very fledgling, I know how vital it is. Even if you have just one mummy friend, they can make the difference. When I was growing up, my mum was part of a strong NCT local network that gave her a circle of fiercely protective biscuit-wielding friends that still form a substantial tower of support and provided both my and my sister with lifelong friends also. 


Having like-minded fellow parents was for me tested when I reached my own crisis points, in neonatal and Paediatric Intensive Care. Whilst in neonatal I had no parent friends and was not at a point whereby I had the emotional capacity or time to start seeking them out. Practically it would have just been a bit weird, turning up to a baby group alone with nothing but a picture of a tiny poorly baby. I was however put in touch with another younger mum, just as we went home. Her baby was a term baby who had spent a stint on SCBU after birth and she was also alone in her former circle of friends, being the first to foray into the murky world of parenthood. She became my only mum-friend and a tentative one at that for a long time. However, I came into contact with many parents over the following months, mostly in the form of support workers. There were a group of women I met who directly influenced me and gave me the strength to acknowledge that I could do this. All the women were older than me and in entirely different circumstances, they only came into my life in a professional capacity, but their words touched me. Some I met just once, some handful of times, two I still keep in contact with now on a more personal level. Anna-Bet, Anne, Fiona, Mel, Bridie and Vicky, I don't think you will ever know what an impact you made on me for the better. Each of you shared one similar aspect of the early days of my motherhood that made me know that there was a light at the end of the tunnel. Be it a fellow NICU experience, other single parents, other young parents, another traumatic birth, a fighting spirit; it made me feel normal which was something I desperately felt anything but.


Over the months, I tentatively began to go into the big wide world and meet other new mums. The friendships are still very much developing but they restore my confidence in a way that nothing else can. Other mums fight as well, very hard for each other. A nurse I came into contact with on PICU who looked after my daughter saw I was struggling in accepting where I fitted into the world and doubting my parenting abilities and went above and beyond her job to try and help me. She wasn't paid for it and it was not her job description but she understood, not just my situation, but me personally. She was a world apart from me, her home life could not have been more different, but she was so protective and let me know that I was one of thousands of struggling mums. Words can make such a difference. And now I am dipping my toe into the world of parent-blogging. It started out as a personal way of processing my feelings following a whirlwind that was the beginning of parenthood, and ended up being another form of sanity saving. Of course the internet has much to answer for, but it connects you to people you would never meet otherwise, not least for geographic reasons, who make you feel that little bit more normal and able. Likewise, I am beginning to meet other mums through neonatal support groups. There is nothing like being able to sit with a stranger, with no words, but a deep connected sense of understanding. It can be like a secret language. You know too. 
Reassurance and support that you cannot put a price on.


Do Something Yummy and help out not just children who deserve a hand, bur their parents too. No one wants to suffer or to admit they would quite like a spot of help, but we all are so glad when it is there. If your child is having a rough time, you want to be mummy, not a carer. And sometimes, you need a break. Just enough to put the kettle up, or your head down for a nap. I have been in recipient of respite help before and it makes such a difference. No one ever thinks it will be them, but everyday 10 families are told their child has cancer. And I bet none of them saw it coming.

"Do something yummy because every mummy deserves some fun"

Growing Up: Wriggles in Review in SCBU

SCBU felt like a very transitory place. It certainly did not not enhance any feeling of parenthood, and in many ways was quite bleak as no one wanted to be there and being there is something of a dread for any expectant parent. When your baby is born all you want is to hold them, have them with you, go home and start life. You do not want to be stuck in a clinical environment physically separated from your child, having limitations on contact and involvement and holding your breath, waiting to see if the next day holds good or bad news. For newborns, bad news should be that they have been sick for the millionth time and you have officially run out of clean t-shirts. It should not be that they have required resuscitation, have a life-threatening infection or have had a brain bleed which may or may not affect their development and life chances.

We spent nine weeks in total on the unit; one week in NICU (Intensive care) and eight weeks 'feeding and growing'. We were one of the lucky families. Nothing majorly serious happened during our stay which was as straightforward as it can be for a premature baby. Yes, it was one step forward then about six back, yes she still had apnoea's (stopping breathing) and bradycardias (slowing heart rate) meaning she needed varying degrees of stimulation, yes she needed various medication to get her through to the next step, yes she required breathing support, but she was not affected by many of the afflictions which sadly too many premature babies and their parents have to experience. The only blip was, after being in air for a few weeks, she began to tire and had to go back on to low-flow oxygen via a nasal cannula. Unfortunately, rather than wean her back of this her requirement crept up and when she started oral feeds (34 weeks gestation) she needed more and more. After fits and starts, she began to get the hang of bottle feeding and as the magic words "home time" began to be whispered it looked like she was going home on oxygen.

 

Many parents are left reeling from SCBU months and years later. It is such an alien place that is to the be the ground for the some of the best and worst moments of your life as a family.  You have a baby; but you don't have a baby. And few people understand. They try, people really try but again, it is so alien.What do you say to someone who has a baby in a critical condition? What can you do for a friend who is experiencing grief? It is human nature to put a good spin on things, "don't worry, it'll be alright in the end", but sometimes this is not what we need. Personally, I felt desperate that people should acknowledge how hard it was. I mean, can you imagine leaving a tiny, sick baby while you go home? Can you imagine giving birth then existing separately whilst other people care for your baby? Can you imagine asking permission to just touch their hand? On one hand, you are so grateful to the medical staff for saving your baby, ensuring you do have a happy future, but on the other you are almost seething with resentment that it should be you taking care and being a parent.

Everyone deals with the experience very differently. This briefly was mine, and in hindsight my pleas I wish I had had the strength to say out loud to people at the time. They may sound selfish in places, but I cannot convey enough how distressing it can be:

• This is one of the hardest times for me. Don't try and make it better: the only way it is better is either by turning back the clock or turning it forward being at home
• Please don't crowd me. I spend all day, whilst sitting solitary by an incubator, surrounded by people who rightly know all my private business, who record things I might say and who know every movement I make.
• Please let me get to know my baby first. I know everyone is excited by a new baby and wants to take part, meet them and have fun but I am still bonding with my baby. It is hard, really hard. Let us have some space. We will be glad of the company when we are ready, but only then.
• I really don't care if your next door neighbour bar two has a cousin twice removed whom was born 16 weeks early and now is a Nobel prize winning weight lifting millionaire hunk
• Don't keep saying it will be alright in the end. That is one of the worst things about this: there is no way of knowing if it will be. 
• Once we get home, it will be like starting all over again. My baby might be well over a month old, but will likely only be reaching the stage of being effectively newborn. So it might take a lot longer than you think
• This will not go away overnight. I might really need a shoulder to cry on months down the line. Repeatedly. Please don't tell me to pull myself together and be grateful. It still hurts.

Before I even started blogging myself, here are three great posts by other bloggers about life in SCBU and how it feels, how frustrating it can be and how to help a friend or relative who might be experiencing it:

Edspire

Mummy Pink Wellies

Diary of a Premmy Mum

SCBU seems to sum up having a premature baby; it is a physical place where we can attribute blame or sorrow if we need to, rather than a more abstract concept or uncertainty that does not have a name. I treasure my keepsakes for being physical bits of history at a time where I was mentally struggling intensely and was for the best part on another planet just to get through, which means in part I feel robbed of creating special and happy memories. They and SCBU/NICU are the beginning of a journey which can define some peoples parenting experience, as it does not stop when you leave. I found we had follow up appointments, regular development checks, and when it transpired things were going more slowly, began to receive referrals to more specialist teams. These were all down to prematurity and the long-lasting affects. It never ceases to amaze me that being born weeks early can mean years of catching up. You simply don't pick up where you left off once outside the womb. Many are lucky and catch up between 2-5 years of age but equally many are left with long lasting problems, either physically, socially or cognitively. Of course, like anything these can be from mild to severe and can be managed, but it is not something any parent expects to have to contend with. It does not affect the love you have for your child, it just is something that as a parent you learn to accept and let go of some of your dreams of "My Ideal Perfect Family". It is learning that perfect has many forms.