Tag Archives: challenges

And so it continues….

After last week’s unexpectedly busy week, I was hoping that this week might slow down a bit; or at very least, enough to allow me to draw breath and properly put some thought into my blog posts! However, things often don’t quite work out as planned, especially when you’re me and I’ve found that the roundabout hasn’t quite slowed down enough just yet for me to get off. There’s been little time to stop and smell the roses…or the coffee…the latter of which is probably more apt as it’s been huge quantities of the black stuff that’s getting me through each day right now.

With work full of “stuff” – legal, finance and HR bits and pieces to get my head round; Mike slowly winding down to his last few days in his current job and both children back at home after a fantastic week away for G (hurrah!) plus rehearsals for concerts, fundraising plans to finalise for Over The Wall and some rather meaty health/education issues to tackle for M, I can honestly say I’m looking forward to a quiet-ish weekend to tackle the growing piles of ironing that just don’t appear to be shrinking.

Whilst we’re in the midst of dealing with the challenge of school not really understanding all of M’s educational, physical and mental health needs, I found this wonderful image this week, which truly summaries what I want both him and G to remember and hold on to as they grow up. They really are so much more than their school achievements and exam results #kindhearts #generoussouls #greatfriends

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#NEAW2017

May 8th: No matter what’s going on, there’s no escaping #EGID or leaving it at home, even for one day. For all those facing exams over the coming weeks, their EGID will be just one more challenge that they have to survive.

Today, this is for M – and his schoolmates and the other Year 6s across the country who are taking their SATs this week. We’re so proud of you: of the obstacles you’ve already overcome and your determination to succeed. Just remember, the results really don’t matter.

March comes in like a lion

Ever had one of “those” days? You know, the ones where you’re already insanely busy and barely have time to breathe and yet everything that could conceivably go wrong, does go wrong to an unbelievable extent, plus those few extra and unexpected hiccups and challenges that appear along the way. After the last 48 hours, I appear to be heading into not just one of “those” days or even one of “those” weeks, but more realistically, one of “those” months. The next few weeks promise to be extremely busy and I’m beginning to wonder how I’ll get everything done on time and in the right order. You know it’s a sad state of affairs when we’re only on the third day of the month and I’m already counting down to the start of the next one.

Wales from space, courtesy of UK astronaut, Tim Peake

Wales from space, courtesy of UK astronaut, Tim Peake

The month started with our rather low-key marking of “Dydd Dewi Sant”, or St David’s Day for those of you not au fait with the Welsh language. Fortunately, this simply required some frantic scrabbling around my drawers hunting out the daffodil brooches that the children and I wear every year and remembering to pin them securely to school jumpers before heading out the door. The children were both keen and proud to wear their daffodils, though equally unimpressed that their friends didn’t know why they wearing them and so took the opportunity to quickly educate their classes. If I’d been more organised, I might have posted on the day itself, but I wasn’t and I didn’t, so this is me recognising that celebration of my heritage now.

But after that gentle start to the month, things have already started to ramp up. The next four weeks include:

Gotta love my left-field boy - who better than Ford Prefect from HitchHiker's Guide to the Galaxy!

Gotta love my left-field boy – who better than Ford Prefect from HitchHiker’s Guide to the Galaxy!

  • World book day and required costume x 1
  • parents evenings x 2
  • school book fairs x 2
  • M-friendly croissants (eek!) for French role-play at school with just 3 days advance notice to attempt adapting my MEWS-free recipe
  • Mothers Day
  • riding lessons
  • a 10th birthday (how did he get to be a decade old?)
  • birthday celebrations, including themed party and cake
  • class assembly x 1
  • dentist appointment
  • hair appointment
  • GOSH appointment
  • Easter
  • Performing Arts Exams x 2
  • school play, which translates into costume provision, rehearsals and performances
  • Spa day – a late birthday celebration which will be much-needed as it comes in the middle of the busiest week
  • events linked to school topics which will undoubtedly require some inventive cooking from me
  • preparations for a sibling camp for G, which gives her a week away with other youngsters in similar situations and, more importantly, a week away from M

gin-and-tonI’m sure that there will be things I’ve already forgotten and likewise, there’s no doubt that there will be more items added to my list as March passes by. Needless to say, I will be blogging about many of these occasions and just how I overcome the challenges of taking my M-friendly cooking and baking a step further than I ever imagined possible. Once all of these things are out of the way, it’ll be time for a well-deserved drink and, in case you’re wondering, mine’s a large gin!

Feeding Tube Awareness Week – Day 1: Choosing to raise awareness

7beb7940ed39bc80ce6cb39710abb740If anyone was going to describe the last decade of my life, the one indisputable conclusion they’d end up reaching is that it’s been anything but boring. Thanks to a pair of children who have thrown more than their fair share of life challenges into the mix, we’ve weathered more storms than I ever believed possible and, for the most-part, we’ve come out the other side still smiling and relatively unscathed. We’ve survived a lot of challenges, met a whole host of amazing people and learned a great deal along the way; and if I had to pick just one lesson that constantly resonates, I’d have to say that we now know to never take things for granted as they can change at the drop of the proverbial hat. Two years ago I wrote about our limited experience with feeding tubes and then, less than a year later, I found myself blogging about my brand new super-tubie. Another year on and the NG-tube has gone for the time-being and the only thing I can say with absolute certainty is that I have no idea if or when it will make a reappearance in M’s life.

The lessons that the last 12 months have taught us all have been huge and I have come to love and hate that feeding tube in equal measure. For the first time in his life, the reality of M’s chronic illness and multiple food allergies was outwardly visible and finally people understood from a glance that there was more to him than initially met the eye. The constant presence of the NG-tube opened up more conversations and opportunities for me than ever before and I’ve been able to share experiences, offer support and educate the wider community about EGID. M and his froggie friendWe all felt the benefits of that visibility to start with and I no longer felt the underlying pressure to defend the true extent of M’s illness and food allergies whilst my outwardly healthy-looking youngster was intent on tearing around practically making a mockery of every problem and pain we said he was suffering.

Of course, the flip-side was that ever-present tube. The one that there was no escaping or avoiding, no matter the event or occasion. Christmas, birthdays, performances and holidays, the tube was M’s constant companion and he became increasingly aware and conscious of the curious glances that were thrown his way by adults and children alike. His wonderful classmates and our village took it in their stride and quickly became so accustomed to it that M was never subjected to a second glance, but the wider world could stare until he disappeared from view. As well as the tube, we had the problems of M’s face reacting to the unavoidable medical tape and it took us several attempts to find a tape that didn’t burn his cheeks. Even when we finally found the best solution for him, at times he was left with red, sore and sensitive skin that only time tube-free could heal.

Looking back, 2015 was a year unlike any other in our family’s life, but I don’t regret a single moment of it. From that difficult decision to place the NG-tube and start M on an elemental diet, we have seen tremendous growth and an improved health that exceeded all our expectations. Most of all, we now have an opportunity to help raise awareness from the standpoint of personal experience and a road well-travelled, something that, believe it or not, I wouldn’t change for the world.

One boy and his bike

It will come as no great surprise to anyone who knows us when I say that M is something of a daredevil. A true speed demon who loves nothing more than racing around at breakneck speed, sometimes with a frightening lack of regard for his own well-being or my nerves. I think his attitude to life could well be described as “why do anything at walking pace when you can run?” He’s always been the same and mastered climbing out of his cot and climbing up anything to hand (think window-sills, wardrobes and shelving units) from an early age. It was something of a shock when he swept into our lives like a whirlwind, especially after 2 peaceful years with G, who took a much more relaxed approach to just about everything in her early years.

Despite M’s continuing love of climbing, which now includes any tree he can get a foothold on, and his passion for being constantly on the go even until the wee small hours, he has struggled to come to grips with the more mechanical methods of moving around. His obvious clumsiness as a toddler and unquestionable difficulties in balancing in gymnastics meant that it came as no great surprise when a few years later he was finally diagnosed with dyspraxia and dyslexia. M didn’t particularly struggle with his hand-eye co-ordination, in fact his nursery commented on how impressed they were with his tennis skills at age 3, but fine motor skills, upper body strength and balance have all taken a lot longer to achieve and are things he continues to work on both at home and in school. spark_2-0_action_3It took a little longer for him to become confident on his scooter, but his determination to succeed on a 2-wheel one, rather than the 3-wheel “easier” option, paid off and earlier this year he saved up enough money to buy himself the new one he’d been eyeing up in the Argos catalogue since last Christmas.

However, the one thing that had continued to defeat him was successfully riding his bike without stabilisers. For years, M has been telling us that all we needed to do was arrange a return visit to Canada so Grandpa could teach him how to ride his bike, just as he had G and the rest of their cousins; and there was little we could do to persuade him that he could actually learn at home. Despite M’s belief that Canada and Grandpa were the key to his success, we’ve continued to encourage him to practice at home and had even attempted removing the stabilisers a couple of times in an attempt to push him into giving it his all, but to no avail. lose-the-training-wheels-logo-new-black-on-whiteWhen M had his NG-tube placed at the start of this year, he was initially a little more cautious about all things even vaguely adventurous and after a couple of failed attempts on his bike, it was relegated to a dusty corner of the garage to gather cobwebs.

I’m not quite sure what changed over the summer, but something obviously did. It may have been seeing G and Mike head out on some   Saturday afternoon bike-rides, whilst he and I played together at home; it could have been his increasing belief that he can do anything he wants with his tube in place; and without a doubt, his improved balance that is so clearly evident as he scoots around and attempts trick-jumps on his scooter also played a part; but a few weeks ago he finally found the courage to take that last step. It came as a something of a surprise and was his response to my somewhat flippant comment one afternoon. He was chatting away to me as I was pulling the washing from the machine in our garage and talking about Mike’s need to tidy up in there. I told him that in terms of sorting out their outdoor toys, maybe we should get rid of his bike as it was just cluttering up the corner and could be put to better use by someone else. He took it as a personal challenge:

Ok Mummy, I’m going to get on my bike and ride it now!

and with that comment, on he jumped and wobbled his way out onto the driveway, with his toes barely touching the ground.

I watched from the kitchen door as M persevered to overcome this challenge that has been his nemesis for so many years. There was a look of absolute determination etched into his brow and he just kept on going until, with G by his side cheering him on, he finally managed to put both feet to the pedals and rode the length of our driveway. Elated with his success, both children shouted out in triumph, summoning Mike and me to watch in amazement as M grew in confidence in front of our eyes and completed his victory lap several times over. Since that day he’s improved in leaps and bounds, with his bike being the first thing he pulls out as soon as he gets home fromshutterstock_17311288 school for a few bumpy trips around the garden. We always knew that his premature arrival in the world with the dyspraxia added on top would mean he might take a little longer to master certain skills, but that he would get there in the end; and we were proved right that his refusal to be beaten by anything would eventually lead to an even sweeter success when we least expected it.

More than a smile

It all started with a simple compliment that was probably given without too much thought, almost a throw-away comment, but the words, planned or not, had a profound effect months ago and still do. I had walked M and G to school after a particularly difficult night with M,  following on from a couple of really tough days and I was tired and emotional as I left the school grounds. Passing their Head at the gates, I gave a small smile, a nod of my head and a quick reply to his question about how M was feeling. His next words stopped me in my tracks and even now continue to resonate in my memory, especially when things are feeling a little more challenging or tiring than normal:

“I just wanted to say that I admire your constant smile and upbeat attitude about everything. Your positivity is reflected in the way both children deal with whatever’s thrown at them in the classroom and in life.”

My garbled response was a variation of my stock answer:

“What else can I do, but smile? If I didn’t I might end up crying, but that won’t help M or G or me; and it won’t change the way things are…” (I shrugged) “…besides, if I don’t smile and get on with things, who else will? That’s my job as Mum.”

That might be true. but I know a lot of people who wouldn’t be able to smile about it. They’d feel hard done by and resentful of the hand they’ve been dealt, their response would be focussed on complaining – that simply isn’t you or the children.”

I don’t know if the exhaustion of a failed food trial and a bad night’s sleep had made me more sensitive to the world around me, but his words had an impact that I felt resonating deep in my soul and gave a lightness to my step that certainly hadn’t been there 10 minutes earlier. All the way home, with unexpected tears in my eyes, 11987081_10153905230214523_3086822525667980358_nI pondered what he had said to me. After all, am I really that unusual in my response? I don’t feel particularly unique in my attitude and, believe me, I can certainly have a moan with the best of them. I suddenly had reason to reflect on how I present our situation to the outside world and why I smile, even at the most difficult of times.

I smile because, despite everything – the difficult pregnancy, the premature birth, the EGID diagnosis and the decision to tube-feed – I have a lot to celebrate. I have 2 amazing, beautiful, cheeky, intelligent children, my children with super powers, who astound me regularly with their unexpected insights into the world and make me smile. Whilst I might not be able to say truthfully that they are both “happy and healthy”, the wish of every new parent as they await the arrival of their latest addition, they are growing into young people I am proud to say are mine and fascinating individuals in their own right. They might have their struggles to manage, but they are here with me and every day with them is one more opportunity to cuddle, to kiss and to share their lives. As a family we have a lot of fun and there’s always a reason to have a giggle, laugh out loud and just smile together, even at the darkest moments.

Of course the truth is that, in many ways, my smile is also much, much more than a reflection of the joy I feel when spending time with my nearest and dearest. It is also my most effective disguise. If you look hard enough, there will be times when you might notice that the smile doesn’t quite reach my eyes or that my smile is perhaps a little bittersweet. Those are the days when it’s been hard to fight the urge to crawl back under the covers and pull the duvet over my head. The days when getting up, getting dressed and just being is a massive success.12049331_865332913546071_5149015929277272601_n The days when it’s been hard work to put one foot in front of the other and not just get started, but keep going too.

And I’m not alone. Out there in the real world are a huge number of parents who are facing the same struggles, fighting similar battles and often surviving a reality that is far harder than the one we face each day. I have been privileged to meet and get to know some of these superhero parents through our shared experiences and I see that same positive and undeniably brave approach to life reflected in each and every one of them. They are often the parents who just a tiny bit more weary at the school gates, a little more contemplative at the end of each day and a lot more determined to make the most of every moment they have because they know just how precious those minutes are. They will be the ones who will shrug off your questions about their well-being and turn the focus firmly back to you and yours. Not because they don’t want to answer, but because they know that if their emotional floodgates are opened, it will cause a tidal wave that will engulf them and make keeping their heads above water just a smidgen harder to do. And they will be the parents that tell you they don’t consider themselves particularly special or outstanding or unique because this is their life, they know they can’t change it or their children and nor would they want to. M might end up being the cause of many more grey hairs than I’m ever going to admit to, but I wouldn’t have him any other way; he wouldn’t be him any other way; and those parents’ love for their children transcends the unexpected difficulties they’ve been presented with.

I want to finish with a beautiful thought that a friend shared on FB when we were reflecting on this thought-provoking blog post and our own life experiences as special needs parents:

“That’s the thing…we weren’t given these special children because we are special, they make us that way with how amazing they are.”

superhero

Yet another chicken recipe!

We might be nearly 9 months into life with a NG-tube and in theory should have long since said goodbye to its presence in our world, but the reality is very different. M hasn’t been able to progress beyond our 4 staple foods and it is becoming increasingly challenging to make rice, chicken, cucumber and apple into a tasty and interesting combination for 3 meals a day. 20150710_203444M’s steady consumption of new favourites tempura batter chicken nuggets and arancini di riso has resulted in the purchase of our first-ever deep fat fryer – a piece of kitchen equipment I never envisioned gracing my kitchen’s counter-tops – and I have been concerned about the amount of fried foods he’s now eating on a regular basis. Thanks to a recent post on The Recipe Resource’s Facebook forum, I converted the cornflake-covered chicken balls to a M-friendly version and found a healthier twist to chicken nuggets for him to enjoy.

They were really simple to prepare and it would be easy enough to adapt the recipe to suit your tastes and dietary needs. I’ve added both sage and thyme to the mix and both proved popular with M and G alike and I’m sure you could spice them up with chilli flakes for a more “grown-up” flavour.20150723_190656 The quantities would be easy to adapt too, so that you only make what you need for a meal-time, although M has enjoyed them cold for his packed lunches recently too. I also took the basic recipe and made some crispy fish balls for M’s white fish challenge, which I’m sure, with a little bit more time and effort, could be moulded into all sorts of interesting shapes. It ultimately turned out to be yet another food fail, but M definitely enjoyed the bite-size fish nuggets whilst he could.

It takes a village

village

Do you know that quote?  There’s a chance you might associate it with American presidential hopeful, Hillary Clinton and her 1996 book of the same title, but in fact it comes from an Igbo and Yoruba (Nigeria) proverb and has a sentiment that is echoed by numerous other African sayings.  It recognises the great value of having community involvement in a child’s upbringing, not just for the child and immediate family, but for the extended family and local community too.  As I have mentioned so many times before, we are incredibly fortunate to have an amazing community surrounding us, who are unbelievably supportive, and none more so than our fantastic village school.

Since day one, when G first headed in through their gates, we knew that this was a place that would offer our children not just a great education, but also a safe and secure place to grow and develop, all within walking distance of our home.  The children have had the opportunity to build strong friendships with others living nearby that will hopefully continue into their teenage years and beyond.  In the 2 years that M has been there, we’ve seen time and time again just how invaluable the school community is, not just to M, but to G and to Mike and me too. The impact of M’s ever-changing health has been particularly profound in the last couple of years and there is no doubt in my mind that the unfailing support of their school has been a steadying force for us all.

Without the readiness of the Head and other key members of staff to accommodate M and all his needs, we would have struggled to keep his education a priority this year and I doubt I would have been able to continue working.  Their willingness to have M in school as normal and to learn the intricacies of his NG-tube and feeding regime has allowed me to stay in my job, confident in the fact that this is a group of people dedicated to including M in every planned activity and who have taken on that intense in loco parentis responsibility without a second thought. This year in particular has tested their mettle with the demands of not just feeding tubes and complex allergy requirements, but of occupational therapy, dyspraxia and dyslexia added to the mix too.  His teacher, Mrs M, has been amazing and she approaches every new challenge with great positivity and an unparalleled sense of humour. www.amazon.comEven the minor hiccups encountered along the way – non-stop beeping, blocked tubes, leaking pumps and soaking wet clothes to name but a few – haven’t derailed her and that attitude has helped M cope remarkably well with all the changes this year has thrown at him.  I cannot thank her enough for being the rock that M has needed during school hours.

Equally, Miss K, G’s lovely Year 6 teacher has been a real blessing to us as a family and to G in particular.  She has encouraged G every step of the way and helped build her confidence throughout the year.  M’s hospital stay in December was difficult for G as he and I disappeared off to London for 2 weeks and couldn’t be around to help celebrate her 11th birthday or enjoy the end of term build-up to Christmas.  What made a big difference was Miss K, who was fully aware of all that was going on, made herself available to G whenever necessary, understood that emotions were high and made allowances when needed, and stayed in regular e-mail contact with me during our stay and also during the Christmas holidays, so she was as prepared for where things stood with M as the rest of us.  She is moving on from the school at the end of this term and I, for one, will miss her, especially as I was hoping she would be M’s teacher for his Year 6 year.

It’s not just the teaching staff who have done their utmost to give us the support we depend on, but the parents and children too and this past week I was left speechless by the thoughtfulness and compassion of M’s class.  Following his presentation during EGID awareness week, this group of enthusiastic 9 year-olds discussed different ways they could support him and focused their attention on the fact that he has to wear a backpack all morning, which contains his pump and his “food”. This is what happened next:

“We decided, as a class, that we would all wear a backpack for a morning so that we are able to understand a little of what M has to go through each day. Therefore, on Friday 10th July, it would be great if all of 4M could wear their backpack to school and keep it on for the whole morning!  If you can make it weigh about 2 and a half kilograms that will be amazing as that is the weight that M carries around each day.”

20150710_111650On Friday I had the privilege of going into school to see this amazing group plus teacher and teaching assistants with their backpacks on and to express my thanks, not just to the children, but to Mrs M and the school for encouraging and allowing them to show their support in this tangible way. His classmates have adapted well to M’s tube and accept it as an essential part of him.  They’ve asked questions and been interested in the whys and wherefores about it and then just forgotten all about it and carried on with day-to-day life, which is exactly what M has needed.

There have also been shows of support from parents, including one from a Mum I’d never met before and doubt I’d recognise again.  We were travelling back home late from our last GOSH appointment after a long, hot day in London and arrived back at our local train station.  As we reached the stairs of the railway bridge, I became aware of a fellow passenger catching up with us and smiled with her as she chuckled at the inane chatterings of my night-owl.  I paused to let her go past, but she slowed her pace to match mine and started an unexpected conversation:

“I just wanted to tell you that my children are at the same school as your son and came home and told us all about his presentation. They both raved about how amazing it was and how much they had learned from watching it and asking him questions.  I just wanted to tell you how impressed they both were, especially as they now understand a little more of what he’s having to cope with and we all think he’s incredibly brave.”

The conversation carried on until we reached our cars and said a quiet good-night. This for me is the advantage of having not just a child who stands out from the crowd because of his tube,Colorful solidarity design tree but also a community who is brave enough to have the confidence to speak out words of encouragement to a near-stranger because of a shared experience and the desire to add their voice to offer support.

From helping take G to school early in the morning to having my tubie home for tea; and from working hard with M to improve his handwriting to encouraging G to reach her potential and aim for the stars, our school, its outstanding teachers and the families who go there have helped us out along the way. This academic year has been a tough one, but we’ve survived all the bumps in the road with the loving support of the truly exceptional community that we live in.

When life gives you lemons…

120907-Lemonade-275x275

…make lemonade. Isn’t that how the saying goes? I have to confess to pondering this one in the early hours of this morning after being woken up by a somewhat distraught M who had just had a soiling accident whilst asleep. He woke me at 3.45am and 2 hours later, my mind was still buzzing and sleep seemed a thing from the dim and distant past. This doesn’t happen very often, but the impact is huge and it got me to thinking.

The impact of M’s condition has been massive on us all as a family and not just on M himself. To anyone who has a “sick” child, you will understand what I mean.

Mike and I have suddenly had to become medical experts in our own rights, despite our alternate careers as an accountant and surveyor, as who else is going to make sure that the best is done for M? I now know so much more about gastro conditions and food allergies than I ever anticipated needing to know. I’ve had to learn coping mechanisms, not just for M to deal with his frustration and anger at being ill, but to help us cope as well. The years of not having an answer have taken their toll and both Mike and I have had to re-learn who our little boy is and what makes him tick. I have to be his first line of defense wherever we are and I’m the one in his corner fighting his cause.

One of the hardest things about this illness is that there are no obvious outward signs that M is ill. He is a slight child and even when seriously underweight and struggling with full toilet-training, he has never lacked energy or enthusiasm for life. He may suffer with stomach cramps and joint aches that would floor most adults, but he just gets on with it. His complaints of aching limbs have been ignored for years as I was guilty of thinking of him as a “moaning” child, but now I know that those aches are very real and extremely uncomfortable whilst they last. He has been living the last 7 years with these as his normal, so he only stops when he’s suffering extreme moments of pain. He had then, and continues to have, the most amazing stamina and a reserve of energy that I can only envy. He is constantly on the go and has never let his health problems slow him down. In very many ways, this is his greatest strength, but also the biggest problem for us.

The lack of obvious evidence of his poor health means that people just don’t understand that he is ill and look at me in disbelief when I explain just how poorly he can be and, to be perfectly honest, I don’t blame them at all. He doesn’t look like a child who eats fresh air and frequently manages on less than 8 hours sleep a night; but he is.

I don’t think that Mike will mind me sharing that he has struggled to come to terms with M’s condition. I have an advantage in that I have grown up living with my own T1 diabetes. I know that these things can be survived and have just got on with it. Mike has found it harder and has longed for an easier fix than the road we seem to be travelling down at the moment. Of course, we now have a diagnosis and that has helped us all. Being able to put a name to the condition, even though it’s so rare that no-one ever seems to have heard of it, means that our fight has not been in vain and we can no longer be dismissed as fussy parents. This is M’s life for now and for the foreseeable future, and as his parents, our job is to ensure that he learns how to make the best of a bad situation.

M has struggled too, as you would expect and his levels of frustration at times are massive. Not only is he restricted by what he can eat and how his body reacts, but he also has to deal with the knock-on consequences. It is no longer possible for him to go home for tea with his friends, attend birthday parties, participate in cooking at school or even have a Christmas or Easter treat, without me having to provide a detailed list of what he can and can’t eat and the inevitable 20 minute discussion with the adult in charge about his condition. We encourage him to have a go at whatever he wants and refuse to let his condition dictate who he is or how he lives his life; and a big thank you has to go to my parents who brought me up with that very same approach to T1D and my life.

He acts out – he kicks and hits and shouts and bites – and sadly the people who have to survive the mood swings are us and G. G has had a hard role to play as the big sister to a poorly child. She worries about his health and I know struggles when we have to disappear off to London for the day for his hospital check-ups. But, she is also a child and has her own challenges to deal with. My children are the best of friends and would defend each other to the end; but are also the worst of enemies. It has become extremely important for us to invest as much time in G as we can and the last couple of months have enabled us to do just that far more than before. She recently took part in a music event organised by the local authority music education department and her clarinet skills were considered good enough to allow her to play with the wind band. This was something just for her and she loved every moment.

She has also been invited to join the local swimming club and that is something we are keen to encourage her to do. There was a point when we wondered a couple of years ago if she’d ever learn to swim, but she is now excelling at it and her teacher invited her to join the Club to see how she gets on. It’s an additional time commitment on a weekly basis for us as she will need to attend at least 1 extra training session a week as well as competitions, but we wouldn’t have it any other way.

I’m proud of both my children – M for his stoicism in dealing with his condition and making the most of life; and G for her continued hard work at school and at her after-school clubs. She may not like the fact that M misses school regularly to attend hospital appointments, but she admits that she wouldn’t want to have the blood tests and diet that he has. Neither child has an easy cross to bear right now, but I hope Mike and I manage to get it right enough to see them successfully and happily through to adulthood.