Little man began to awake just as dinners were about to be served. I was talking to him but he didn't seem to be responding. I pulled him onto my lap. As I looked down expecting to see his little eyes open and look at me he started to lip smack. Lip smacking is part of the onset of a seizure. I continued talking to him hoping to bring him out of it. I don't remember panicking just an intense feeling that I had to stop it. But I couldn't. My step mum who was sitting beside me alerted the air crew and asked them to try and get some Calpol from another passenger. My efforts were not working and I could see him slipping into unconsciousness.
My sons consultant had given me some rectal diazepam to administer in the event of a "convulsion" I had put it in the front pocket of the hand luggage that I had packed. I had, however, packed too much. Perhaps it was the Brio train set that tipped the weight over the allowance. When the check-in clerk had said to me that it was over weight and had to be put in the hold I hadn't remembered the Diazepam in the pocket until it was too late and I remember thinking "It's only a short flight, no need to worry".
The air steward asked me if I had medication for his seizures and I explained what had happened. I felt so incredibly humiliated and stupid. My son was now in full blown seizure and I knew that the longer it continued the higher the risk of damage to his brain. In an almost surreal and movie like moment an announcement was put over the tannoy "If there is a doctor on board, please make yourself known to the cabin crew"
The next moment, to my incredible relief, in wafted the most calm and caring Irish lady doctor. She sat beside me and gently asked me a few questions about my sons history and then explained that she was going to have to inject him with 10ml of diazepam. I agreed and almost instantly the seizure subsided. She sat next to me for a while and asked for oxygen and I held him with a mask over his face with an overwhelming sense of gratitude and relief. Dinners were still being served all around me and I felt the worse was over.
My lovely Irish doctor had left and I was calm and happy sitting cradling my son. Then I was interrupted by a male steward who beckoned to me for a chat. I passed my son to my step mum. The steward explained that my son had had a large dose of diazepam and after talking to the doctor there were risks of breathing complications. He explained that I had a choice; to carry on flying with the risk of having to emergency land in the event of breathing difficulties but that we were heading towards eastern Europe where medical assistance was not good or that we could land now in Munich where there was a very good childrens hospital. The doctor joined us and explained that the risk of breathing difficulties were high due to the dose she had administered. The steward went on to explain that I had to make a decision quickly as we were very close to Munich and running out of time, the pilot wanted to know. Any risk is too great so I decided to land the plane straight away.
What went on around me from that point on in the plane is a blur. I know now that there were complaints from passengers and I remember pain in my ears from a very quick descent. I was focused on holding the oxygen mask over my sons face and watching his breathing. The next thing I remember was German paramedics asking me in German my sons name and age. Thank goodness for the lessons I had at school and thank goodness I could remember. They carried my son off the plane followed by myself, my step mum and my father. We walked out onto the runway towards the awaiting ambulance.................... to be continued
Thursday 27 October 2011
Tuesday 27 September 2011
Welcome to Munich - Part One
There is a famous poem called Welcome to Holland and here is a link:
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Welcome_to_Holland
I hadn't heard of this poem when my son was 3yrs old. Although he had already had two seizures, his consultant referred to them as febrile convulsions and any other concerns I had were put down to typical 3yr old behaviour. I had no reason to be aware that such a poem existed.
I had rushed to his nursery twice from work to find him surrounded by paramedics, seemingly unconscious from the administration of diazepam that stopped him convulsing. Oxygen mask on and ambulance waiting, it shook me to my core. Consultant said that convulsions were very common at his age and recommended a good dose of sunshine to help boost his constitution (I guess!!). At the time I had a nagging doubt but put my faith in what she said.
Now what follows is going to be slightly longer than a poem. It's complex and it's difficult for me to recall. For it was a trauma and it was the beginning of something that completely changed my life.
I had been a single Mum for about four months and my Dad and my step mum agreed that it was what myself and my son needed so they generously paid for all of us to fly out to Kefalonia, the beautiful Greek Island. The film Captain Corelli's Mandolin had just been released and two nights before we were due to fly out we went to see it. I remember driving home in a thunder storm, mind full of romance, Nicolas Cage and a longing for the clear blue sea and the smell of olive groves. I was, for a while, lifted and joyful at the prospect of it all.
My little man was just as excited. Suitcase packed, Buzz Light Year had just about been squeezed in. I woke him at 5am which was pretty easy as he was was, and still is, not keen on sleeping. With shorts on and bucket and spade in hand we walked around the departure lounge at Gatwick. He was grumpy and seemed a little more unsettled and hyper than normal but I put it down to the early start and excitement.
Five, four, three, two, one......"Thunderbirds are go" we shouted as the plane flew down the runway, my little man loved it, sitting by the window. Then he closed his eyes and said he was sleepy.
To be continued......
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Welcome_to_Holland
I hadn't heard of this poem when my son was 3yrs old. Although he had already had two seizures, his consultant referred to them as febrile convulsions and any other concerns I had were put down to typical 3yr old behaviour. I had no reason to be aware that such a poem existed.
I had rushed to his nursery twice from work to find him surrounded by paramedics, seemingly unconscious from the administration of diazepam that stopped him convulsing. Oxygen mask on and ambulance waiting, it shook me to my core. Consultant said that convulsions were very common at his age and recommended a good dose of sunshine to help boost his constitution (I guess!!). At the time I had a nagging doubt but put my faith in what she said.
Now what follows is going to be slightly longer than a poem. It's complex and it's difficult for me to recall. For it was a trauma and it was the beginning of something that completely changed my life.
I had been a single Mum for about four months and my Dad and my step mum agreed that it was what myself and my son needed so they generously paid for all of us to fly out to Kefalonia, the beautiful Greek Island. The film Captain Corelli's Mandolin had just been released and two nights before we were due to fly out we went to see it. I remember driving home in a thunder storm, mind full of romance, Nicolas Cage and a longing for the clear blue sea and the smell of olive groves. I was, for a while, lifted and joyful at the prospect of it all.
My little man was just as excited. Suitcase packed, Buzz Light Year had just about been squeezed in. I woke him at 5am which was pretty easy as he was was, and still is, not keen on sleeping. With shorts on and bucket and spade in hand we walked around the departure lounge at Gatwick. He was grumpy and seemed a little more unsettled and hyper than normal but I put it down to the early start and excitement.
Five, four, three, two, one......"Thunderbirds are go" we shouted as the plane flew down the runway, my little man loved it, sitting by the window. Then he closed his eyes and said he was sleepy.
To be continued......
Saturday 27 August 2011
Romance and Riots
A decade ago in the first month of the second year of this new millennium I was dumped, ditched for a newer less complicated model and became the enemy of the state – a single mother. To cut a long story and so as not to dwell this year my new partner and I decided it was time to get hitched. Time to give ourselves and our children some much needed fun and celebration.
After spending our hols last year in Dorset, three kids and a dog in a caravan in the rain we vowed to get some sun this year. Two hours at Thomas Cook and voila the last week in July in Ibiza booked and wedding booked for two weeks after. Ah well a pre wedding honeymoon with the kids not exactly convention. One of the reasons for my quest for beautification products was the need or rather the pressure to look perfect, beautiful and preened as every bride should be. In the back of my mind in Thomas Cook was the thought “A tan before the wedding now that’s a plan”.
In the days running up to the holiday, sorry honeymoon, my anxiety levels ran high. 10years ago shortly after being dumped, my parents, on the advice of my sons consultant, decided to take us both away for some sun. Plan didn’t quite work as my son had a seizure at 30,000 feet on the outward bound journey and we ended up in a children’s hospital in Munich due to the severity of the seizure and an emergency landing.......but that’s another story. So with the prospect of another flight I was having anxiety attacks. Thankfully all went well, fantastically in fact. We landed uneventfully in Ibiza. I rediscovered the Hippy Market which I’d fallen in love with and vowed to run away to on my last visit there age 11. The kids loved it too and we sat drinking mint tea on cushions soaking up the magical atmosphere.
We returned home tanned and relaxed and ready for the big day. Short bursts of shopping at shiny centre were even possible with my son as long as there was a milk shake at the end of it. To start with I purchased the products for my hair that I know would produce a silky mane but not irritate my increasingly sensitive scalp (due to bleaching the grey I presume). It’s a weird combo but years of trial and error and never ending changes to ranges have resulted in the following; Nizoral shampoo to sooth and calm the scalp and reduce flakes – nice!! Aussie Take the Heat Conditioner followed by a second application of conditioner – Herbal Essences Ignite My Colour. I have always found that two applications of conditioner do wonders. All purchased in Superdrug, much cheaper and more fun than Boots. Then a milkshake, then home.
Next visit we headed for The Body Shop, I have been a loyal shopper there since age 16 when I worked for them over Christmas and fell in love with their products. They have a face cream that’s heavy enough to moisturise this old dry skin and not irritate the hell out of it; their intensive Vitamin E face cream. I can’t say whether it will lift the folds or paper over the cracks but it feels good. The shop was quiet so I managed to grab the make up assistant in a courageous attempt to purchase a lipstick “I need to know what colour lipstick suits me” I could see her thinking “Well if you don’t know by now” but she said she could tell me what colours to avoid so we worked our way around that and got to Delipscious no.6 a light application of not too shiny plum. I walked away feeling triumphant with my first purchase of new make up finally done. Then milkshake, then home.
Then all hell let loose, literally. I watched in stomach churning tear inducing horror as my home town was torn apart and set on fire. Two hours previously I’d driven with my son to Selhurst Park to buy him the new Crystal Palace football strip. We’d driven home with him in tears because they didn’t have the right size socks. We passed shops and houses that we now saw being looted and trashed. I stayed up into the early hours of the next morning talking on Facebook to friends who were closer to the riots than me. One friend’s son who is 15yrs old and has Autistic Spectrum Disorder too was so terrified with all the noise around him that he soiled himself. Another had to hide images of buses burning from her son who loves them more than anything else in his world. And I watched as the youth lost their souls throwing saxophones from a music shop only to be trashed under foot and then smash shop windows with guitars.
With shiny shopping centre in lock down for the next few days and son too anxious to venture even close I had to be content and put all my trust in one lipstick. But I had a tan oh yes. The morning of the wedding came and I spent a little too long watching DIS SOS The Big Build with the kids trying to put off the moment of makeup application. Then I remembered my old friend, 10yrs older to be precise who always said just put it on really thick and spend ages working it in. Out came old faithful gift size make up bag and this time I drifted back to the hours spent before nights out loving the whole ritual of it all. Before I knew it I was done. On went the jewellery myself and my step daughter had gleefully bought at the Hippy Market and on went the off the peg dress we’d giggled over in the department store dressing room and VOILA!
And that day I forgot to worry about myself, whether I was pretty or not. The wounds and insecurities of the years went away. I walked down that isle with my son on my arm, new husband ahead, with all that I am and felt proud and joyful and content. Now if I could bottle that I do believe I’d put the makeup industry out of business.
But a little of bit of lippy never hurts and everything looks better when its tanned.
Sunday 10 July 2011
Bumped.
I've been on a journo's list of traumatised parents for a while now and got close to a TV interview but on that occasion it was too late in the day for him to travel south of the river and back in time for the evening news. Out of the blue I got another phone call and was given two days notice for an interview to be part of a report for Daybreak and ITN lunchtime news.
Dilemma, I knew that two days would never be enough time to undergo a complete makeover. Panic. I managed to squeeze in a hair appointment at Le Salon in shiny shopping centre between the school fete and evening meal. I didn't chase deals at trendy posh salon's this time not after my last experience. I had spent five hours sat in front of a mirror surrounded by staff twenty years younger than me. I'm sure they were trying to hold onto me for as long as possible for entertainment value. Instead I went to my trusted salon, the same one that does my sons hair.
After staring at my eyebrows for an hour it was clear to me that my tweezers were not going to cope or make much of an impact so I headed once more for the threaders. "I do moustache as well" Ooooh that was low. And then "No tighter, lift more" referring to me pulling on the skin above my eyebrows in order that it became taught enough. Aside from booking into a clinic for a "lift" there was not much more I could do.
I dashed back to the car park through all the secret alley ways and back streets I could so as not to scare people with my moustache and folds of puffy red skin. Sadly that meant no further progress obtaining beauty products.
By the day of the interview all had calmed down. "I have no moustache" I told myself "just my cute little blond fluff" but could it be it's going in the direction I dread through lack of oestrogen, no absolutely not, not yet, please! I opted for the no make up, natural look not trusting my existing selection.
One charming camera man and a "tuck your shirt in, slick your hair back, butter wouldn't melt in your mouth" journo arrived. It was all quick and slick and a little bit too close. It was screened at 6.06am next morning for about 3minutes then no more. Not the every half hour and lunch time news I'd been promised. I'd been bumped!
Now I have three theories as to why 1) Other news on new hacker with Autism took president 2) A political gag was applied re appalling treatment of children with disabilities within the existing Special Educational Needs (SEN) system. 3) I was too scary for day time telly.
I could ring the journo and find out, but gulp I think I already know the answer.
Dilemma, I knew that two days would never be enough time to undergo a complete makeover. Panic. I managed to squeeze in a hair appointment at Le Salon in shiny shopping centre between the school fete and evening meal. I didn't chase deals at trendy posh salon's this time not after my last experience. I had spent five hours sat in front of a mirror surrounded by staff twenty years younger than me. I'm sure they were trying to hold onto me for as long as possible for entertainment value. Instead I went to my trusted salon, the same one that does my sons hair.
After staring at my eyebrows for an hour it was clear to me that my tweezers were not going to cope or make much of an impact so I headed once more for the threaders. "I do moustache as well" Ooooh that was low. And then "No tighter, lift more" referring to me pulling on the skin above my eyebrows in order that it became taught enough. Aside from booking into a clinic for a "lift" there was not much more I could do.
I dashed back to the car park through all the secret alley ways and back streets I could so as not to scare people with my moustache and folds of puffy red skin. Sadly that meant no further progress obtaining beauty products.
By the day of the interview all had calmed down. "I have no moustache" I told myself "just my cute little blond fluff" but could it be it's going in the direction I dread through lack of oestrogen, no absolutely not, not yet, please! I opted for the no make up, natural look not trusting my existing selection.
One charming camera man and a "tuck your shirt in, slick your hair back, butter wouldn't melt in your mouth" journo arrived. It was all quick and slick and a little bit too close. It was screened at 6.06am next morning for about 3minutes then no more. Not the every half hour and lunch time news I'd been promised. I'd been bumped!
Now I have three theories as to why 1) Other news on new hacker with Autism took president 2) A political gag was applied re appalling treatment of children with disabilities within the existing Special Educational Needs (SEN) system. 3) I was too scary for day time telly.
I could ring the journo and find out, but gulp I think I already know the answer.
Wednesday 15 June 2011
Temporarily Scuppered
I can hear the call of my local shiny marble shopping centre as it sits shimmering like a distant oasis. But this making time is a lot harder than I thought.
First of course was half term, no chance there. Then the curious incident of the brace in the night time which took a day at the hospital orthodontics department. Its a situation I have to keep on top of. It was a matter of principle from the moment Mr Dinosaur the consultant looked at my son, raised his eyebrows and said "No need for expensive orthodontics for these people". My young man now has properly aligned jaws and sports train tracks in the colours of his favorite footy team. So if part of it pings off in the night time it must be addressed swiftly so no unjust blame can be thrown in our direction.
That evening; Panorama with its undercover docu about care homes for adults with Autism and Learning Difficulties-my sons diagnosis although his is mild to moderate. I've only just sorted out his education and vowed not to think any further ahead for now but that program forced me as violently as the punishments the carers dealt out, to a bleak future. I stayed there for a few days along with other Mums I know trying to support each other.
Up next the dog got ill AGAIN. Off he went to dig his little death hole in the garden, typical male over reaction just like he did at Easter when he caught Kennel Cough. Money I could have spent on foundation, lippy and mascara all spent on diarrhea tablets and potions for pooch. I'm beginning to resent him.
The choice tomorrow is to iron and mop or to shop. It is, or if it isn't it should be, every womans right to own an up to date make up bag with effective beautification products. But what's this? An order form for a Number Shark CD rom has just been shoved under my nose, cost £50. Cant quite justify concealer over sons education but his dinner money...........
First of course was half term, no chance there. Then the curious incident of the brace in the night time which took a day at the hospital orthodontics department. Its a situation I have to keep on top of. It was a matter of principle from the moment Mr Dinosaur the consultant looked at my son, raised his eyebrows and said "No need for expensive orthodontics for these people". My young man now has properly aligned jaws and sports train tracks in the colours of his favorite footy team. So if part of it pings off in the night time it must be addressed swiftly so no unjust blame can be thrown in our direction.
That evening; Panorama with its undercover docu about care homes for adults with Autism and Learning Difficulties-my sons diagnosis although his is mild to moderate. I've only just sorted out his education and vowed not to think any further ahead for now but that program forced me as violently as the punishments the carers dealt out, to a bleak future. I stayed there for a few days along with other Mums I know trying to support each other.
Up next the dog got ill AGAIN. Off he went to dig his little death hole in the garden, typical male over reaction just like he did at Easter when he caught Kennel Cough. Money I could have spent on foundation, lippy and mascara all spent on diarrhea tablets and potions for pooch. I'm beginning to resent him.
The choice tomorrow is to iron and mop or to shop. It is, or if it isn't it should be, every womans right to own an up to date make up bag with effective beautification products. But what's this? An order form for a Number Shark CD rom has just been shoved under my nose, cost £50. Cant quite justify concealer over sons education but his dinner money...........
Monday 30 May 2011
Mirror shock
I looked in the mirror today. I mean really looked. Not just the necessary glance to check that I won't scare people from a distance look, a really close up inspection and I was dismayed by what I saw.
Now I know that my dark roots are half way down my head, my twice yearly visit to Le Salon is overdue but I wasn't prepared for the number of twangy grey hairs and is it me or have the roots got darker to show up the silver just that little bit more. I used to get my eyebrows threaded until my last session "too thick, too thick" the lady kept saying after I nearly removed the arms off of the reclining beauty chair and flung them at her. Ouch! Then I went to wipe away what looked like black smudges in the corner of my eyes. Noooo I thought they only existed in adverts - dark circles, only mine looked more like unlit trenches.
So I swept the two inches of dust off of my free gift size make up bag and found my tweezers, concealer and nail varnish well that never fails to girly things up. The results after beautification: bright red puffy eye brows from a major plucking (ooh err!), accentuated dark circles wonderfully high lighted by an inadequate concealer and since when has nail varnish made your hands look more masculine? I looked at the pitiful selection of lipsticks in my bag wondering whether they would improve the undead boxer in drag look. Perhaps not.
In the words of Pink Floyd "10 years have got behind me" and my make up bag. I'm going to have to go shopping. Initial excitement but I've no idea what products would help. The existing contents of my bag had taken years of research and perfection, trial and error and magazine reading but that was in the days when I had the time. There's no avoiding it though I shall have to make time. I've been complaining of late that all I do is clean the house so there are really no excuses. So new beauty product research for the over 40's (gulp) here we go.
Now I know that my dark roots are half way down my head, my twice yearly visit to Le Salon is overdue but I wasn't prepared for the number of twangy grey hairs and is it me or have the roots got darker to show up the silver just that little bit more. I used to get my eyebrows threaded until my last session "too thick, too thick" the lady kept saying after I nearly removed the arms off of the reclining beauty chair and flung them at her. Ouch! Then I went to wipe away what looked like black smudges in the corner of my eyes. Noooo I thought they only existed in adverts - dark circles, only mine looked more like unlit trenches.
So I swept the two inches of dust off of my free gift size make up bag and found my tweezers, concealer and nail varnish well that never fails to girly things up. The results after beautification: bright red puffy eye brows from a major plucking (ooh err!), accentuated dark circles wonderfully high lighted by an inadequate concealer and since when has nail varnish made your hands look more masculine? I looked at the pitiful selection of lipsticks in my bag wondering whether they would improve the undead boxer in drag look. Perhaps not.
In the words of Pink Floyd "10 years have got behind me" and my make up bag. I'm going to have to go shopping. Initial excitement but I've no idea what products would help. The existing contents of my bag had taken years of research and perfection, trial and error and magazine reading but that was in the days when I had the time. There's no avoiding it though I shall have to make time. I've been complaining of late that all I do is clean the house so there are really no excuses. So new beauty product research for the over 40's (gulp) here we go.
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