NEAW 2016 – #MoreThanFoodAllergies

The headline in our local paper for this year’s #NEAW focuses once again on the allergies

I share a frustration with Michelle, one of the lovely co-founders of the FABED, that all too often people living outside of the EGID world get drawn into the food allergies side of this illness and don’t really understand that that is just a small part of a much bigger picture. I can understand why the focus so often falls on it as it’s the bit that people think they understand and can relate to the most. After all, just about everyone knows someone, be it their next-door neighbour, the family down the street or Great Aunt Joan in Australia, who has an allergy. They often feel that that acquaintance, however remote, gives them an insight into what life must be like when your every waking moment is ruled by their presence and I’m all for that belief encouraging them to engage me in conversation about it. Added to that, so much of our social life revolves around food, a fact that isn’t a revelation to me as I’ve discussed it before on my blog. In the last week alone we’ve had to survive the “Second Sunday” breakfast held at our church, sweets brought into school to celebrate birthdays and M’s class cake sale to raise funds for classroom resources. We managed them all in our own way, from arriving late and avoiding the table of food in the church hall, to M’s trusty swap box, which has finally been refilled and returned to his teacher and the gentle request to the TA that the class cakes be moved to somewhere other than next to M’s stationary wheelchair for the day.

Of course, I obviously can’t ignore the fact that my blog focuses a lot on the impact M’s complex food allergies has on our everyday life. So much of my time and energy is spent researching, adapting and learning more about how to feed him varied meals whilst coping with such a restricted diet that food allergies undeniably rule my kitchen. As a fellow EGID Mum recently posted, every single aspect of our children’s lives are affected by food, no matter how many food allergies they are dealing with. Everything has to be planned and thought about, there can be no leaving things to chance and there’s rarely an opportunity to be completely spontaneous. At home, at school, going out for meals, tea at a friend’s house, family gatherings, holidays, hospital admissions, trick or treating, birthday parties, Christmas, Easter, the list is endless and all-consuming. There’s also unquestionable irony in the fact that we as a family will be “eating like M” to draw attention to the eosinophil awareness week. The reason? I know our restricted diets will allow us to engage with others who will be intrigued by the limitations and in turn that will enable us to share the EGID story too.

However, despite the truths above, it’s really important to get the message out there than EGID is about more than food allergies, a whole lot more. Whilst it’s common for people with ‪EGID to have food allergies, those with allergies do not always develop EGID. At the risk of repeating myself, EGID is, as I wrote for last year’s #NEAW, about “…the unexplained joint aches, the never-ending tummy cramps, the relentless feelings of nausea or reflux whenever you eat. The dark shadows under the eyes, the manic mood swings, the overwhelming lethargy, or the inability to fall asleep and stay that way. The damaged bowel, the fear of not being near enough to a toilet whenever you need one, or knowing that you’ll never get there in time anyway. The fear of your friends making fun of your allergies or finding out that you’re still wearing a pull-up because your bowel can’t be relied on when you most need it to. The daily medicines, restricted diets and the feeding tubes. The chronic pain that can reduce you to tears, yet you don’t complain because nothing helps, even when it’s at its worst.

It’s about getting used to these things as being normal, or not even realising they’re not.”

We’re marking our 4th National Eosinophil Awareness Week and despite all our best efforts, I still find myself spending a lot of time explaining that there is more to M than his food allergies. This year is a particularly tough one as there is a lot of uncertainty and discussion in the medical community about the validity of EGID as a diagnosis. Hospitals and their consultants are questioning whether EGID is really anything more than complicated food allergies, but they are failing to talk, and more importantly to listen, to the families who are living with it on a daily basis, who are surviving those symptoms I’ve mentioned above and who are having to battle to get their voices heard. Some parents have found themselves in a situation where treatment has been removed suddenly because the veracity of their child’s EGID diagnosis is under review and are left watching their loved ones spiralling back into chronic ill-health whilst the medics argue over whether EGID exists. I can’t predict what the next 12 months will bring for those of us living with the presence of EGID in our families, but I do know, without a shadow of a doubt, that we will all continue to fight for ongoing good health and that every battle won is a huge success.

EGID is about #morethanfoodallergies and that’s a message the world needs to hear.

Just a reminder that as well as raising awareness of EGID this week, we are also fundraising for Over The Wall Serious Fun camps. If you are able to donate, even a small amount, that donation will make a big difference to children like M and G, who benefit massively from these camps. You can donate via my Just Giving page or the link on the side of this page. Thank you!

The right PLACE for an opinion

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Finally, it’s happened. Finally, I’ve found a place where my opinion matters. In fact it did more than matter, it was requested, recorded and appreciated too and, what’s more, it wasn’t just my opinion that counted that day, but M’s as well and that meant the world to him, and to me.

5729994426_7fbcf8798a At the start of 2016, not long after we had returned home from M’s December admission, I spotted an opportunity for M and me to volunteer our time to be assessors for the annual PLACE assessment at GOSH. If you’ve never heard of PLACE before, then you’re not on your own as it was also a completely new thing to me, but I loved the idea of being able to give something back to the hospital that has become the focus of the last 5 years of our life in any way we could. To my delight, M and I were both accepted as volunteers and it was then a case of waiting for the crucial email inviting us to the assessment day to arrive. When that email did eventually appear in my inbox, the day was set for early April, which coincided perfectly with school holidays and my day off work – a real win-win situation for us. M and I chatted about what the day would involve and even the unexpected turn of events that resulted in M’s broken leg didn’t stop us as Tammy, the helpful Facilities Manager and PLACE co-ordinator, reassured me that we could still take part, broken limb and all.

PLACE stands for “Patient Led Assessments of the Care Environment” and, to be honest, does exactly what it says on the tin – invites patients and others closely connected to GOSH to assess different areas of the hospital according to a specific list of criteria. Upon arrival we were well-briefed on what was required, including the 5 key areas we would be focusing on: cleanliness; condition, appearance and maintenance; privacy, dignity and well-being; food; and, ironically, a new area for 2016 and one that M was best suited for, disability. We were split into a number of teams with between 3 and 4 patient assessors and a staff facilitator in each, and each team was allocated 2 wards and either a public (or communal area), an external area or an outpatients department to inspect. M and I had discussed the ward options at length ahead of time and despite M’s initial yearning to visit Rainforest, we agreed that our opinions of Rainforest and Kingfisher wards, both of which we have stayed on in the past, would be coloured by our previous experiences and wouldn’t be as unbiased as the PLACE assessment required. I asked if we could perhaps visit one of the newer wards in the hospital as it would be vastly different from our usual haunts and was delighted when that request was met.

focus-on-the-system-theory-y

Our facilitator was the lovely Mark, who had already promised M that he would try to lead our group and would take him in the biggest lift in the hospital – which we did and saw so much more of the hospital that I’ve ever seen before. Everything settled, we headed into the main Reception, our public area, and started looking at the different things and criteria we needed to consider to complete our assessment, from fire extinguishers to hand-gel dispensers and everything conceivable in-between. Once we had finished there, we headed onto our first ward in one of the newer wings of GOSH, where, having completed our assessment of the ward itself, we observed the lunch service before tasting the food for ourselves. Our final stop was back in the oldest part of the hospital, where Rainforest ward can also be found, and what must be one of the smallest wards at GOSH. The contrast between the 2 wards was hugely noticeable and it was fascinating to learn more about the proposed improvements to the hospital over the next 5 years or so. It didn’t seem like a particularly long or overly active day, but by the time we had finished with everything we needed to do and had headed back to the Lagoon to collate our scores and add any further comments, M was completely exhausted. His enthusiastic participation in giving his own opinions and insights into what he could see so soon after breaking his leg tired him out to the extent that he fell asleep in his wheelchair and was completely oblivious to the activity and hubbub surrounding him for the next hour or so.

We both thoroughly enjoyed our experience on the day and M was delighted to discover once he woke back up that an invitation to attend next year’s assessment had been extended to him and that G had been added to the task-force too. I can’t reveal too much about what our findings were until the results are published, but I will say that we did find a problem with the disabled toilet in the main reception area. We were surprised to discover that it wasn’t really big enough to accommodate M, his wheelchair, his extended leg and me and that we didn’t have the space to manoeuvre him from chair to toilet once we locked the cubicle door. It appears that M’s broken leg came in handy on that day, though I’ve no intention in offering a similar expertise to next year’s PLACE assessment day! Since then, M and I have found ourselves sitting in the fracture clinic at our local hospital assessing what we can see surround 3-tips-to-improve-the-way-you-write-Web-Content ing us, just as if we were in the midst of another inspection. What’s more, as often comes of these things, some more opportunities for both children to be involved in an ongoing capacity with developments at GOSH came out of that day which is really exciting, but that, as they say, is another story.

A Quick Pudding Dilemma

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On Saturday afternoon I spent some time reading back through my National Eosinophil Awareness Week blog posts from previous years, looking for a little inspiration for those I’ll be writing to mark this year’s week, which is fast approaching. I expected to spend a good 20 minutes reminiscing and little else, 0c0dc8797599764caae7d88291139822 but instead found myself being led in an entirely different direction as the very first post I re-read inspired me in a completely unexpected way.

I’m always on the lookout for new menu ideas for M and whilst we really don’t need any more sweet options, the lure of a quick and easy pudding was too good to resist. I had a look at the original recipe I had posted, but wondered if there was a more M-friendly one already out there, which would only require the very slightest tweaking on my part. To my delight I found an almost perfect vegan recipe, where all I needed to do was change the flour and oil to suit M’s restricted dietary needs. I was particularly excited about the fact it could be cooked in the microwave as so often puddings for M take a lot longer to prepare and cook, something which requires a level of planning ahead which doesn’t always happen in our household.

IMG_0446[1] Recipe adapted, ingredients checked and with 5 minutes on the clock, I whipped up the sponge batter, set the timer on the microwave and waited with bated breath for that final ping which would tell me if it had been a success or not. As always, the children’s reactions are the best indication of whether I’ll be cooking a dish again and this one has definitely earned a place in my repertoire. It’s an easy pudding to make with only a handful of ingredients and can be cooked in 4 minutes with the help of a trusty microwave. M and G both gave it a massive thumbs up and enjoyed finishing it off for Sunday tea. Even better, I’m sure it can be easily adapted to use my M-friendly lemon curd instead of the golden syrup, or any safe jams to change the flavours, which really does make it a success in my book too.

Do you know LimbO?

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IMG_0391[1] You might think that the possibility that a full leg cast would prevent regular bathing would bring joy to the heart of any small boy and, as far as my 10 year-old is concerned, you wouldn’t be far wrong. He spent the first night back at home pouring over the “How to look after your cast” leaflet that had been given to us on discharge and, having inwardly digested all the salient facts, made his opinions on the matter quite clear:

“Mummy, it says right here that you absolutely must not get the cast wet, so I’m just not going to be able to have a bath or a shower until it comes off!”

before leaning back with a satisfied look on his face. I swiftly pointed out that, given his leg could be encased in plaster for anywhere up to 12 weeks all told, he would soon become very stinky, which caused many giggles before his face got serious once again and he reiterated that the instructions on the leaflet simply had to be followed:

“They say I can’t get it wet and how exactly am I going to wash without getting my cast wet?”

Well, you wouldn’t want to ruin this rather spectacular cast by *just* having a bath, would you?!

I’m not sure if he thought it likely that this Mummy was going to agree to spending 12 weeks in close proximity to a child living in a bath-free zone, especially given we’re currently sharing my bed whilst Mike has been banished to G’s room and G has taken up residence in M’s cabin bed; but I quickly disillusioned him and put him straight. Fortunately, or I suppose unfortunately if you look at it from M’s point of view, there is a fantastic product which solves that very problem for all those clean-freak mothers out there, the LimbO.

Six years ago when we experienced our first broken appendage with M – left arm with 2 breaks to the elbow and 2 to the wrist – we puzzled over how to keep his arm dry when near water. It was not so much that he couldn’t keep his left arm out of the bath water, but more that I doubted my active 4 year-old would remember to do so, let alone the problems of a hot summer and the desire to keep cool by running through the garden sprinklers. I can’t quite remember who it was who first told us about the LimbO, although I’m certain that it wasn’t the hospital, something which hasn’t changed in the time between our broken bones experiences. To put it simply, the LimbO is a little like a plastic bag – made from a thickened and durable plastic, which is latex-free, and with a tight-fitting neoprene seal that means the cover completely encases the cast and protects it from water. IMG_0409[1] What is even better is that the seal means that air is trapped around the leg and it becomes self-supporting, effectively allowing the leg to float in the water without any effort on the part of the child. That was the bit the M liked best!

You can order LimbO products via their website and the step-by-step process ensures that you buy the size that will best fit the person who needs it. I was impressed with the speed of delivery too as M’s full leg protector arrived within 48hours of ordering it, meaning that his normal bath-time routine could quickly be resumed. I do wish I had spent a little more time perusing the site as I noticed after processing my order that they now also sell a range of other products designed to make having a cast that little bit easier. From outdoor weather protectors to toe cozys and Sealskinz outdoor socks, there really is something to protect the cast in every possible situation.

I don’t know why there isn’t more information readily available about this fantastic product through A&E, fracture clinics and hospitals because it is, to be frank, a complete life-saver. Anything that makes the challenges of coping with broken bones even a little bit easier is invaluable and this is one product that is definitely worth the investment.

Mark: 10/10 from us both – though M gave bonus points for the fact his leg floated when in it!

The 12 day countdown…

A Power of Superheroes

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What is the collective noun for a group of superheroes? Any idea? I didn’t know off-hand, but as I looked around the room at the amazing group of people gathered to celebrate the 2016 Free From Foods Awards this week, I realised that that’s what I was in the midst of: enough superheroes to make any allergy sufferer’s heart flutter. Ever since I spent a fabulous 2 days judging these amazing awards at the start of February, the ceremony had promised to be the highlight of my season and, with M and G in their new role of diary contributors to the Foodsmatter newsletter, the whole family was lucky enough to be invited to attend.

13095812_10153421370696123_3435156642706845396_n M’s broken leg required some significant amendments to our original plans, but we were determined to get the family, wheelchair and all, to the event, held near Regents Park, London at the rather impressive Royal College of Physicians. We planned to leave as soon as the children finished school, which left ample time to reach our destination and even allowed strategic stops along the way to primp and preen ourselves for the evening. We all had new clothes for the occasion and G took the matter so seriously that she hand-wrote a note for her hanger to remind herself not to wear them before the day itself. Our journey started well and as we travelled along the motorway, the children took turns to pick songs for us all to sing or compared what cloud creations they could spot out of their respective windows. Naturally things couldn’t continue in that relaxed manner and we soon joined a queue of stationary traffic that had me biting my nails and stressing to the hilt that we wouldn’t reach London in time. Fortunately for all concerned, Mike has a much calmer Cg-yOG8WIAAwdZY head than me and was our nominated driver for the night. The traffic eventually started to move, we crept past the accident site and soon were back up to speed and on our way without me completely losing my cool. We stopped just once and Mike, G and M were all able to nip into the service station toilets to glam themselves up for the evening. I was too anxious about our timings to take 5 minutes out to change myself and the following hour or so was filled with moments much reminiscent of Dirty Dancing – remember Baby changing on the back-seat of Johnny’s car? – as well as hysterical giggling from M as I contorted my body into unbelievable positions to don my own new outfit.

Of course, as it turns out, I needn’t have worried. We arrived bang on time and thanks to the helpful College staff, we were able to park in their car park to ease the burden of manoeuvering M and his wheelchair around. Convoluted lift systems negotiated – seriously complicated as we had to go down from the ground floor to the lower ground floor before taking a different lift up to the first level – we were finally there and the children were thrilled to receive name badges of their very own. From the moment we stepped into the room, I was surrounded by a group of innovative, interesting and fantastic people who all had one thing in common, their passion for the freefrom market. Some of them I had had the honour to meet at one of the judging sessions, others I know from social media, whilst others I’d never met before, but as we made our way across the room, being hugged and kissed by new friends and old, I realised that I really did feel at home with them. We parked M’s wheelchair close to the stage so that he could observe all the proceedings with ease and my thanks go to the Romer Labs UK representatives, one of the Awards sponsors, as they made sure he could see what was happening at all times.

Michelle Berriedale-Johnson was the emcee Cg_buJJW4AUTEpI for the evening and the awards presented by celebrity chef, Antony Worrall Thompson, who gave what has to be the quote of the night that “..free from people should not be seen as niche people but normal people..”, which was great to hear. It was wonderful to see so many creative and innovative producers receive commendations for their hard work and the winners were all deserving in their categories. It was good to remember some of the fantastic new foods that I had tasted and wonderful to see G so excited about the gluten- and dairy-free offerings available that her own mini fist-pumps could be seen as she heard who the winners were. The full list of winning entries can be found on the Awards website, but a special mention must go to the winner of the FAIR trophy for the Best FreeFrom Food 2016, Nutribix. I was particularly thrilled to see this breakfast cereal win, not least because I had been fortunate to judge the Breakfast products category in February and absolutely loved it. Nutribix is an amazing product, reminiscent of Weetabix and unlike anything else available on the freefrom market at the moment. nutribix-awt-mmo We’ve still to track down a box in our local supermarkets for G to try, but I’m even more determined to get my hands on some now that one of my favourites has won the overall title.

It was an unmissable night and we could easily have stayed for hours chatting to the other attendees. G and M were on best behaviour and did some impressive networking of their own – politely introducing themselves and chatting confidently to the adults in the room. I received several compliments from those they spoke to, which makes me immensely proud. G was absolutely buzzing from the thrill of having canapés and a buffet that were, more or less, all safe for her and certainly enjoyed the food – the surprise hit of the evening being water buffalo canapés which she declared “delicious” and helped herself to more as soon as she could. It was wonderful to have the time and opportunity to put faces to names of so many other allergy bloggers and companies out there and whilst I won’t even attempt to list them all for fear of forgetting someone, they know who they are and I can’t wait to the next opportunity to meet up. The free from community can sometimes be surprisingly small, but it is also very close-knit and these are people that I’m delighted to be able to describe as friends. Even better, we already have a date in mind and many of us will be able to reconnect at the Allergy and Free from Show at Olympia, London during the weekend of July 8-10th. There’s also the Free From Eating Out Awards coming up later in the year, which is looking to recognise nationwide chains as well as independent restaurants who go the extra mile to provide safe meals for their allergy-suffering diners.

Special mention has to, of course, go to our very own superhero, Ryan from Borough 22 doughnuts. He got one of the loudest cheers of the night, partly aided by our very exuberant family, as well as 2 very much deserved Highly Commendeds for his doughnuts. The highlight of M’s evening was meeting the man he now terms his “personal chef” and even more thrilled that Ryan signed his cast too. It says a lot about the difference this man has made to M in such a short space of time that today even his teacher understood why M was so excited to have met “the doughnut man” in person.

Oh, and I still don’t know what that collective noun is, but I rather think “A Power of Superheroes” fits the bill perfectly! MzQ1QzM3M0E4MzFCNjM4QjYzMUY6YWUxNzkyMGNiZWRkMjJhNGIyYWI2YTNlNDZiNGJjODM6Ojo6OjA=

Allergy Awareness Week 2016

“Barry Broken Bones”*

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It’s currently 5.10am and I’ve been sitting awake on the surgical ward of our local hospital since M woke in extreme pain at around 3.15am. He has finally dropped back to sleep, but it looks like I’m going to be surviving the next 24 hours on just 3 hours of unsettled sleep. The last 24 hours have passed in a blur and certainly our day didn’t end as it started out. big-play-barn We’re halfway through the Easter school holidays and, with my Mum on her travels once again and me committed to work, Mike has taken some time off from his job to be on childcare duties for the duration.

The plan for the day was a popular one with M and G alike – drop me off to my office, back home for a quick breakfast, packed lunch prep and bag pack, and then head off to a nearby play place and farm – one of M’s all-time favourite places to visit when time allows. Day out done, it would be home for a spot of homework and maybe some TV before the return journey at the end of my work day to bring me home just in time for dinner. Timed to perfection, it promised to be a fun, busy and productive day for all concerned. The first I was aware that something untoward had cropped up was the phone-call to my office during lunch-time. A phone-call from G. The type of phone-call no parent wants to receive out of the blue:

“Hi Mum, it’s me. Dad just wanted me to call and let you know we’re having to take M to hospital…”

Cue vivid flashbacks to a sunny day in Cornwall when M was 4 and the sounds of G pounding on the car window whilst Mike carried a screaming M in his arms and the ensuing drive in something of a blind panic to the nurse-led unit at Bodmin before an ambulance trip for 2 to Truro.

The partial facts I was able to extract from her at that point told me only a fraction of what I wanted to know, but it was enough to cause my heart to lodge itself in my throat and remain there for the rest of the day. With the news that M’s leg had been hurt and needed to be checked in A&E, the remnants of my lunch were pushed to one side and I worked hard to suppress the anxiety that I could feel creeping up in an attempt to catch me unaware all too frequently. I spent the rest of my afternoon in a state of mild shock, feeling nauseous about what might have happened and watching the minute hand tick slowly by as the tension started to build. It didn’t help that neither my office or our local hospital has great mobile phone signal meaning that it was near impossible for Mike and I to communicate in any effective fashion. I did manage to somehow stay focused enough to complete my day and finish some work during those long waiting hours, though the quality, accuracy and sense of that work will only be revealed once I’m back there. After what felt like hours, I finally gave in to my anxieties and called A&E, where, by complete chance, I managed to catch Mike just as he was about to leave with the children. Despite M’s severe pain, the nurse assessor felt confident that the lack of swelling and no discernible sign of a break on thorough examination indicated it was just badly bruised and some judicial doses of painkillers would soon see him back on his feet.

Now, the fact that I’m currently writing this by the light of my phone on a noisy hospital ward will probably tell you all you need to know and that the story didn’t end there. Not even close. By the time, I had been rescued from my office and we reached home, M was unable to put any weight on his foot and was screaming from the excruciating pain. He was rating his pain levels at approaching a 10 out of 10, which we knew meant this was far more serious than originally thought and his pale, strained face reflected that fact. IMG_0301[1] With very little debate and a hurried phone-call to A&E, we were soon back in the car and heading to the hospital, this time determined not to leave without an x-ray. The nurse assessor admitted on the phone to Mike that she had been reflecting on M and regretting discharging him without an x-ray, so for once we were happy to be visiting our local A&E again.

Within the hour, and obvious from the very first x-ray, we had our answer: M has a nasty spiral fracture to his left tibia. That has led to a full length leg cast from mid-thigh to toe, a considerable amount of tramadol, paracetamol and ibuprofen and an overnight stay for 2 on the surgical ward for observation. It’s been a difficult night as once again G has been sidelined whilst M heads into hospital, though this time the proximity to home has made it so much easier and she has been a superstar throughout. M’s pain has reached new levels of awful, though even then, as he lay sobbing in his hospital bed, he wouldn’t rate it as more than a 9, or possibly a 10, proving once again how accustomed to chronic pain he has become.

IMG_0302[1] The next few weeks are going to be tough and not just because of his broken leg. M is going to have to find a fortitude he’s never had before as he misses out on a much longed-for dream because of it. He is extremely disappointed, but courageously trying to take it in his stride, with the smile on his face we all know and love. I can see the hurt deep in his eyes, but we will hope that something even better comes from this disaster. What saddens me even more is that he really has been the victim in this situation. His broken leg is not due to careless or reckless behaviour on his part, but down to the action of another child. A child who probably has no idea of the physical damage to M’s body, let alone the other far-reaching consequences of his violence towards my child. I’m still reeling from the shock that a child of a similar age could cause such injury; disturbed that a family could leave without checking on his well-being and left hoping that my children don’t lose their beautiful skill of making friends of strangers wherever they are, even though the consequences can unbelievably be so devastating. I fear that this incident will leave an emotional scar on them both that will take a long time to heal.

*M’s leg might be broken, his dream in tatters and his confidence knocked, but at least 1 thing is still in tact – his sense of humour. In the wee small hours, whilst floating on a cloud of entonox, M decided that this needed to be his new name! That and he’s keen to investigate the price of a cow…

Why we should value our NHS

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If you live in the UK, you can’t help but be aware of the current problems faced by the NHS. The continuing debate over contracts for junior doctors has led to 4 strikes in the last 4 months, though the discussion has been raging for much longer, and there are more strikes on the cards if the issues can’t be resolved. Theses issues have been well-documented in the national press and I’ve no doubt that those of us who depend on a very regular basis on the healthcare provided by the NHS have our own opinions about these strikes, especially if we know, or indeed are, one of the 25,000 cancelled operations that have resulted from their action. Whatever your thoughts about these strikes – and believe me when I say that I’ve heard a huge cross-section of opinions from friends and acquaintances – it is impossible to ignore the underlying truth that the NHS is struggling and its future doesn’t necessarily look all that rosy.

Over the last 5 years, our experiences of the NHS have ranged from the outstandingly good to the outrageously awful. We continue to have a very reluctant relationship with our local hospital, who has unquestionably failed M at almost every step of the way and it is only our belief that local support and care is tantamount to his continued health and well-being as well as our peace of mind that has kept us in the battle for a shared care relationship between our local and GOSH. Likewise, whilst we are extremely grateful to M’s GOSH consultant and dietician, who not only gave us that elusive diagnosis 3 years ago, but who continue to advise, support and care for him with the honesty that we requested, the disastrous outcomes of our last admission have tested that “doctor – patient’s parent” relationship to its limits. We have accepted that they don’t have all the answers, nor access to that much longed-for magic wand, but we will keep going back because we have absolute confidence that M’s medical team, at least, will carry on striving to do their best for our medically complex challenge of a child.

Yet, despite all the lows, the high points mean that I can see there is something truly wonderful to be valued about our NHS. I see it in the regular phone-conversations that happen between M’s dietician and me, so that she can keep an eye on what’s going on from a food point of view and monitor how well he’s managing with drinking his E028 now that the NG-tube is gone. I see it when she takes her concerns to M’s consultant and talks them through and agrees a way forward, so that we don’t have to wait months for our next trek to London for an appointment before we act on the problems we’re experiencing now. I saw it in the care given to both M and me during his admission, when the nurses made sure that his best interests were met as far as possible and offered cups of tea when they were otherwise powerless to help. I saw it in the frankness awarded to Mike and I during the December debacle, when we asked for an honest opinion about his future health and what we could expect; and it was given.

And I see it at the local level that for most of us is our main contact with the NHS. Not the senior consultants, junior doctors and hospital staff dealing with the chronically ill, but through the GPs surgeries and the doctors, nurses and other staff that work there. I know that we are incredibly lucky with the local medical centre that’s found in our small village and for as long as we have been a part of it, they have gone above and beyond so many times to make things easier and get answers and help whenever we’ve needed it. Recently, I hit an unexpected stumbling block in ordering the E028 formula needed to keep M going, one that had been caused by a lack of communication between the feeding team at our local hospital and just about everyone else. A feeding team nurse had contacted GOSH to confirm whether M still needed regular tube changes and, on being told that he no longer had his tube, she cancelled the monthly orders with the feeding company. Nothing wrong there you may think and I’d agree, except she didn’t advise us that she’d cancelled it, nor did she tell our GP that it was now their responsibility to sort out his monthly prescriptions.

Thanks to past experience and my somewhat controlling approach to always having a supply of E028 in the house, I started chasing about when we could expect our next delivery whilst there was still a good amount of stock in my dining room and spent the next 40 minutes being pushed from pillar to post as I tried to track down who I needed to speak to and unpick exactly what had happened. When I finally established what I had to do, it was my wonderful GP’s surgery that I turned to and their fantastically competent staff. With the help of 1 receptionist, 1 member of office staff and the invaluable pharmacist, we eventually got M’s prescription sorted and marked as an ongoing monthly medication. They phoned, researched, ploughed through reams of medical notes and faxed until it was all sorted – and all with the attitude that they wanted to help, were willing to help and were happy to help, and a ready smile that reassured me I wasn’t being too much of a problem in their already busy day.

That is caring for the patient at its absolute best and that’s why we should value our NHS; for all those staff who get little thanks but make a big difference – or certainly did for this harassed Mum!

Over The Wall

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It was last summer when I first heard about Over The Wall and the amazing camps they run across the UK for children with serious health problems. M’s GOSH and EGID friend, R and his big sister, I otw were fortunate to go to one and the photos and comments about it posted by their Mum, Annie left me determined to find out more and see whether M might similarly qualify for a place.

Over the Wall is a UK-based charity that is part of the international SeriousFun Children’s Network, which is based on an original idea set up by actor Paul Newman in the 1980s. He identified that the popular US summer camps attended by thousands of American school children every year often left out children living with chronic health conditions because of the inability of camp volunteers to cope with the often complex medical needs. His vision was to open up that opportunity to every child, regardless of their health needs, and he helped to provide full support for every child whilst they were away from home. These children got the full “camp” experience as they were unaccompanied by parents or carers and were able to enjoy a touch of “normal” in their otherwise complicated lives. From that simple starting point, one camp spread across the US and into countries across the world and soon followed the realisation that not only did the sick child miss out, but so, all too often, did their siblings and the idea for a separate siblings camp was formed.

I was delighted to learn about the siblings camp and, feeling that this was another great opportunity for G to escape the constraints of a sick sibling and be surrounded and supported by others in the same situation, duly applied; and so it was that a couple of weeks ago, G headed off to deepest, darkest Dorset for a week of serious fun. Just as her Young Carers group gives her the opportunity to have time away from M with other local youngsters in similar supporting roles, G spent the week with other 8-17 year olds from across the South of England and Wales, who all have 1 thing in a common: a brother or sister living with a chronic health problem. It was a week to be herself, not defined or viewed in her role as M’s big sister, and encouraged to take time to focus on herself without worrying about M and how he would feel.

The children who attend are split into 8 groups: 4 colours determined by their age, with orange for the youngest and blue for the oldest; and then each colour split into separate boys and girls teams. Volunteers are a key part of the camps and their numbers match camper numbers, so for the 60+ children on the 2016 South Siblings Camp, there were 60+ volunteers supporting them, encouraging them and making sure they had fun. During the week the teams participate in a number of activities, from swimming to archery and from climbing to arts and crafts and much, much more. Their days are carefully planned with breaks and an after lunch rest hour, which G tells me was strictly adhered to, as well as a cabin chat every evening, where the teams reflect on their days and every member is awarded a bead to recognise what they’ve achieved. Discos, team games, inter-team challenges, morning singsongs, new activities, skills learned, old favourites and even a talent show sum up G’s week away.

G’s enthusiasm about her time on camp has been wonderful to hear and she was keen to teach M the camp songs and share so many snippets of everything she got up to whilst there. I love the fact that there was little or no discussion about their chronically ill siblings, but instead the focus was well and truly where it needed to be – on these children who all too frequently miss out. I was impressed with the array of meaningful mementoes that G brought home with her, as impressed as she was delighted. More than just her purple OTW t-shirt and a black one for M, but also a carefully crafted wooden bird-box, team and camp photos, a hand-print card holding the reflections of the team – both peers and volunteers – on who G is as a person and why they appreciated her, and that precious collection of beads reflecting her achievements during the week, recognised by her team volunteers and accompanied by a written record of why they felt she had earned them. All of these things have built up her self-confidence in those few days away and have helped her feel even more valued within this new group of friends.

For us, it was an unnaturally quiet week in the household and there was a definite sense of something missing from our every activity. M was reluctant to admit to missing having G around to play with and torment, but his move to sleep in her bed every night she was away revealed the depth of those feelings he didn’t want to show.

As a parent, you know you’re on to a good thing when you child asks for more and G has already asked if we can apply for her to go again next year if at all possible. Her enthusiasm about her experience has bubbled over and infected the whole family with M now having everything firmly crossed that his application for a place on the August Health Challenges Camp is successful. That would see him having those same opportunities to enjoy as G in an environment that we can be confident will be safe for him as there are medical volunteers and 1-to-1 support for the chronically ill children. Even better, the children have decided to make OTW the focus of their fundraising efforts during National Eosinophil Awareness Week this May. The one thing I haven’t mentioned is that these camps are offered completely free to those children who attend, making them truly accessible to all, which is a really fantastic part of this charity. Any funds that G and M can raise will help make a huge difference to others like them and if you’d like to make a small donation, you can do so via this link or the button on the right, with our thanks.

7 years to diagnosis

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