We've all had our grievances and gripes about the NHS. It can get things wrong, from a hopeless lack of GP appointments to a waiting list longer than your arm, my arm and so-and-so-over-there's arm put together for any appointment not deemed urgent. And as Beadzoid wrote this week, it can get things badly wrong. But today, I just wanted to have a little rave because it also can get things right. And when it works, it works really well and makes a difference to the life of normal people.
This morning, we went to a group arranged by NHS community paediatrics in our area called 'Splish, Splash, Bounce'. I am lucky to live near a big teaching hospital with a huge and greatly respected paediatric department that coordinates community outreach exceptionally well. Today we started an 8-week course of hydrotherapy and rebound treatment (physio on a trampoline). It also has some other umbrella services that run alongside this group and if nothing else, is a brilliant resource of meeting parents in a similar situation. The group is especially for babies and pre-schoolers with additional needs, particularly those with physical disabilities from the milder end of the scale like us to the much more severe end.
We went last year, and whilst I enjoyed it and Wriggles loved being in the water, I always felt out of place. We hadn't come that near a diagnosis yet and as she was only a year old I had a horrible feeling that maybe I was imaging things and making a drama out of everything, using her prematurity as a shield. Last year other group members all seemed to have "proper" diagnoses and recognised conditions under the belt. They were all more of a toddler age and their parents seemed so more savvy-in hindsight because they had been dealing with this longer. This year, we are in that position and in the year that has elapsed we did get our diagnosis which in part has made things a little easier in that I don't just feel like a mad moaning woman with "a feeling in my bones" that something is amiss. We have found that secret world of multiple therapies, medical assistance and untangled some of the whats, whys and hows. In many ways, I am still very new and naive to this all. I am still at time struggling to accept, to find where we fit in. But this year, I felt much more comfortable and also more aware of things and in turn, more grateful services like this were on offer to us. Last year, a niggling part of paranoid-me thought they think I'm making it up, they're calling my bluff inviting us to special needs groups to see if I crack and suddenly decide nothing is wrong. Now I have researched more thoroughly, read up more, tried to access more things with varying degrees of success and accepted that my child needs some extra help, and I know all too well that services are greatly strained and really, you don't get offers of things that will not be beneficial! The group is number-controlled so the children don't get overwhelmed and so the physiotherapists can pay due attention to each child. As well as the physios present (in water and on trampoline) there are early years workers whom are like portage workers and people trained in speech & language and occupational therapy. This means that using signing as Wriggles does, does not stand out but is accepted and encouraged and there are people on hand to teach new signs. And some of the group leaders even have an idea what she might be going on about, rather than just waving her arms wildly whilst gabbling! Between the hydrotherapy and the rebound, there is a snack time which for us doubles up as feeding "therapy". All the adults know and understand oral aversion and quietly encourage and support, rather than shoving biscuits in her face and shouting "corrrrr bet you're glad she doesn't eat a million chocolate buttons to rot her teeth like my one!". They offer a mix of snacks to try and explore different sensory reactions rather than trying to be the most organic/healthy/cheapest/trendy buffet as so many of the children have feeding issues. They don't bat an eyelid at giving Wriggles an empty beaker so she can be like the children who can drink. I don't have to explain a thing. It is simply, bliss. Last year I feared I was just a bad parent holding my daughter back. This year, I know I am trying until I am blue in the face but that our road is a bit jumbled up.
I would be happy paying to access a group, so to have it on the NHS is icing on the proverbial cake. It is such a relief to know that there are services to help both child and parents. There are so many stories of children being failed by lack of access to things that when you have a positive experience, like this, it makes you very grateful. We have had our own share of care that ranged from scornful to downright unhelpful and so opportunities like these make up for it a bit. It is also a reminder that the NHS should not just be viewed as a luxury. It is the National Health Service, not an add-on. Without it, millions of people would be left to flounder in both development and health. The NHS is not just about hospital procedures or primary care trusts, it is about making the lives of people more comfortable and facilitating Independence. It is about support as much as treatment. And today, it got things just right.
....and in true NHS fashion, I just recieved a letter through the post for our next respiratory follow up. Despite our consultant wanting to see us in under three months time, we cannot have a slot until June and even then they can't gurantee us seeing our resignated consultant. You win some, you loose some...sigh.
Showing posts with label support. Show all posts
Showing posts with label support. Show all posts
Friday, January 25
Sunday, November 11
Counselling
When you have a baby, one thing you do not normally associate is starting counselling sessions soon afterwards that are in direct correlation to these events. Then again, for too many parents "normality" is thrown out the window. When you have a sick or premature baby or a traumatic birth, the rule book is ripped from your hands and it seems someone is laughing cruelly. You have all the same tools as everyone else but something is missing that you cannot quite grasp. I imagine even the healthiest baby, smoothest birth and both fleeting of baby blues produces a confused, knackered, upset and bewildered parent. But tweak some factors a little more and it can feel like you are walking between nightmares and the best thing in the world. You know you are blessed, are grateful beyond belief, can tangibly reach true love...but that is only one half of it. And that fact casts you even deeper down a path of gloom, grief or blame. Sometimes all three.
I was first referred for counselling whilst Wriggles was still on the NICU. We were beginning to be on the home straight which adversely became the patch I began to fall apart. I could not fathom being able to care for my baby at home in the way the hospital did. I got nervous. I got emotional. I cried. lot. When I was trained in resuscitation and infant first aid, I broke down completely because it was too close to home to the CPR I'd had to try on my minutes-old daughter before the paramedics arrived. Then it was confirmed we would go home on oxygen. The sky fell in. Any notion of being able to turn our backs on prematurity, run for the hills or grasp in the dark for any kind of normal baby-magazine like existence was snatched and I was going to the dragged kicking and screaming into the acceptance.
Initially, I was not overjoyed about being counselled. It seemed like another thing to chalk up to failure. You can't even just have a baby? What sort of a mother are you? That first session I was very mechanical. I had got to the point of facts, just facts. Name. Age. Date of birth. Feelings? No, feelings are tied away. Locked away and thrown the key into the abyss. I don't recall a lot, but I do recall the kind lady saying with clarity at the end "you need to allow yourself to feel."
But I couldn't. I would have the odd breakthrough crying sessions, I would tell our story, I would go through the motions, but it was like there was a solid wall. I was talking but there was nothing behind the words. I would not let how I felt about what I was saying out. It was too dangerous. There was a torrent of emotion somewhere that could quite possibly destroy me. Then after we got home, my daughter got sick and then we came home again, I went downhill very fast. It was like a swift plummet, being winded in the gut. I did ask for help then because the only glimmer of rationality left told me that if I didn't things could get ugly and I was the sole person responsible for my daughter and owed it to her.
I was even less overjoyed about the idea of taking medication. To have to be medicated for being a mother? Despite gentle professionals saying but a mother who has been to hell and back, it just didn't sink in. But I took them, thinking what had I to loose. To my surprise, they helped to dent the cloak I had surrounded myself in. They let in tiny chinks of light and slowly rescued some energy, some drive, some routine... Alongside this I also saw a very well meaning counsellor who patted my knee, passed the tissues and said "Oh goodness me, I couldn't have done that" a lot, and also thankfully stepped up sessions with my original counsellor who had importantly been with me the whole time. She has seen Wriggles at the point of being critically ill, in NICU, at home, playing-she had seen the highs, lows and mundane of our lives. And that went a long way, not least is gaining my trust. She had also had her own premature baby twenty years ago and didn't need telling twice about what followed. She listened to me, said some very wise things and never once told me I was a bad person.
Did she fix everything? No. Did she make things more bearable? Very much so. She embarked on a long quest to try and stop me blaming myself and inflecting blame, guilt, remorse and turning these things into long strings of anxiety and fear. She didn't put a full stop to it all, but she did greatly stem the tide and genuinely seemed to care that I wasn't putting myself in torturous circles. The day before Wriggles' second birthday, she turned up at my flat with a birthday present and card despite not seeing her for months. I was so touched that she remembered and cared enough when essentially we are but a handful of her clients. It is little things like that which slowly help pick back up the pieces and restore your sanity bit by tiny bit. Couselling may not be a magic answer or quick fix but it is a service I believe that all parents or family members in difficult situations should be entitled to as just reaching out can remove some of the bricks of your burden. Without it, I fear I would have fallen very low and very badly. I don't know how things would be now if I hadn't have had that chance.
I wish I could say that presented with the tools of good counselling, the caring arms of supportive friends and family and a good overview of CBT that I am completely all done with the past. But this little blog is testament that I am not. Nothing is that simple. Things may be a lot better but there is always one foot still in the past, stuck in a puddle of murky memories. And sometimes I slip and fall straight back in and need a helping hand in climbing back out. All too quickly, the tendrils of anxiety, paranoia and remembrance can curl round your being until you are caught fast in a trap of fact and fiction and have to unravel what is reaction and what is irrational. These last weeks I have been struggling again, feeling the fight ebb out of me. I guess the difference is that I know this isn't forever because things have improved before and will again; not that it makes things feel any easier day to day until we have ridden this out. The mind is a powerful tool indeed.
I was first referred for counselling whilst Wriggles was still on the NICU. We were beginning to be on the home straight which adversely became the patch I began to fall apart. I could not fathom being able to care for my baby at home in the way the hospital did. I got nervous. I got emotional. I cried. lot. When I was trained in resuscitation and infant first aid, I broke down completely because it was too close to home to the CPR I'd had to try on my minutes-old daughter before the paramedics arrived. Then it was confirmed we would go home on oxygen. The sky fell in. Any notion of being able to turn our backs on prematurity, run for the hills or grasp in the dark for any kind of normal baby-magazine like existence was snatched and I was going to the dragged kicking and screaming into the acceptance.
Initially, I was not overjoyed about being counselled. It seemed like another thing to chalk up to failure. You can't even just have a baby? What sort of a mother are you? That first session I was very mechanical. I had got to the point of facts, just facts. Name. Age. Date of birth. Feelings? No, feelings are tied away. Locked away and thrown the key into the abyss. I don't recall a lot, but I do recall the kind lady saying with clarity at the end "you need to allow yourself to feel."
But I couldn't. I would have the odd breakthrough crying sessions, I would tell our story, I would go through the motions, but it was like there was a solid wall. I was talking but there was nothing behind the words. I would not let how I felt about what I was saying out. It was too dangerous. There was a torrent of emotion somewhere that could quite possibly destroy me. Then after we got home, my daughter got sick and then we came home again, I went downhill very fast. It was like a swift plummet, being winded in the gut. I did ask for help then because the only glimmer of rationality left told me that if I didn't things could get ugly and I was the sole person responsible for my daughter and owed it to her.
I was even less overjoyed about the idea of taking medication. To have to be medicated for being a mother? Despite gentle professionals saying but a mother who has been to hell and back, it just didn't sink in. But I took them, thinking what had I to loose. To my surprise, they helped to dent the cloak I had surrounded myself in. They let in tiny chinks of light and slowly rescued some energy, some drive, some routine... Alongside this I also saw a very well meaning counsellor who patted my knee, passed the tissues and said "Oh goodness me, I couldn't have done that" a lot, and also thankfully stepped up sessions with my original counsellor who had importantly been with me the whole time. She has seen Wriggles at the point of being critically ill, in NICU, at home, playing-she had seen the highs, lows and mundane of our lives. And that went a long way, not least is gaining my trust. She had also had her own premature baby twenty years ago and didn't need telling twice about what followed. She listened to me, said some very wise things and never once told me I was a bad person.
Did she fix everything? No. Did she make things more bearable? Very much so. She embarked on a long quest to try and stop me blaming myself and inflecting blame, guilt, remorse and turning these things into long strings of anxiety and fear. She didn't put a full stop to it all, but she did greatly stem the tide and genuinely seemed to care that I wasn't putting myself in torturous circles. The day before Wriggles' second birthday, she turned up at my flat with a birthday present and card despite not seeing her for months. I was so touched that she remembered and cared enough when essentially we are but a handful of her clients. It is little things like that which slowly help pick back up the pieces and restore your sanity bit by tiny bit. Couselling may not be a magic answer or quick fix but it is a service I believe that all parents or family members in difficult situations should be entitled to as just reaching out can remove some of the bricks of your burden. Without it, I fear I would have fallen very low and very badly. I don't know how things would be now if I hadn't have had that chance.
I wish I could say that presented with the tools of good counselling, the caring arms of supportive friends and family and a good overview of CBT that I am completely all done with the past. But this little blog is testament that I am not. Nothing is that simple. Things may be a lot better but there is always one foot still in the past, stuck in a puddle of murky memories. And sometimes I slip and fall straight back in and need a helping hand in climbing back out. All too quickly, the tendrils of anxiety, paranoia and remembrance can curl round your being until you are caught fast in a trap of fact and fiction and have to unravel what is reaction and what is irrational. These last weeks I have been struggling again, feeling the fight ebb out of me. I guess the difference is that I know this isn't forever because things have improved before and will again; not that it makes things feel any easier day to day until we have ridden this out. The mind is a powerful tool indeed.
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| My Happy Place |
Thursday, July 26
Piedro Boots
Today was our appointment with the Orthotics in the "Gait Lab" to assess if Wriggles needs additional support for walking and if so, what. Our physio had warned us that she was willing to take a hefty bet that she would be needing at least some support, whatever it was, so to be prepared to come away with something. She was not wrong; we have come away with an order for some pink Piedro boots.
"Piedro boots are orthotic shoes designed for children with disabilities
and/or children who require extra arch or ankle support .
They look similar to a normal boot but open closer to the
toes so they are easier to put on children particularly if their toes
curl. Piedros help to maintain
a good foot position for standing (and walking) and may be
tried before other orthotic devices such as AFOs are used."
I was pleasantly surprised that the styles of Piedro boots now are far from clumpy and hideous and "sensible" but are very child-friendly and practically funky. Judging by the chunky catalogue that the orthotics team possessed, they come in styles for every occasion and age range to suit the individual child. In our case, fuchsia nubuck boots.
They will be fitted in a few weeks to help the toe-clenching, ankle wobbling, wonky footedness and help control the variable muscle tone that appears to have lead to all of the above. I'm really glad we have an opportunity to try these boots before moving to anything more hardcore and I'm really really glad to have a supportive and proactive physio and a very competent community paediatrics team in my city who so far have been nothing but helpful and reassuring. Too many parents have to fight for help for their children and would trade in their right arm (and left one. And their leg) for some productive help or to get "in the system" to advantage their offspring. Having been born into the system and never having been straight forward enough to escape it, we are lucky to have always had someone to advocate for us because we've always needed some aspect of help or monitoring. And I really hope I do not sound ungrateful when I say this because I truly am anything but, but this in itself makes me a little bit sad. I love that my daughter is able to get help when she needs it, and I'm really glad that sometimes help can be bright pink and supportive, I just kind of wish we didn't need it in the first place. I will always take what is best for her, but a little bit of me that lives in the world where pre-Wriggles I dreamt of what it would be like to have children, wishes we could be in the Clarks shoes gang everyone else is in.
"Piedro boots are orthotic shoes designed for children with disabilities
and/or children who require extra arch or ankle support .
They look similar to a normal boot but open closer to the
toes so they are easier to put on children particularly if their toes
curl. Piedros help to maintain
a good foot position for standing (and walking) and may be
tried before other orthotic devices such as AFOs are used." They will be fitted in a few weeks to help the toe-clenching, ankle wobbling, wonky footedness and help control the variable muscle tone that appears to have lead to all of the above. I'm really glad we have an opportunity to try these boots before moving to anything more hardcore and I'm really really glad to have a supportive and proactive physio and a very competent community paediatrics team in my city who so far have been nothing but helpful and reassuring. Too many parents have to fight for help for their children and would trade in their right arm (and left one. And their leg) for some productive help or to get "in the system" to advantage their offspring. Having been born into the system and never having been straight forward enough to escape it, we are lucky to have always had someone to advocate for us because we've always needed some aspect of help or monitoring. And I really hope I do not sound ungrateful when I say this because I truly am anything but, but this in itself makes me a little bit sad. I love that my daughter is able to get help when she needs it, and I'm really glad that sometimes help can be bright pink and supportive, I just kind of wish we didn't need it in the first place. I will always take what is best for her, but a little bit of me that lives in the world where pre-Wriggles I dreamt of what it would be like to have children, wishes we could be in the Clarks shoes gang everyone else is in.
Sunday, April 22
Neonatal Charities
As well as large and vital charities like Bliss among others, many neonatal units up and down the country have their own smaller charity attached that supports both the unit itself paying for medical equipment ontop of the NHS budget to ensure the units remain cutting edge, contributing to research projects, looking after parent and family welfare, paying for extra staff and providing support for the families be they in for a day or 6 months.
My local neonatal unit is at the Royal Victoria Infirmary, Newcastle-upon-Tyne. Ward 35 houses the intensive care, high dependency and special care rooms that make up the unit. It cares for over 600 babies a year born anywhere in the Northern region and at any one time can take 34 babies. It is one of the bigger units in the UK and last year, won the Big Heart (by Mother & Baby magazine and Bliss) award for Neonatal Unit of the Year; not a prize taken lightly when you think of all the fantastic units that save lives every single day. It is by sheer luck that it is my local unit. After university, I applied for jobs liberally and it just so happened my first offer was in my university town of Newcastle so there I stayed in a city suburb, before my daughter came along very prematurely in a matter of a few months. Because of the size of the unit and the specialist Intensive Care it provides, it meant we did not have to be transferred, potentially many, many miles away like many families. Friday, April 6
Urgh
"Mummys aren't allowed to be ill." My Dad
They certainly aren't allowed to be ill when there is just one parent, an absence for 300 miles of family and your fall-back best friends are on holiday in London or Canada. Yesterday, I was caught utterly short by this predicament.
I have been exceptionally lucky and only be truly knocked out twice so far in my daughter's lifetime, but they are times I would really rather not repeat. When there is literally no one to step in, it is really tough. Not wanting to sound like a whinger, but surely if there was a benevolent force, single parents would be made immune to all bugs, viruses, lurgies and exhaustion at the pinnacle point of singledom?Wednesday, March 14
"Reassurance"
I am always surprised by a common reaction to prematurity and low birth weights. I'm not speaking for all or other premmy parents as they may not hold my views; everyone has their own opinions and anything surrounding personal experiences or children is so intensely intimate that we will all deal with situations and people very differently.
My daughter was born just under 28 weeks weighing 1090g (2lbs 5oz) which roughly is on the fiftieth centile.
"That's a really good weight."
"It's a really good gestation."
"It's really all plain sailing now isn't it?"
"Ah well, these things happen. It's fine now."
Now. Just because Wriggles was born at a good weight for her gestation, I do not count 1090g as a good weight.
Saturday, February 25
Breastfeeding, by a Bottle-Feeder
Oh, the vicious debate of motherhood. Breast or bottle.
It's a choice that in some circles can define you and your style and integrity of motherhood and parenting. I am always very surprised at the relatively small numbers of breastfeeding mothers given the promotion of it's well being for your baby and advice of organisations like the World Health Organisation.
Then again, I am one of the non-breastfeeders, although this decision was not deliberate but a result of some complicated circumstances that ended up with my milk drying up before I came to a firm decision. I am comfortable with the fact that I bottlefeed and it has suited me and my child as it means that as a single parent I could return to part-time work confident my child would still feed correctly and as she has grown older, her health requirements are a little outside the box and bottle feeding has allowed us some breakthrough with oral motor skills and a way of giving her a more suitable formula and medication.
It's a choice that in some circles can define you and your style and integrity of motherhood and parenting. I am always very surprised at the relatively small numbers of breastfeeding mothers given the promotion of it's well being for your baby and advice of organisations like the World Health Organisation.
Then again, I am one of the non-breastfeeders, although this decision was not deliberate but a result of some complicated circumstances that ended up with my milk drying up before I came to a firm decision. I am comfortable with the fact that I bottlefeed and it has suited me and my child as it means that as a single parent I could return to part-time work confident my child would still feed correctly and as she has grown older, her health requirements are a little outside the box and bottle feeding has allowed us some breakthrough with oral motor skills and a way of giving her a more suitable formula and medication.
Wednesday, February 15
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.
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"
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