Monday, 16 July 2012


I'm really blessed to have a totally lovely GP. She cares and she knows. Her baby was born at term but transferred to GOSH and had 2 lots of surgery in his first 16 weeks. She gets it. She gets the fear and she's learnt to handle it. I haven't.

If I'm honest, I've really not been coping all that well. Hubs says I'm doing fine. But it's been over 5 months I've still only been out with Skittle on my own once, I managed but it was awful. My knees knocked, my heart pounded and my mind went wild. It was a trip to the baby clinic just for a weigh in.

In the waiting room "normal" mums discussed baby groups and where they liked going and getting their "me" time. Some of them talked about how they'd given up breastfeeding after 2 weeks because they thought it took too much time out of the day. Some of them talked about how traumatic immunisations were. You cannot be serious? I just sat there, breathing a bit too fast.

You don't fit in, said my brain.

Putting on a brave face has been my aim.

Don't admit how badly you're doing, don't tell anyone - it's embarrassing. 

I'm so ashamed of myself for doing such a rubbish job at something that's supposed to be so natural. Hubs says I'm too hard on myself, my expectations are too high. By I see other mums and they're worlds are so different to mine, they're doing so well, they make it look so easy and I have to try so hard to develop my relationship with my son. That just doesn't make sense. Isn't it supposed to happen in an instant? A rush. A beautiful moment.

After 5 months I was persuaded to take a trip to my lovely GP, to try and tell her all has not been hunky dory. I blurted it out, the anxiety, the panic attacks, the irrational fears, the isolation, the self harming, the wanting to running away.

And she didn't tell me I was stupid, or to get over it, or that everything was fine now so I should move on. She was supportive, she shared about her son and she made me feel a little less useless. She's a GP, who used to be a cardiologist, she's an insanely intelligent, lovely, together lady and she struggled too.

Time to get help she said and then she made a plan. She spoke to hubs. For ages. So now I've started anti-depressants, seen a psychiatrist, had a mental health referral for counselling at a post natal depression clinic, the health visitor is coming and she signed hubs off work for 2 months.

Relief. So much relief. Relief that I'm not always going to feel like this. Things will get better. I can embrace the gorgeous family I have. I won't always be this blue.

Saturday, 14 July 2012

what a week

Our whole week was decidedly pear shaped. It's always a challenge to go back to the hospital but the thought of this visit was particularly stressful for some reason. We rocked up in paediatric out patients clinic to find it had been moved to the children's ward while renovation works were going on. That threw me. Then Skittle was weighed and measured, never his favourite activities.

As we went through to see our lovely consultant, the dietician joined us to talk about feeding. Thankfully they were really pleased with his weight, almost up to the 50th centile for corrected age. He's on the 2nd for length, so quite a shorty considering how heavy he is. Skittle had a blood test last week (another heel prick to add to the collection!) and we were pleased to discover his neutrophils have raised from 0.7 to 1 finally heading in the right direction. Phew.

I was starting to breathe. Relax. No that's a step to far. Not relax, as such, maybe calm down. Then she measured his head. Then she measured it again. I'm just going to check that I must have got it wrong. Nope still the same. Way off the top of the graph. I think we'd better get you a quick head scan to check there's nothing going on in there.

What?! Woah.

Cue internal hyperventilation. Clearly I calmed down a little too soon.
If you just go down to NICU. To where now? You cannot be serious. We have to go back in there? Oh my goodness. How? How will I get my body to walk in that unit again?

Off we popped, down to NICU. Body heavy. Don't panic Mummy, it's just a head scan, he's not dying. Don't over react. Breathe slower woman. Smile, look like you're fine, chat to hubs, it's not that big a deal. Keep calm. It's just a scan. It's just a unit.

Yet as we walk up to the door he ears block and my eyes go fuzzy and that intercom buzzer might as well be a shriek cutting my ear drum. Gah, I don't like this corridor let alone going inside.

It's Harry.

He's a nice consultant.

Hello Feery's how are you?

Well we'd be loads better if we weren't seeing you.

Hi, fine thanks, it's nice to see you!

There actually isn't any room down here today let's go up to SCBU and see if there's a space up there. Really?! We have to go up there too? The lift isn't working, we have to walk passed the ward where I stayed, the smell literally gets stuck in the back of my throat and I hold my breath.

Why, why is it getting to me this much?

Through we go, to a side room he has a brain scan. I don't understand the results. They talk about ventricals. They say don't worry. They say come back and we'll do an MRI and sedate him, just to be sure. Just to check. Don't worry though.

You're going to sedate him. I'll worry.