29 September 2013

Letter to Daisy - Life Lemons

I’ve been super busy this weekend helping organise my brother’s surprise birthday party with team M&M; that’s his best boyfriend and the GF of course! Daisy is not too keen on Uncle D having a girlfriend and recently she has been horrified at the fact.  She tells me SHE is Uncle D’s girlfriend!  It’s been busy busy busy over the past 48hrs and I must say we did a great job, Uncle D was a very happy boy.  Just a short letter this month as I think I’m still in need of some sleep!


My Miracle Flower,

You are going to be 4 soon! I can’t quite believe it.  It took so long to get you and now you are almost FOUR.  My regrets for the past year would have to be not taking as much pictures of you as I would have liked.  My hopes and dreams for the coming year is to change this.  Maybe I’m just trying to give you a break as I can have my camera out like I’m part of the paparazzi chasing a super star.  You’re my wee super star and I guess I just want to have lots of memories of the fun stuff, because we have lots of fun together and when we do, we do it in style!  High tea in five star hotels is good, but travelling on Thomas the Tank engine is a bit of an adventure right?  

You see life is precious. Your life is precious to me, partly because of the way in which you were brought into the world and the struggles faced to get you.  My life is precious because of the struggles I have to stay in the world with you.  We have a lot in common you and me.  I loved you from the moment I saw you and you are my favourite girl.  I do wish I could have more patience at times.  You are a bright little girl and you know what you want but because you are young you get frustrated quite easily.  I know exactly how you feel because I am that person too.  I want everything done yesterday.  When I was at school I was told I needed to work on my tolerance of others and I’m still working on it. 

We’ve had to deal with some more changes this year and sometimes I’m not so sure how you’ve coped and I hope there’s no long term damage, but our new life is definitely better.  Many years ago a colleague made comment that, no matter what happens I will always come up smelling of roses.  He was right you know, I think he was trying to make a derogatory comment but I laughed with the knowledge that he was a fool. 

The moral of the story - When life gives you Lemons, make Lemonade!




Goofing about when Mummy is trying to take a serious picture!

Boarding the train with GG

Looking at Thomas close up


24 September 2013

Circle of Life


I’ve been planning to make you guys wait a few months for the next chapter of this story, but I thought, oh what the hell.  In my last blog I shared with you that we needed IVF and that the waiting list was long.  This is the next part of the infertility story, which follows on from The Great Sperm Race


Mr H had positive news for me that day in the hospital.  The answer to my plight of my time being now was, that if there were a medical need for someone to be expedited up the list then it would happen!  I can’t begin to tell you the relief I felt hearing that.  An appointment was made for us at the fertility clinic to discuss further and an action plan was devised that I would start treatment in six months.  I guess I was a little disappointed that it couldn’t happen straight away but this was to give me time to prepare myself physically.   I was told I would have to undergo an ultrasound of my heart to make sure it was strong enough to cope with carrying a pregnancy to term.  I would have to get fit to increase my lung capacity to the best it could possibly be and I would have a fitness test before commencing treatment.  I had that familiar carrot dangling above my nose feeling again.  It was stressful knowing I had to fulfil a criteria to get my baby and it weighed on my mind but I was focused 100%.  I wanted this and I was going to get it come hell or high water, but in the back of my mind I was thinking about those awful people out there getting pregnant without a care in the world.  You know, the ones that take drugs, drink alcohol and smoke knowingly putting their child at risk.  Where the hell was their test? 

We were invited along to an open night at the fertility centre and there were over 100 people listening to the talk on what IVF is and what the success rates were for the Aberdeen clinic.  Everybody was in that room for the same reason but I wondered what if you wanted to keep it private, but you knew somebody that was there.  I looked around the room and came to the conclusion that for many of them, they would never have a baby.  The success rate was dependent on so many factors, your age was the biggest one, women under 35 years old stood the best chance of success and I knew I would be one of them.    I discovered at that meeting that embryos don’t like perfumed soap and products that most of us use everyday.  In preparation for the IVF we both changed our washing and grooming habits for the 6 weeks of the treatment.  I felt like I’d been taking folic acid for at least two years so I had that covered.  My husband went on vitamins specifically for reproductive health.  I did what I had to do with the hoops I’d been made to jump though and treatment was due to start in January 2009 but it didn’t go ahead.  I was disappointed to learn that Mr H had planned to travel to India and was concerned that he would be away at the crucial part of my treatment, so with regret he postponed and I didn’t start until February.  He wanted to make sure that he would head the specialist team that would take me through the IVF treatment and I will be forever grateful that he made that decision.  I don’t think I fully understood what was going to happen to me and I didn’t think too much about it, nor did I look at what it involved because in the day and age of internet it would be relatively easy to find out. 

We arrived at our first appointment at the fertility clinic and I was told that I was going to have an ultrasound of my ovaries.  I thought ok, no problem I can do that.  I untucked my clothes, lifted up my top and glanced across at the ultrasound machine, it looked slightly different to the ones I’d seen previously for check ups of my liver and kidneys.  I turned my head and looked the nurse straight in the eye and said, “this is not an ultrasound of my abdomen is it”?  She said no, it’s a vaginal ultrasound.  With a lump in my throat, I gulped as that smear fear started to engulf my body but I quickly calmed myself down because lets face it, if I was going to go through IVF I was going to have to overcome this.  I just said to the nurse, look I have a vaginal examination phobia so let me relax and don’t talk to me when you are doing it or I will just tense up trying to speak back.  Then we started to laugh as the nurse got the machine ready.  The probe that was going to be inserted into me looked like a dildo, however it was more clinical looking and was cream in colour and smooth in appearance.  The nurse then opened a drawer and took out something that looked like a condom.  It was in a square wrapper just like a condom and my husband and I snorted laughing like school kids as the nurse said “it’s called a probe cover”.  We looked at each other and lip synched “probe cover”, then we winked.  I did say this fertility stuff wasn’t for the faint hearted did I.  I wasn’t sure if we were going to manage to stay calm because then the nurse put the probe cover over the probe just like those demonstrations they do in schools now with condoms and bananas.  She then picked up the ultrasound gel.  It was pure hospital porn, as the nurse squirted the gel over the probe and the probe cover.  Next she took the probe in her hand, griped the probe and started moving her hand up and down to spread the gel.  We were in absolute stitches laughing at this point and I knew if I couldn’t stop laughing there was no way she was going to manage to do the examination on me as when I laugh, I cough and muscles tense up.  Again I calmed myself down and hubby got himself on the other side of the curtain, mainly to stop eye contact between us.  However, he was also a little squeamish and needed time to adjust to the examination experience too.  It was over relatively quick, it was really to just measure my ovaries as they would be monitored over the coming months.   

On the 20th of February after attending the clinic for over a year, we were finally due to start treatment.  After another routine vaginal ultrasound I was shown how to inject the hormones into me.  I felt my eyes rolling being shown how to put a needle onto a syringe and how to break open the glass bottles of medication.  I’ve dealt with needles and medication for many years but I’ve never actually had to stick a needle in my skin and that was a bit weird.  IVF is not without risk and it’s possible that your ovaries can react to the medication causing Ovarian Hyperstimulation Syndrome, which can serious.  In the initial stages of IVF treatment, the drugs being injected first are to tell the Pituitary gland in the brain, which controls the reproductive system, to stop what it’s doing.  Then after about six days I had to inject another drug, which fired things up again.  This is so the doctors know exactly what stage in my cycle I am at so they could control it.  I had to inject into the stomach or thigh and the drug must be given at the same time everyday.  I let my husband have a go at being the nurse, it was nice to involve him in the process and with the injections being stingy I felt I was resisting and dragging it out doing it myself.  While all this is going on at home, the clinic will be monitoring the ovaries by vaginal ultrasound every two days and was taking blood samples every week to measure hormone levels.  This whole process with the injections takes about 5 weeks.  The drugs stimulate the growth of eggs and the follicles in which they grow are measured.  Once they are at the required size another drug is given to mature them, and get the body to release them into the follicle but this is a carefully timed injection because if given to early or too late the eggs may not be right.  You also don’t know how many eggs will be retrieved.  It really is an emotional rollercoaster. 

During my treatment my Grandfather had become sick and was in hospital.  It was an unwritten rule in our family that I did not visit him if he was in hospital because he had a lung condition and that it would be risky for me having contact with him.  Especially as I was going through the IVF it was even more important for me to stay well.  However about a week before the egg recovery I did become unwell and I needed antibiotics, but I held off until the eggs were out so they had the best chance of being healthy and not take the risk of damaging them with antibiotics.  On the 26th March 2009 we went into hospital for the egg retrieval.  I drove us down to the hospital in my dinky pink car and I was nervous but excited.  I put on my lucky diving t-shirt, the same one I wore for my fitness test a few weeks earlier. Normally the egg retrieval would be carried out by two doctors in the fertility centre treatment room, but I had a team of four doctors and one nurse down in the Maternity Hospital Operating Theatre.  This was a safety precaution so that if anything went wrong with my lungs, we had the right people on hand to deal with it.   Mr H did a quick check with labour ward to make sure all was well and there were no signs of any women needing an emergency c-section anytime soon.  When labour ward gave the all clear we were able to start.   I was sedated but conscious throughout the procedure and I remember getting up onto the bed wearing my hospital gown and no pants almost trying to do it without flashing anyone.  But hey, that’s what they were there to look at so no point being all shy.  My husband sat beside me and was kitted out in his very own surgical wear and he thought he looked like a doctor.  He even told me he thought people in the waiting room must have been thinking he’s a real trendy doctor with all his tattoos on his arms.  I don’t remember too much about the procedure, but what they do is use a transvaginal ultrasound to guide a needle through the back wall of your vagina, up to your ovaries.  The needle is then used to aspirate the follicle, or gently suck the fluid and oocyte from the follicle and they are placed in a test tube.  This is where the “test tube baby” phrase originates.  There is one oocyte per follicle and these oocytes will be transferred to the embryology lab for fertilisation.  As the procedure was drawing to an end the anesthetist woke me up by gradually withdrawing the sedation drug and I glanced across to my husband who was holding my hands.  I was taken back up to the fertility clinic for monitoring before I was allowed to go home.  Once we got back to the fertility clinic the embryologists got to work to see how many eggs they retrieved and we had FIVE.  My husband was then required to do his bit and provide the semen for the next stage.  Only this time he had to hand it over himself, but by now he was fully involved and it didn’t bother him.  The embryologist washes the sperm in the lab and selects the “best looking” sperm to be introduced to the egg in the culture dish and round 10,000 sperm will be battling it out to get inside the egg.  The culture dishes are then incubated and after 12-24 hours they are inspected for signs of fertilisation.  We were allowed to go home after an hour or so but I was told that I couldn’t drive.  Knowing instantly what this meant for my husband, I glanced across and sniggered laughing as he was trying to take in what the nurse was saying.  I think he must have been saying to himself “OMFG I have to drive a frigging baby pink smartcar fortwo home in broad daylight”.  And he did!

I got home and took it easy; it was going to be a tense 24hrs.  Tomorrow we would be called to tell us if any of the eggs had fertilised.  I got up the next day, still a bit on edge because if this didn’t work it would all end today.  All the hopes and dreams would come crashing down.  I looked out the window and saw my Grandma’s car pull up outside our house, but my mum got out of the car.  My Gran was nowhere to be seen and I instantly knew something was wrong.  I opened the door and my Mum was clearly upset.  There on the doorstep, she struggled to get the words out, but I knew what she said.  Your Granda has died.  I fought back the tears as I was more shocked, because I didn’t realise he was that unwell.  I had also not seen him for over two weeks.  I cried for a few minutes but I couldn’t let my body get upset, I had to stay focused because if those little eggs fertilised they were going back into me the following day, regardless.  About an hour after my mum arrived with that devastating news the lab called to say that 4 of the 5 eggs had fertilised and now they were being monitored.  We were booked in for implantation the following day.  Some people may think it silly but I’ve often thought, did he die so I could have my baby.  It seems really spooky that he died during the night, the same night as those eggs and sperm were being incubated in the lab.  The next day we were told that of the 4 eggs that did fertilise only 3 of those were good enough to be implanted.  One embryo in particular stood out in the lab and that was the one that was going to be transferred to my womb.  In embryology terms, it was the best it could possibly be, we had a Grade 5 on a 3-day embryo.  The lab was absolutely delighted!  The embryo transfer was the final part of the treatment; today it was make or break.  We arrived at the clinic on Saturday morning, the day after my grandfather passed away and the clinic atmosphere was serene.  This time I had my treatment in the fertility centre treatment room.  I got changed into my hospital gown and Mikey was back into his surgical scrubs, yeah pretending he was a doctor again (we did have photos and I wish I could find them for you guys) After years and years of the same jokes, I kinda had a “whatever” attitude to his sense of humour and I’m sure he thought I was negative a lot of the time but I didn’t mean it like that.  That was just my sense of humour.  I got up onto the bed and put my legs in the stirrups, I had become a pro with all this poking about down in my lady bits.  I really didn’t care anymore, but the instruments table looked like they could have been used in medieval torture.  My husband up until now had the luxury of being at the head end of business but now he had a full view.  There was a doctor in the treatment room and the lab could be seen through a glass room divider.  The doctor inserted the clamp into me just like you would get in a smear test.  She swabbed and cleaned my insides so that the embryo had the best chance of being accepted by my body.   When the doctor was ready the embryologist came out of the lab and passed the doctor a syringe with a long catheter attached.   This then gets passed up through the vagina and into the uterus.  It was popped in and that was it, legs were closed and I went back through to the recovery suite to lie down.  My husbands face was a picture.  I wondered how this man who had picked up body parts in the 1998 Omagh boming could be squeamish.  I wondered how the hell he managed in the Army being one of the battalion first aiders.  He just said quietly, “it’s different when it’s someone you love”.  That’s one thing I did know about him, if we ended up with a baby in our arms after all this I knew that baby was WANTED, was really WANTED and there was no question about that whatsoever.  After about an hour we left with the pregnancy test I had to do in two weeks and drove home, we took our campervan this time so he didn’t have to drive the pink car.  I wasn’t told I had to go to bed, but I just decided that’s what I was doing and I wasn’t going to move.  We were home by 11am and I stayed in bed until 7pm.  He adopted the role of nursemaid and I was waited on hand and foot.  He was pretty good like that.

I think the hardest part of the IVF treatment is, surviving the TWO WEEK WAIT.  This is how long you have to wait before carrying out a pregnancy test.  I guess I had other things to think about, as we had to bury my Grandfather.  All the family met up for lunch the following day, it was the first time we’d all been together since the news of Granda.   I’m not a big fan of funerals and I generally as a rule don’t go to them.  Some I’ve regretted not going to but my own mortality is usually right at the forefront of my mind and that’s what stops me going.  I felt my Grandma needed this pregnancy just as much as me as it would be a reason for her to carry on living.  I’d managed to avoid countless funerals for over three years but I had a responsibility this time to not let sadness consume me.  After all, I was due to take a pregnancy test in a few days.  Something that would change my life forever.



Elton John - Circle of Life




17 September 2013

The Great Sperm Race



Having explored the journey and the soul searching in making the decision to have a child, I felt under enormous pressure to conceive.  While I did feel supported with the weight of the world on my shoulders, my husband found solace texting another woman.  This story is a follow on from blog post amuse-bouche.  We were about to embark on a pretty major life event, but didn’t realise quite how difficult it was going to be.


We already had genetic testing before we were married to see if my husband was a carrier of the Cystic Fibrosis (CF) gene.  It’s a recessive gene, 1:25 of the population carry it and many would be unaware.  In the area where we live, they only test for the forty most common mutations of the disease, meaning there was still a small chance of passing on an uncommon strain to our child.  In fact at the present day, I believe there are 1800 known mutations of CF.   Each parent has to pass on a faulty gene,  I know I have two as I got one from my mother and one from my father, so I have Cystic Fibrosis.  Now if I were to have any children they will automatically get one faulty gene from me, making them a carrier but not affected by the disease.  If the father of my children is not a carrier, we would not have any children with CF. However, if the father of my children did carry the faulty gene; there is a 50/50 chance of the child having CF, apposed to the odds of 1:4 if I were just a carrier.  Thankfully our test came back negative, of course as I explained above they couldn’t rule it out completely.  But, I felt confident in myself that the result was a positive step forward. 

It’s funny how you spend a great deal of your life trying not to get pregnant and then when you actually are trying, it sometimes doesn’t happen as fast as you thought it should.  The baby thing was just not happening for various reasons so I decided that it might be a good idea to get ourselves checked out, to see if there was any underlying problems because there can be CF related fertility issues.   As human beings it’s natural that we desire to have a family of our own one day and the thought of that not being a possibility can cause a great deal of heartache.   I’m not alone in thinking it can become an obsession for women trying to conceive because we believe that this is the one thing we are supposed to be able to do.  When I found out friends or family were expecting, I was really low.  As the time dragged, the feeling low turned into something else and it’s natural to curse and wonder why irresponsible people can get pregnant by accident or how a drug addict is allowed to have a baby.  Everyone deals with things in their own way but having spoken to a number of girls facing infertility now, almost all felt some level of failure, frustration, distress, disappointment, the list is endless. The road ahead was long and many couples experiencing infertility have to go through many tests to determine the root of the problem.  Some are straightforward, but others are extremely invasive and unpleasant.  Not everyone has the same series of tests because the follow up test is determined by what they find on the previous one.  In the early stages, they are looking to see if you are ovulating and if the sperm are healthy.  You can buy special kits at a pharmacy to monitor your cycle but they are not cheap.  Your GP is probably the best bet as they do a blood test on day twenty-one of your menstrual cycle to determine if ovulation has occurred.  I found the sperm test highly amusing, probably because it wasn’t about me for a change.  Fertility investigation is not for the faint hearted so you really do have to want it to go through it.  I did have one small part to play, and before you all jump to conclusions, no it wasn’t that.  While the man of the house was recovering from his ordeal, I had the job of delivering the sample to the hospital.  I’m glad we didn’t stay far away because it has to be kept at body temperature and needed to be delivered to the lab within ten minutes.  I felt like an athlete in a relay race, waiting patiently to be passed the sample pot at the bottom of the stairs.  I put it into my armpit to keep it warm, got into my wee pink car and off I went.  All the time we attended the fertility clinic we were anxious about bumping into people we knew.  I think I thought what if it didn’t work, we would then have the pain of telling people and that would have been upsetting.  We carried on as normal and tried not to dwell on things.  I sold my flat and came into some money so we lived life to the full; probably to mask the sadness of what we wanted most, which couldn't be bought.  My husband would say, “I couldn’t go through all the things you do”.  My response to that is, I don’t really have a choice, some things that happen to me are out with my control but some things I do are done for the best of both of us.  That’s Love.

On our next appointment at the fertility clinic we found out the sample was normal and it was a relief.  So, the ball was back in my court and I was told I needed to have a procedure called a Hysterosalpingogram (HSG).  This is where they flush your fallopian tubes with dye to see if they are clear.  Very dignified procedure, legs up in the air, bum up in the air for all to see.  My saving grace was that they decided to do a Laparoscopy at the same time, to get pictures of my uterus and this is carried out under general anesthetic.  It was arranged before hand that I would be transferred to the chest ward afterwards as I feared the surgical ward would not be able to cope should my lungs have a bad reaction to the anesthetic.  General anesthetic is only used in CF patients if absolutely necessary.  I wanted to make sure I was in the best place but I made a bad decision there.  I remember waking up, getting out of bed to discover the sheets were covered in blood and I felt let down, as I do on many occasions when I’m admitted for exacerbations of CF. It’s like I’m bottom of the pecking order, not ill enough to warrant a look in.  It’s felt in almost all CF patients because we “have” to manage on our own at home and are probably perceived as more able than other patients by the staff on duty.  It’s not so much a problem during the day but there are serious staffing issues on nightshift.  Usually get my medication put in a tray and left to get on with it.  I’ve experienced nurses trying to give me medication that’s not mine.  I always say you have to be on the bloody ball when staying in hospital, unless I’m on the brink of death; I’ll be just fine staying at home thank you.  It’s a difficult one, it’s such a complex condition, no two people are the same and there is a very fine line between being well and unwell.

Being a high-risk patient I was under the care of the head of the fertility clinic.  He arrived at the chest ward with a colleague after my procedure to explain their findings and placed in my hand was a photograph of my insides.  I was glad that we finally had an answer to what the problem was because it was all pretty draining, both physically and emotionally.  This would see the end to the invasive tests, so I thought.  I’ve never really felt any real anxiety about medical procedures, except for smear tests.  Stick needles in me, cameras down my throat, cut me open, do it without anesthetic; I can take it!  However, the word “smear” used to leave me frozen with fear after the first one being a horrific experience.  The thought of having anything done “down there” turned my stomach.  Being the warrior woman I am, this was another thing I was going to have to overcome because after that visit from Mr H I was told in order to conceive I was going to need In vitro fertilization (IVF).  There were various reasons for this and with the Human Fertilisation and Embryology Bill nearing completion of its passage through the UK parliament, it stood to overhaul Britain’s fertility and embryo legislation.  It was called “one at a time”, so if you did eventually go through IVF treatment they were only going to implant ONE embryo and this would significally reduce the odds of a pregnancy. Nevertheless I was crushed listening to Mr H explaining that the current waiting list for treatment was eighteen months to two years.  

“I might not have that time to wait, my time is now”, I exclaimed.   My health is stable NOW and I might miss the boat if I have to wait that long.”

       




11 September 2013

Goodbye Friend


Less than a week after our traumatic choking experience, another set back was waiting just around the corner.  This week one of our pet cats had to be rushed to the emergency out of hours vet and it didn’t end well.


He was a cute fluffy little thing and I fell in love with him when I saw the kittens advert in the local paper.   My husband grew up with cats so he was just as keen as I was to add another to the growing brood of four legged friends.  We excitedly drove to the farm in Methlick to collect our boy, he was the only one left out the litter so he was ours.  After getting him into his new cat box and into the car, we headed back home to introduce him to the rest of the family.  He meowed the entire way home and my husband and I looked at each other, that look where we both know what the other one is thinking and we said “oh no”, both at the same time.  He had real character and if he wanted something he was going to let you know about it.  We named him Alfie.

Weeks earlier I’d rescued a cat just like Alfie and put posters up in the local area and vet practices trying to reunite him with his owner.   It was a tearful reunion and I really felt for that woman, she was beside herself with worry the two weeks her cat was gone.  To her, it was like I’d found a lost child.   We already had one year old cocker spaniel Poppy, a very placid dog and older than her time.  Millie, was our first cat and had been a rescued after being found dumped with the rest of her litter and was naturally weary of people.  Living near the countryside Millie had a rare old time catching mice and birds and would be out all day and then come home at night.  

When Alfie was still a kitten the vet said he could hear a slight heart murmur and that if he doesn’t get too excitable, it may never bother him.  We decided to get him neutered for that reason and the male nurse admitting him that morning to hospital was sympathetic with Alfie in a man to man sort of way, knowing he was away to get his balls off!  Alfie was very friendly, unlike Mille but he didn’t cope so well when Daisy was born and started staying out more often.  With a new baby on the way I was afraid of the cats being in the house during the night and we already had an outdoor cat house that we made.  It’s one of those garden furniture storage containers, so they were perfectly safe to be in the house at night at it’s been like that almost four years now.  After Daisy was born Alfie went a bit feral, we would see him in the garden but he didn’t want to come inside, not even in winter.  I would put food out for him in his box and it was getting eaten, so he was happy enough.  Millie and Alfie were like pack animals at times.  They would hunt for birds together, one day we watched them take it in turns to creep up on a bird, closer and closer before I would bang the window, telling them to behave and leave the birds alone.    Once I was left the most beautiful bird present from the cats. I was heart broken for this little blue tit as it looked so peaceful lying on the doorstep, but cats are cats and that’s what they do.

When I split with Daisy’s dad, Alfie stayed behind in the garden and I thought he would continue to stay there until I received a call one day saying some ladies found him and handed him into a vet.  Being microchipped, they quickly located me and I took him home to my new house that day and never told my husband.  I guess I wanted to see how long it would take him to notice he was gone.  I kept Alfie indoors for almost two weeks and I let him out for a few hours at a time until he got used to his new surroundings.  He quickly took back his authority over Millie and she was back to eating second.  He was a stereotypical man Alfie, served first and then put his feet up.  Deep down he was soft in the middle.

We only had him back five months when we came home to find he was lying out in the garden in the rain, it’s unlike a cat to wilfully get wet and my mum knew there was something wrong.  I took him inside and dried him off with a towel but he just lay there, lifeless on the kitchen floor and he was breathing quite fast.  I offered some food, but he left it and went upstairs under my bed to lie down.  I called the vet but no one answered and I thought they must be closed.  Mum called me upstairs and said there’s just something not right with him so I took to Facebook for advise and someone said there must be an out of hours service so I called again.  This time it clicked onto the emergency vets mobile and I explained the situation and that his breathing was laboured.  She said to take him straight in.  I got my shoes on and mum picked him up and put him into the pet carrier, as he was put in there he started meowing loudly, he has done this on occasion when he’s not pleased about something but this time it was different.  It was like the sound a Siamese cat makes, more like a baby crying.  It took me about five to seven minutes to get to the vet and by this time that cries were really loud.  I got into the vet and as soon as she heard him she moved FAST, he was placed on the examination table, the vet took one look, grabbed him really fast and ran though to the operating theatre.  I heard lots of shuffling feet and I knew then he was in grave danger.  After a few minutes the vet came back and asked if he had any health conditions, I mentioned about the heart murmur that was picked up when he was a kitten.  The vet thought it sounded connected to that, she said he probably had heart disease and he had a heart attack.  His pulse was low, his blood count was low, he had blood in his chest cavity, his heartbeat was irregular and it wasn’t looking good.  She suggested two things, that he was given drugs and monitored over the next few hours to see if he improves or take the decision to put him to sleep, she said it might come to that and I was upset that it happened so sudden.  I gave him a chance to see if he would pull thought but at 1:35am the vet called and said his little heart was struggling and the kindest thing to do would be to put him to sleep.  She asked if I wanted to be there but after the traumatic week with Daisy and the choking I just couldn’t.

I didn’t cry, I thought I took the news quite well.  It wasn’t until I uploaded his picture onto the blog and he looked back at me, I lost it.  Daisy asked where he was today and we had the talk about him not being well and that he’s now up in the sky playing.  She said, “that sounds nice” and I was a little upset.  She said “what’s wrong Mummy” and I replied “I’m sad about Alfie, but it’s ok to be sad sometimes”.





In Loving Memory of

ALFIE SIM

1 May 2006 - 9 September 2013

06 September 2013

Mothers Worst Nightmare



It's a day that will be etched on my mind forever and it was an odd day to start off with.  I double booked myself for various appointments, but forgot about the cleaning girls.  They arrived earlier than expected so I dropped Daisy at nursery and drove to my next appointment only to be told I was a week early. We snorted laughing, said our quick goodbyes and then I thought crap……the gas man!   All afternoon I waited, but I had to pick Daisy up from nursery before 6pm.  I had no choice but to leave a note on the door saying I wouldn’t be long and to “please wait”.  I thought it’s the least the guy could do after me waiting in all day.  Came back home to find a “sorry I missed you card”.  I was angry that he just didn't care.

I knew we had no milk so thought, oh well at least we can go get that from the supermarket across the road.  I told Daisy to put her shoes back on and she grabbed a handful of jelly sweets to eat on the way.  We walked around the shop for about five minutes and Daisy disappeared briefly while I picked up cheese and grapes.  I then saw her coming back with the biggest carton of milk they do {6 pints}.  Mummy it’s heavy she exclaimed.  I said “Daisy we don’t need that size of milk’, but I want it she said.  We walked to the checkout and put the shopping up on to the counter and I handed over my money just as Daisy grabbed me, with a little red face and fear in her eyes I knew it was serious.  What happened next was the worst few moments of my life and writing about it makes my skin crawl.

Daisy was choking.  I looked into her mouth and couldn’t see any obstruction.  I then stood behind her, bent her upper body slightly forward and using the whole of my hand I gave up to FIVE firm back blows between her shoulder blades.  ONE, TWO, THREE.  That didn’t dislodge the object from her throat so I moved onto step two which is abdominal thrusts, also known as the Heimlich maneuver.  Again I gave up to FIVE abdominal thrusts.  Placing my fist between the bottom for her rib cage and her belly button, I put my other hand on top and pulled inwards and upwards.  If abdominal thrusts do not dislodge the object, you repeat steps one and two. 

After I delivered the first set of back blows I said to the shop assistant CALL AN AMBULANCE.  I carried on with the cycle again and then I shouted IS ANYONE A FIRST AIDER.  A young man, not more than seventeen years old seemed to be encouraged forward from behind me.  I looked at him for a second; he looked sheepish and was clearly terrified so I turned my back on him.  Still carrying on with my cycle of emergency first aid.  I decided to quickly put her onto the floor, making a hook shape with my index finger I scooped in and straight out of Daisy’s mouth.  I looked into my baby’s eyes and her little face mirrored the fear I had inside me.  I got her back on her feet and away we went again.  

Next a shop assistant squatted down on the floor beside me and was saying C’MON, GET THIS UP.  She told me to get Daisy into the recovery position and I said NO.  I whimpered “oh no’ for a second fearing the worst but another voice in my head said GET THIS FUCKING THING OUT OF HER.  It was getting pretty desperate, blood stared coming out her mouth and nose and she continued to gasp for breath and was starting to lose conscious.  Three seconds after, blood and salvia splattered all over the floor and a little voice squealed “mummy you’re hurting me” and WHAM the sweet was out! 

I have never felt so much relief in my life.  I turned her around, looked at her wee face and hugged her tight.  I should’ve got a bloody round of applause having to do that all by myself.  It probably only lasted a few minutes but it seemed to go on forever.  Still, NO AMBULANCE arrived, was it even called?  The ambulance depot is literally around the corner.  There was no staff FIRST AIDER, where was the MANAGER?  What if I panicked, what would they have done?

The shop assistant who offered words of encouragement at the time fetched a bottle of water for Daisy to drink.  We were asked if we wanted to come and sit in the office for a bit but I just wanted to get out of the place.  I told Daisy that Daddy got home today and that we could maybe go and see him, but he was out.  I left my phone at the house, today of all days as I was literally just going to the shop for milk so we couldn't call anyone.  We drove to nanny’s work but she wasn’t on duty in the particular building we went to.  We then drove a few miles to the next place she would be and was relieved to see her car was in the car park.  We walked inside and told the staff what had happened, we were both still covered in blood and I was clearly shaken.  They made me a coffee while we waited for mum to get back with the bus.  Daisy was completely fine, she asked for a drink and they got it, she asked for a biscuit and they got it.  They were great with us, but I don’t think they realised the full horror of what just happened.  Mum arrived and took Daisy into the hall where the residents were waiting patiently for their concert to begin.  As the singer belted out Patsy Cline’s hit Crazy, I wept.

Daisy’s dad and I did a first aid course when she was born.  We drove sixty miles away for a specialist babies & children first aid course with the Red Cross.  However that was almost three years ago and I’m not sure how confident I would have been if it wasn’t for children’s TV personality Dr Ranj.  I think there is a slot every morning on children’s TV where he explains various medical conditions and the importance of looking after yourself.  Daisy loves watching him and you can’t help but sing the catchy theme tune.  I wasn’t sure if he was an actual doctor or just a TV presenter so I googled him and yes, he is a real NHS doctor specialising in children and young people.  I grabbed a quick tea break one morning and switched over to “normal” TV while Daisy wasn’t looking, to find that he was on a popular daytime show called This Morning.  I remember it so clearly, I said to Daisy, “look it’s Dr Ranj”.  She huffed and puffed and complained that she wanted her programmes back on. I said no lets watch this and she went off to another room.  As I watched he was talking about important medicines to take on holiday.  Then he talked about choking and did a demonstration on what to do.  The rest is history as they say.  No one will ever know how glad I was to watch that.



Daisy's cardigan she was wearing at the time of the incident




Daisy's nursery dress she was wearing at the time of the incident







Dr Ranj explaining on This Morning what to do in a choking emergency




Patsy Cline singing Crazy 1962