18/52 A Little Monster

Holiday

Hallelujah! I have bitten the bullet and booked a flight to go on holiday.  I am shamefully ignoring all carbon footprints and flying to Exeter, as the prospect of 7 hours on a train with a toddler on my own plus buggy plus suitcase sent chills up and down my spine. But an hour and half in a whizzy aeroplane suits us fine, so we exchanged our pennies for a flimsy looking ticket on a budget airline which turned out to be slightly less budget after adding luggage, a seat, and a rather cheekily not-declared-at-first-infant-fare. However, it is done now and so for the first week of August, Wriggles and myself are intrepidly exploring East Devon to stay with my parents and godparents in Sidmouth and probably get rained on horrendously by the beach. 

I cannot wait (no sarcasm intended).

Sidmouth remains a special place in my heart and I am hoping it lives up to expectations to show to Wriggles and pass on some seaside magic. Every year since I was little (really little, as in an actual baby) my family would bundle into the car and drive all the way across the far south east to the far south west for a week in August. My father discovered the folk festival as a be-sweatered and long haired student at university years ago and after he met my mother, eagerly took her with him. It was the moment of truth: would she accept his eccentric hobbies? Luckily for him, she was a touch on the mad side too and has an obsession with the coast so instating it as an annual holiday suited her down to the ground. And then, in the fateful summer of 1987 came an event I would rather not think of. Sadly, it has been brought to my attention regularly by my family who think it is hilarious. As we would drive past a field on the outskirts of the town, one or both of my parents would gesticulate towards a tree. "There! That's where you were conceived! Hahaha!"
Not what you want to hear as a teenager.
While my parents immersed themselves in ill-advised morris or sticking-and-cutting-arts-and-sticky-crafts activities, I grew up over the years for one week in August in Devon from a small shy child to a curious teenager then young adult. With friends I saw annually I went on adventures, learnt why some if not all cider should be avoided, got propositioned by dodgy straw hatted students, fell in love for the first time (not with a dodgy straw hatted student) and slept under the stars. I have so many happy fond memories as well as acutely remembered grumpily sitting in my friend's van in a cagoul, wellingtons, six fleeces with a camping mug of coffee, watching the rain pound the tents. Likewise, I recall my friend hissing "Psssssssst, your tent is about to slide down the hill, quick!!" whilst I was blissfully not-sleeping and having to de-camp rather quickly in the very early and dark hours of the morning, jump into the van and help manoeuvre out of the quagmire that used to be a campsite. Although afterwards it seemed an adventure. Once I had wrung all my clothes out and drowned out the sounds of sodding morris bells.

I hope this year will be substantially drier and warmer. I haven't been back for several years; at least four if not five. I'm sure it will have changed and surprise me and maybe be completely different to how it is in my head. Still, it will be a holiday, a break, a new place. There will be donkeys, cream teas and buckets and spades. Oh, and beardy men jangling around with hankies. Damn, I'd forgotten about them.

We are going to go to the Sidmouth Donkey Sanctuary

Born Too Soon

I started blogging as a direct experience of parenting a premature baby. It has become my personal therapy and a way of connecting with other parents who have shakily stepped off the rollercoaster and are beginning to think 'what the hell do we do now!'. Prematurity took over my life as it was overwhelmed and blasted my mental state into what felt like space. I felt so anxious for my child, so guilty for what she had been through and so disconnected from the real world. Born spontaneously at home before the paramedics arrived, Wriggles arrived into the world at 27+6 weighing 1090g (2lbs 5oz) and although took a breath, then crashed. She was rushed to hospital whereby she was resuscitated. They used a new research method of "cooling" keeping the body temperature low to protect the brain. The fact she had cooled naturally in my draughty bathroom whilst waiting for the team and was still attached umbilically is what I have been told saved her life and brain function. She was then taken to the RVI Newcastle upon Tyne and stayed there for ten weeks. A large chunk of my blog is about prematurity and the experience in neonatal and the effects afterwards, so for this fantastic Tommy's campaign I have decided to hand over the reins to Mouse, who came into our lives on day 2 of Wriggles' life and kept watch by the incubator and has slept with her ever since.

My name is Mouse. I popped out of a carrier bag as Wriggles' First Toy bought by her grandparents on Wednesday 15th September, 2010. I was presented to Mama who felt me very tightly and closely. I could hear her heart thudding away as she pressed me to her, desperate to find comfort in the strange new world. Later that day, we traipsed down the corridor hand in paw to meet Wriggles. She was in the Red Area (Neonatal Intensive Care) and there were 4 incubators in the room and two nurses. She didn't have a name yet, just Baby Girl [surname]. By this point she had come off the ventilator and was on CPAP which was attached to her face with a little grey hat. The huge CPAP tube was nearly as big as her face. She wasn't very big; maybe a little bigger than I was and definitely thinner. My little stuffed arms and legs looked so chubby next to her bony limbs. But we looked at each other, beady eyes to beady eyes through the incubator, pressed against it. I'll look after you. I'll be here when your Mama cannot be. She trusted me with the biggest job of all to keep you safe and keep you loved. Because Wriggles was poorly I was not allowed inside the incubator as part of infection control, but I sat on the top or next to it. I kept Mama company during the long hours and hard times and helped her keep a diary. Her memory was so fuzzy I had to help prompt her a lot, and she would cling onto me as if I was her baby, as she couldn't do so with Wriggles. NICU was an odd place. There were always people everywhere and everything was conducted with speed and a sense of urgency whilst trying to maintain a blanket of calm, yet depsite the hustle and bustle it was very lonely.

First day in a cot

We spent a total of ten weeks in the neonatal unit. Other babies and their companions like me came and went. Most of the babies were born at a later gestation and spent far less time in. Some were there for a fortnight, some a little more. In the Green Room we graduated into, we got to know another extreme prem baby girl, E and her guardian toy Bear. Me and Bear got on well; long into the night we would whisper over the tops of the incubators and keep an eye on each others little people. One day, E had a nasty bradycardia and apnoea moment and went purple, needing stimulation. Bear stood poised in shock, willing E to regain breath. She needed some stimulation. Afterwards we were on a high alert, like guards waiting. It was a stark reminder how changeable things are even when they seem to go well.Only a few days later, Wriggles herself had a nasty turn twice in a row and was taken back to HDU to be kept a closer eye on. She had tests taken to see if there was an infection brewing. The HDU was less lively; although there were more doctors and nurses, the atmosphere was more somber than the nursery room which could be quite jovial. I missed Bear, who I could laugh with. Mama was much more worried after relaxing, and would keep vigil until her last metro home some nights. She would sit by the cot, watching Wriggles sleep. I think she wished she could swop places with me, and be cosied up next to Wriggles, touching her fragile skin. I would smooth it with my soft paws and let her clasp her tiny fingers round me. After a few days and an improvement, we were allowed back into the nursery but to our distaste, our 'spot' had been taken over and we were relegated next to the bins. Yuk!

Around 34-35 weeks

Everyone expected Wriggles to kick the oxygen habit she had developed. She had been so clever at coming off the ventilator and CPAP relatively quickly, it was a surprise when her oxygen requirements began to rise. The nurses kept trying, but within minutes the alarms would ring out. Bear gave me a sympathetic look over the room. E's feeding really took off, and she and Bear went home when we had been in around seven weeks. It was quite sad without them. Mama and E's mum used to talk merrily through the day and chat with the nurses. All the babies we knew had gone home, so it was just me, Wriggles and Mama. Wriggles was finally learning to suck and swallow and taking tiny amounts of bottles. Just 10ml at first daily, but we built it up. I was so proud! After the third air challenge failing, it was decided that she would go home on oxygen. Things got very busy with forms to sign, oxygen to order and Mama to calm down. She was taken off to learn resuscitation and first aid and talked through using oxygen. Before we knew it, it was time to room in. Mama looked so proud, wheeling the cot with me and Wriggles in. The three of us settled into our little room. I did some gymnastics while Wriggles napped-it was all just too exciting!

Rooming In

We finally came home on Monday 15th November at midday. Mama's friend R came with us and snapped pictures to put in an album to treasure. It was such a surreal day, walking out. I was tucked up with Wriggles in the carseat. Mama had found me a tiny new knitted hat so I could have something to keep me warm against the brisk November air. It was hard to imagine that when I had come in September it had been warm and still! Mama had brought Wriggles a furry suit with ears so we could match, and it was so big she looked swallowed up! She looked so confused going out. I whispered that it would be alright, that we were going somewhere where Mama would never have to leave us again.

Going Home

Too Exciting

So, settled at home we were in bliss being all together again. Every morning, Mama looked so dazed as though she couldn't believe her luck. I noticed a crushed photograph stuck to the wall by her bed-I guess it was the next best thing to sleep with when Wriggles was far away across the city. Since coming home, we have had lots of highs and some lows. We have had adventures like going to the park and learning to sit up and some scares like dashes to hospital where Mama would unceremoniously shove me in a coat pocket! Although I got a bit squashed, I was glad to come along for the ride. I started out life as being Wriggles' protector and guardian, and I don't intend to give that up easily. Even though she is now FAR bigger than I am and has learnt to stand up, giggle and play peekaboo, I will always look out for her and remember the humid, quiet nights as I watched her grow and develop as if still inside her Mama. She turned into a real little girl, from a scrawny newborn and I feel privileged to watch her fall asleep and wake up every single day.

At home, around 37 weeks

Growing up, 19 months old

Wriggles was one of the lucky ones. Preterm birth (before 37 weeks) is the number one cause of mortality for newborns and is the second leading cause of mortality in the under 5s, second only to pneumonia. Premature birth is one thing that is not specific to poorer countries, although economic and social circumstances do play a part. It is a worldwide problem and one that is one the rise. Every year, 15 million babies are born too early and of these, 1.1 million will sadly die. Many others will have substantial problems relating to prematurity. In the UK, there is a current rate of 7.8% of live births being premature and this is estimated to be increasing at a rate of 1.5%. The UK is ranked 46th out of 184 countries when looking at their premature birth rates. I personally found this surprisingly high, but then considering there are around 60,000 premature births per year maybe I shouldn't have been. All of this is frankly, rubbish and the really rubbish thing?

It could be prevented.

There are a known number of factors which increase premature birth that should be implemented either pre-conception or addressed as early as possible. Women and their carers need to be empowered with the right information to look after themselves and their developing children. No one wants to face the prospect of losing their child, so things need to step up to ensure that all women, across the world have a better chance of carrying to term. 15 million is too many. The Born Too Soon report is the first of it's kind, bringing international figures together and uniting in a new goal to halve the mortality figures by 2025, a goal championed by the UN.

 

 

Join in the Twitter party between 3-4pm today if you are in the UK, using the hashtag #borntoosoon tweeting with @tommys_baby.If you have written a post about premature birth or the Born Too Soon report, then linnk up at Not Even A Bag of Sugar.

A Tale of Two Halves

It always strikes me as shocking that in this day and age, 2012, there is still such a split in the world and such a marked difference in high-income and low-income countries. There are many complexities to this and the stark difference means there are often two very different sets of statistics.

Each year, some 15 million babies in the world, more than one in 10 births, are born too early. Of these, 1.1 million babies will sadly die. The tragedy is that of this number, 75% could be saved in developing countries with inexpensive care. For the smallest and sickest babies, intensive care is often unavoidable but it is not necessary for all preterm babies and there are many options that could be explored to save lives.

The figures from the report show the split between between countries. Of the 11 countries with preterm birth rates over 15 %, all but 2 are in sub-Saharan Africa. Preterm births account for 11.1 % of the world's live births, and 60% of them in South Asia and sub-Saharan Africa. 

In the poorest countries, on average, 12 % of babies are born too soon, compared to 9 % in higher-income countries. The problem of preterm births is not confined to low-income countries-the United States and Brazil both rank among the top 10 countries with the highest number of preterm births. The UK surprisingly also comes in only at 46th (7.8%)  in a poll of 184 countries premature birth rates per 100 live births.

In wealthy and developed countries, the increase in the number of preterm births are linked to the number of older women having babies, increased use of fertility drugs and resulting multiple pregnancies. In some developed countries, medically unnecessary inductions and Caesarean deliveries before full-term have also increased preterm births. In the developing world, the main causes of preterm births include infections, malaria, HIV, and high teenage pregnancy rates as the body is not yet fully ready to carry children of their own. Infections and malaria could be managed and prevented with better available healthcare and more frequent antenatal monitoring and education to both take care of expectant mothers and warning signs of preterm birth to watch out for. For any woman, it is all too easy to brush things off and think "Oh, it's nothing. There are more important things to worry about today" and we can all but imagine when these important things are pressures such as keeping a roof over your head.

In low-income countries, more than 90 % of extremely preterm (born before 28 weeks) babies die within the first few days of life, while less than 10 % die in high-income countries. That is such a huge difference. Having spent two months in a neonatal unit, it is heartbreaking when a child looses their fight. To think that in another country, to expect the majority not to pull through is a sobering thought. Too often we think of these premature babies as figures, as tiny helpless beings that are just not strong enough, not well enough, not grown enough. But each baby, around the world is that: a baby. A baby, a new life, a sign of potential. A loved child, a child with a family who care and will grieve. A person that will be remembered forever. This is not the same as debates about the ethics of termination when the foetus is barely more than cells, this is a baby born alive with the chance of making it.

Experts say that inexpensive, proven forms of care for premature babies could save at least three quarters of these babies in the developing world. These include:

• Antenatal steroid injections for mothers in premature labour, which cost $1 an injection. This helps develop immature foetal lungs and prevent respiratory problems; yet, in low-income countries, they are only available and provided for 10 % of those in need. This alone could save almost 400,000 lives of babies a year. They are given far more frequently in high-income countries and many parents put the survival and health of their premature baby down to receive either one or both of these corticosteroid injections.
  
• "Kangaroo care" where the infant is held skin-to-skin on the mother's chest to keep warm. The warmth is very important for premature infants. This could save 450,000 lives a year.
  
•  Antiseptic cream to prevent birth cord infection.
  
•  Antibiotics to prevent and fight infection, an important cause of neonatal death.
  

Ecuador, Botswana, Turkey, Oman and Sri Lanka have halved their neonatal deaths from preterm birth through improving care of serious complications like infections and respiratory distress. These interventions are particularly effective in preventing death in moderately premature (32-37 weeks) babies, which account for 80% of all premature births.

 "This report is not the last word, but an important next step," says Dr. Howson, who helped compile the report. "Both the report and the broad international constituency behind it offer a framework and set of clear actions to help accelerate global progress on preterm birth.”

The goal is to halve neonatal mortality rates by 2025, and commit to furthering research and promoting better care pre-conception and in the antenatal period. As the saying goes, knowledge is power and the more tools we have to empower women and the health professionals caring for them, the more we can put premature birth and mortality back into the past where it belongs.

Decisions decisions

I have always been rubbish at making decisions. Always. Ever since I was a little girl, I have been terminally hopeless at making any sort of choices and generally happy to tag along with what someone else decides. The only exceptions are things I passionately believe in and very personal things. Most small things, I'll certainly put my tuppence in, but will often get swept up with other things. Partly, I'm quite laid back, and partly I'm hopeless at articulating what I want. I find it doesn't help that I also have a stubborn set of ideals and morals which I often at odds with the real world, and the confusion batters me into submission or delaying everything.

The best decision I have ever made is Wriggles. I had never even vaguely considered being a single parent, and when she was first born and my mind was in a state of complete shock, all I could think of was that she needed and deserved the love, time and materialism of a traditional, secure and loving family. Until the shock subsided and my own mind crept back out into the sunlight, it didn't cross my mind that I could give her the love of two parents and try to make ends meet with everything else. For a while, I was desperately sad but adamant in that I could not and would not be able to provide. I knew people with far less than I had had babies and raised happy, healthy children but for whatever reason, I simply could not see myself in that role. I was determined that someone else would be best for her. I would go home late at night after spending the days by her incubator and read up on success stories of adoption and foster care, and cry at the thought I might not see my girl grow up with my own eyes. Not see her learn to giggle and be an angel in her first Nativity play, or make her birthday cakes and spend hours washing her socks. By this point I had come to terms with my surprise preemie and cautiously began to fall in love, but I was at odds with what I thought I believed in. I could not make a decision and every single day, almost hourly, veered between thinking through the options. Eventually it got to a point where I could not contemplate signing legal papers denying my motherhood; the thought of saying goodbye for good made me feel physically sick and hysterical and I could not even think of the notion without ending up in floods of tears. I remember vividly being told that there was a foster placement if I wanted it, and the fingers of icy dread gripping my heart and freezing my life on the spot. Oh god, what have I done... I had still been spending all my days with tiny Wriggles, doing her cares and holding her close, learning to love her and fight for her with a passion that took me by surprise. I only felt alive when she was with me, the rest of the time I was just existing. Suddenly, the very real contemplation of this being for nothing and loosing what had become most dear to me was too much. I knew in an instant that I would do whatever it took but that I had to leap into the void of complete unknown and pledge my life to this tiny, sick being and battle with every fibre of my being to make this, my little family, work. And so that is what I did. There were no more questions about woulds and coulds and anyone or anything that got in my way or threatened my daughter or me would have errr, me to deal with. Honest: I can be (a little bit) scary when I want to be.

I wish I could say that this experience has changed my indecisiveness for good. Alas it hasn't! I do find things easier now, but will still run back and forth thinking a thousand what-ifs. I can't even begin to say yes or no without looking at every angle, twice, and every outcome. Even if it is as simple as 'tea of coffee'!

Tomorrow I have to meet my boss and hear about the staffing restructure at my work. All I know so far is that we all need to step up and take on more responsibility. I suspect this means as well as more work, more hours, more flexibility and generally less faffing about with paperclips. I am torn-I want to be the provider so my daughter grows up proud, but having had the last few weeks off I feel more alive and calmer. My pace of life has slowed down and though it is tough and drained being locked indoors against a rain lashed outside while the toddler shrieks at getting stuck standing times and needs rescuing approximately 8364543931 times in an afternoon, I would take that hands down over filing invoices. Several mothers I know are now ending maternity leave and returning to work and for some reason, the thought of leaving a job feels selfish. I don't even know for certain what the new job description will hold, how financially stable or otherwise I would be not working so need to do some thinking and listening. I'm trying not to get ahead of myself and to prioritise what is most important. Value baked beans for tea everynight in exchange for endless afternoons on the swings? Or being able to go for lunches out and having to brush my hair three mornings a week?

WHY can I not make a bloody decision!

Oh No

Oh no. That time has come. The time to roll out and your best "NO" and really mean it. Every time. Continually. Even when you are shattered and just need some peace.

No.

No.

NO.

I'm practising but it appears to fall on deaf ears. Or works for say, two seconds before the culprit tries to resume whatever has attracted the no in the first place. Wriggles is now just shy of 20 months old, 17 months corrected and developmentally anywhere between 12-17 months depending on which consultant or professional is talking to you. 

She is an absolute titch and is commonly mistaken for having just turned one. This isn't a problem itself, the issue with being small is that when we are in group situations, everyone imagines that she is a younger more fragile baby and their hulking toddler is about to shatter her innocent peace. In the vast majority of cases, Wriggles is always the eldest and is just as likely to swipe whatever they are enjoying and not give it back. When all the babies were younger it didn't seem that important. All babies I have met operate under 'the grass is greener on the opposite side'-whatever your friend has is ALWAYS better even if it is exactly the same. Little baffling babies clonking rattles on each others heads and stealing each others socks is quite sweet. I feel though that me and Wriggles have got to the point where I need to enforce sharing a bit more militantly. In the last week she has tried to push another little girl and grab people's clothing to try and move whoever is in her way to what she wants. She is most of the time a very placid, sociable and sweet-natured little thing and it was a bit of a shock to the system to realise that like every other child, she also has a split personality whereby she can be a terror when she wants to. 

I hope I'm not being blind in that I am sure it is just a phase and not the beginnings of a selfish thug emerging. I am very conscious of the fact that she is and is going to be an only child from a single parent family. Both these things conjure up a stereotype of children who can range from precocious to unruly and have a complete lack of discipline. We all know that things are never this black and white and for every badly-mannered child from such a background there is an angelic one and that any child from any background can grow up into a nightmare that even Super Nanny would shrink from. I so want to get it right; she has been such a good baby so far I do not want to spoil things or her, and by default bring up someone who people will nudge and whisper about and hesitate over inviting to birthday parties.

Wriggles has always been quite bold and happy with rough and tumble. She is only now beginning to have a shy side which is normally only reserved for when she is teething and feels a bit rubbish. She is very much her own person and is resilient and knows what she does and doesn't want. Some things, like feeding, I have to tread carefully over and let time take it's course, but I am wary about applying this approach to everything. Over the last few weeks, I have been watching fellow parents with keen interest to see how they handle stressful situations. Obviously I only have insight into this in public and am only privy to what they choose to share, but it is useful to observe different styles. I have always had a make-it-up-as-you-go-along approach and as both Wriggles and I have been happy coasting along, have been lucky in that setting down a few ground rules and routine and otherwise being fairly laid back has not thrown up any problems. She does not always demonstrate a brilliant grasp of understanding, though is beginning to be more clear in this arena and of course by now I am able to second guess an awful lot and know her inside out. As there is just us in the house, I have for better or worse, a 'what's yours is mine' approach which has been good in building up her confidence to explore things and pique her curiosity which has helped development. Now she is a little older though, I think I am going to have to set out some slightly firmer rules about what is and isn't allowed and try and enforce the concept of sharing and patience. Having no prior experience of children, I have no idea if I am barking up the wrong tree too late or too soon.

All parenting tips welcome on a postcard!

Out and About

When Wriggles was a little un, getting out about was pretty simple (as simple as juggling a baby and all their accessories can be). I could pop her in the pram and whizz off. Now she is crawling and much more awake, alert and showing far more personality, getting out and about is more of a compromise. I sympathise; I can;t remember my buggy days but it looks no fun being wheeled around when you just want to be investigating your surroundings on all fours. No longer can I get away with a trip to Salisbury's being stimulating enough to satisfy a morning out.

So what do you do with a baby who just wants to wriggle everywhere??!

The obvious choice is soft play centres, which are beginning to come into their own. They seem best earlier in the day in the middle of the week as Wriggles becomes very overwhelmed and distressed when they are noisy and full of bigger children. One near me has a sensory room also which I was very impressed with. Unfortunately Wriggles was slightly less impressed and finds it all a bit too much.  They are easier to go to if we go as part of a group outing so she recognises other babies and parents around and can attention seek if she so wishes! I suspect as she gets older they will become a much more used haunt. 


Parks are a favourite on a sunny day, or basically a day when it is not hurricane conditions. When there was nicer weather, we would decamp there with a picnic blanket, sun hat (wishful thinking), lunch, a spare feed, a few toys and books and a parasol and while away a few hours investigating twigs, dirt, grass and the icing on the cake: swings. We found swings relatively late as she was not to be trusted in supporting herself for what felt a long time, but now we have found them there is no stopping us! When we approach the little playground at our local park, Wriggles gets so excited and starts waving her hands and dribbling with anticipation. It is far sweeter than it sounds!


Farms and animal centres so far have drawn little interest as she is more interested in looking at the other small children and trying to either hide in my coat or wriggle out of my grip. Cultural places unfortunately are also echoey which means they are ideal places for her to try out her voice. I can live with her hooting but other visitors tend to get a little miffed that their intellectual peace is being disturbed.

Thankfully, I have recently found that two of the museums in the city centre have designated pre-school areas which are our current haunts and life savers. As big public places they have reasonably good access and facilities and both have cafes afterwards for a caffeinated treat-for me not Wriggles that is. The Laing Gallery and the Great North Museum in Newcastle are both operated by Tyne and Wear Museums which run several places across the Tyne and Wear. The Laing houses several floors of art and antique pieces dating back from around the seventeenth century until the modern. It has several local exhibits and is quite traditional. It has a great area dedicated to under 5s and has an adjoining area for older children to craft. Both are next to the cafe so an easy trip afterwards and has a secure gate to stop any minxes escaping. The area has an array of toys and books as well as some interactive art activities. One of the best, and our favourite, is a colour mixing bubble lamp. Yes-HOW good?! There is a colour wheel next to it, and as you press different combinations the lamp 'mixes' the colours. Such a great way for more aware children to learn and for younger children and babies to get sensory stimulus and a 'reward' for practising fine motor skills like pressing buttons.
The Great North Museum is my favourite; it is like a museum of curiosities. Among the dinosaurs, Ancient Egyptians, remnants of Hadrian's Wall and sparkly things, there is a myriad of stuffed animals. A huge exhibition of them, some in glass cases and some suspended in mid air or open to see. The really are a spectacle and a wonderful resource for children to see them up close, even if they are dead. The pre-school area here is called the Mouse House and is a dedicated room which boasts story times on Thursday mornings and every other Saturday. There are some simple exhibits for children and a tree trunk filled with sparkling stars, puppets and dressing up, books and a soft play style giant cheese with holes to jump down. It can get very busy, but at quiet times is fabulous and much time can be spent whiled away. It is very easy to walk straight into the main museum from there as well if it all gets a bit too much. Best of all, both places are free!




What do you or did you do with energetic and opinionated little people not quite walking yet?

Life on the Children's Ward

We have spent a fair amount of time hanging around in hospitals. They are tiring places. When we escape, people often expect us to be serene and well rested. Well, Wriggles might be but I am normally frazzled! Getting back into the swing of life can be a bit of a chore when you just want to curl up on the sofa. Luckily right now we are going through a good patch, after most of April being on the nasty and testing side.

Reasons why being in hospital is wearing:

1. They are normally either quite hot or freakishly cold. Assuming it is the former, then after a few days of smugly marching around in shorts and flipflops, you feel unnaturally sleepy due to oppressing heat and lack of fresh air. You feel permanently dozy and of course the minute you drop off, the doctors will finally start their rounds.

2. Well would YOU like being a zoo exhibit? Even if you are lucky enough to be in a cubicle, there are continually people charging in and out. Many for good reason but this doesn't make the utter lack of privacy any less infuriating. Like the above point, if you dare the lock the bathroom door to get dressed or go to the toilet, you will miss the one meeting of the day you have been waiting for. Just to enhance all zoo-like feelings, the nurses like to point all equipment with reading to face the corridor and nurses station. Although this is useful for them, it does mean that every bugger who so much as saunters past will goggle into your room.

3. Whoever got a good night's sleep a) on a camp bed b) without a proper duvet c) with people banging in and out every few hours to administer drugs and record observations? Who knew so many things could go beep?

4. If your child is connected to a series of beeping equipment, the likelihood is they are quite poorly. That is worrying for you. Even if you know they will be fine, it does not take away from the fact you are anxious, worried, scared and exhausted from all these. You might also be angry with you know, life. These intense feelings are energy sapping. And don't say relax. That is neither helpful nor possible.

5. Recounting medical histories approximately 6532971 times in one admission really addles your brain to the point you are convinced you are wittering gibberish and must have made some of it up. If there are bad memories attached to said histories, it is quite probable you will struggle with confronting these on a daily, often more frequent basis.

6. Lack of nourishing food. I am yet to come across a parent who ever consumed their five a day whilst in hospital, without outside catering and a bottomless wallet. The main food groups for your duration are caffeine (plural), sugar, carbohydrates and whatever looks least congealed from the canteen or food trolley. You also loose track of meal times for yourself and either end up having dinner at 10pm after finally settling a poorly child to sleep and meeting the night shift before being able to briefly sneak out the ward or get to 10pm and fall asleep.

7. While your child naps (if they are able to) or is knocked out by drugs, a popular past time is reading. If you can read the 300 page intellectual book in your bag, you may come from another planet. Often the only reading matter available is out of date gossip magazines or children's books. Neither of these are horrendously problematic but do have a tendency to turn your brain to mush. After the last stay I had, I had re-read two Jacqueline Wilson stories and knew all the names of The Only Way Is Essex cast, which I have never before or after watched. I have not been able to concentrate since on a grown up book as my reading age and attention span has plummeted.

8. It is exhausting trying to cheer up a (justifiably) whining poorly child. They will require your undivided attention and total love. In return for reading and re-reading their favourite book about 400 times in an hour, they may share their virus or vomit down your last clean t-shirt. On rare occasions, they fall asleep on you rather sweetly.

9. Cabin fever is unavoidable. Paediatric wards are not babysitting services. If you would not leave an 18 month in her cot whilst you popped down to the supermarket, you cannot leave them here to go for a walk. Obviously if they are (fast) asleep or you can collar a play nurse, friend, partner, relative or gain permission then you can escape temporarily. Key word: temporarily. However, the over priced coffee shop downstairs never felt so liberating. You do feel like you have mislaid a limb though. The only solution I have found is to hum the Muppet Treasure Island 'Cabin Fever' song to lift spirits:

10. Worried relatives and friends expect constant updates to save them from worry. If you are unlucky, this can spark off unkind words when someone criticises you for leaving it over 12 hours or longer between something happening and you knowing. Managing family politics ontop of everything is not for the faint hearted. Telephone trees are ideal for stressful situations. So is compassion to yourself: right now, focus on the moment. Everything else can wait. Except sometimes it doesn't. If you are struggling, do ask for help. Fighting friends can fall over themselves to keep the small stuff ticking over if it helps. It doesn't make you any less brave to accept kindness.

I am eternally grateful to all medical staff and this is not intended as any form of criticism of the NHS or hospital protocol. 

17/52 New Skills