Tag Archives: EGID

Getting into the Christmas spirit

Now, you might have guessed that our recent sojourn at GOSH wasn’t the perfect lead-up to Christmas I would have planned, with more highs and lows than those promised by a seasonal episode of Corrie, but please don’t imagine that our extended stay was completely devoid of any festive inspiration. Despite the noticeable lack of anything more than a mere nod to Christmas on the decoration front and the unseasonably mild weather that meant my trusty raincoat was relegated to the tiny locker provided for all the worldly belongings we might need during our 20-day incarceration, M and I did enjoy our fair share of festive activities, which helped infuse a little Christmas spirit into our otherwise grey days.

The Nutcracker – The Royal Ballet, Royal Opera House Covent Garden:

Our first treat was the chance to see the final dress rehearsal of Tchaikovsky’s “Nutcracker” danced by The Royal Ballet at the Royal Opera House, Covent Garden. It came as a complete surprise on that first Monday morning and was one that M and I just couldn’t turn down. Last year, M had been given tickets to see “Alice in Wonderland” at what was the first visit ever to the Royal Opera House for us both and I never even imagined that this year’s admission would see a repeat opportunity. M didn’t have to be asked twice and almost immediately started the countdown to when we could leave the ward and head off in a black cab to reach our destination. Timings were such that we were only able to watch the first half as we had to be back at GOSH for M’s lunch and the first of his food challenges, but he was delighted that we got to see the battle between the tin soldiers and the rats, his favourite part of the entire ballet, and we had the best view of it from our seats in the Royal box!

Christmas decorations & crafts – Play-workers and School:

M had the opportunity to decorate, make and create a plethora of decorations and Christmas-themed crafts thanks to both the Hospital school and the tireless team of play-workers linked to Rainforest ward. Since this time last year, the school has introduced a family session on a Friday morning, which allowed parents or carers to join their child in the schoolroom for an hour to enjoy an activity together. M and I spent the first week working with Fimo to create some tree decorations, a real blast from my past as this was a craft I loved doing as a child, and the second making what I think was called a “Spanish star” from paper. The latter was beautiful and I even managed to get it back home in one piece, where it was much admired by my Mum, who asked if we’d bought it from John Lewis! When not at school, M spent a lot of his time colouring-in a huge number of ceramic decorations provided by the play-workers on ward. Armed with a technicolour array of ceramic pens, M decorated sleighs, bells, gingerbread men and chinese dragons as well as a gnome and an owl pot, all of which formed the greater part of his gift to friends and family for Christmas. Not only did these activities help us feel a smidgen of festive spirit, they also provided a great distraction for an active 9-year old confined to the hospital buildings.

Carols by Candlelight, St George’s Holborn:

After one particularly long day on ward and a much-needed break from it all, I wandered back to the hospital to be greeted by the sound of carol-singing from outside the main entrance. I had been missing my weekly choir sessions at home and stopped to listen to the strains of carols that filled the air. This group had come from nearby church, St George’s Holborn to spread a little festive cheer and offer mince pies to anxious parents, extended families and harried medical staff as they rushed through the doors of the hospital. As I chatted to some of the members, I was invited to their Carols by Candlelight service on the evening of G’s birthday and was delighted to be able to attend, although sadly M wasn’t allowed to come with me. The service was beautiful – lit by candlelight, with smiling, welcoming faces all around me and filled with a peace that I really needed that evening. I sang every carol, grateful to be able to take part in this simple act of worship that proved to be invaluable therapy to me and which brought healing to my troubled heart.

Hospital school’s Christmas activities:

As well as the wonderful crafts mentioned above, the hospital school had a series of wonderful activities planned for the last 2 weeks of term. Sadly, due to the unforeseen hiccups that arose during his admission, M wasn’t able to take part in as many as he would have liked, but those he did do, he really enjoyed. From experiencing a Victorian Christmas with the V&A museum to themed artwork with the National Portrait Gallery and the beautiful Christmas service held in the hospital chapel and which we enjoyed so much last year, there was just so much on offer. M was particularly disappointed to miss the service as he had been asked to read at it, but the necessity of Klean prep made it impossible for him to attend. However, the one activity I put my foot down about and insisted he do was the chance to once again do some cookery with one of London’s head chefs. M loved every minute of that session and came out proudly bearing a box full of goodies from chocolate cupcakes to gingerbread angels and even 2 items he could safely eat – spun sugar and an apple swan!

The Snow Ball – GOSH’s Christmas parties:

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Martha from #GBBO

Every year GOSH put on a series of Christmas parties for patients and their families at nearby hotel, The Royal Britannia. M and I attended our first Snow Ball last year after learning about it during his admission and had such a good time that I vowed to make sure we repeated the experience this year and to take some extra-special guests with us if at all possible. Despite initial fears that the unexpected need for Klean prep part-way through his admission might get in the way, I managed to negotiate with his doctors and won him an afternoon’s reprieve from the stuff so we could attend. Once again we enjoyed all that was on offer – free food and drink for those who can eat, a soft toy for every child attending and a whole host of attractions including a Formula 1 racing car to sit in and sign, cupcake decorating, various photo opportunities, face-painting, science experiments and entertainment galore. M was particularly excited to meet both Iron Man and Martha from 2014’s GBBO and I would be hard-pressed to say who he was more impressed to meet! Thanks to the understanding and support of G’s amazing secondary school, Mike was able to bring her to visit M on that day too and so she was also able to come along and enjoy the party. Both children left with an amazing goodie bag each and wonderful memories of a great day in the midst of a difficult time.

Carol singing around the hospital:

This has to be one of my favourite Christmas events of our whole admission at GOSH. On our final Sunday there, Mike, M and I headed down to the hospital chapel for their Carols by Candlelight service. The chapel was packed out with patients, their families, staff and members of the local community who had come together to celebrate this service. As it drew to a close, and we disappeared back to the ward, I spotted that later that evening a group would be singing carols at various locations throughout the hospital. Having missed the carol services at both school and our home church, M had expressed several times that it didn’t feel like Christmas as we hadn’t enjoyed the usual buzz from all the preparations at home. This seemed like an ideal opportunity to find that missing Christmas spirit and given that all 3 of us love to sing, we determined to join this choir if we could. I later discovered that this group was from All Souls church, Langham Place and the members had travelled from various locations across the greater London area to spend an hour singing carols around GOSH. We were welcomed with open arms and it was wonderful to see M take part with real gusto as he was finally free of the Klean prep drip and starting to feel a little more like himself. The choir and musicians started in the main reception area before heading to The Lagoon and then on to 2 floors of the Octav Botnar wing to serenade patients and staff alike. It was a truly magical evening and a fitting end to the tension-filed admission we had experienced so far.

But that wasn’t part of the plan

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Without doubt, December whirled past in something of a blur. As I’ve already posted, we had been waiting for an admission to GOSH since last July and naturally it came when we were least expecting it. This admission had been planned by M’s dedicated dietician, who was hugely concerned by the continuing lack of progress we were making when it came to successfully reintroducing food back into his diet and she was keen to challenge him within the hospital setting so that they could see exactly what we were experiencing at home. Our initial discussions all those months ago were in terms of weeks: a lengthy admission, perhaps up to 6 weeks, to fully understand how M’s bowel and b plan ody respond when food is eaten; a daunting prospect when you have another child to love and nurture at home as well as a job to hold down.

Move forward 3 months and we reached our October outpatients appointment with no admission in sight and, due to the lack of long-term gastro beds at GOSH, no clear indication of when that elusive bed might eventually become available. Cue the recommendation of a radical rethink and a change of plan to a one week admission, followed by a series of further 1-week stays, scattered here and there throughout the year as and when there was a bed. The gastro team, keen to get him in before Christmas, felt this was our best chance of getting a bed any time soon and so we rolled with the punches and agreed to this amended plan, still not quite clear as to when the admission would actually happen. Over the following weeks, I spent valuable time fine-tuning the details with M’s dietician, agreeing what foods we would choose for challenges during our stay and discussing what the medical team were hoping to achieve through this process. The hardest part remained the lack of a long-term plan. The truth is that M’s continued problems with so many of the foods we’ve tried to introduce is baffling his doctors and until this admission was under our belt, they just didn’t know in which direction we’d be heading next.

By the time M was admitted on December 3rd, the plan had been tweaked again and unsurprisingly would continue to be so during the length of our stay. That one week admission suddenly became a 2-week stay and the 2 foods we had agreed to trial: potato and sweet potato, suddenly became 4: potato, egg, banana and salmon. I had already expressed some concerns about the plan to challenge him with 2 foods in a week and the increase to 4 over a 10-day period was now ringing some serious alarm bells in my head. Mike and I knew full well that the chances were that I would be bringing home a less-than-stable M just in time for Christmas and were resigned to rolling our sleeves up and spending the holidays Small-Changes working hard to bring him back to a healthy position ready for the new school term. We weren’t happy about this situation, but felt there was really no alternative; we had to give their plan a try in order to find some answers.

Despite those misgivings, the ones I had fully voiced to everyone and anyone who would listen from the minute I first met with M’s consultant and dietician when we arrived at GOSH and that I continued to express through every step of the following 10 harrowing days, we set off on this plan with the hope that we would find another safe food for him and perhaps even start to understand what has been troubling his gut for so many years.

What wasn’t part of the plan was the continued reluctance of the medical teams in hospital to listen when I told them M was beginning to show signs that all was not well with the food challenges and that he was reacting to the foods;

the plan didn’t anticipate the reality of M’s bowel being so unable to cope that it refused to work properly by the time we were 10 days into the 2-week admission;

and it definitely didn’t include 10 litres of Klean-prep (the worst bowel prep known to man) being continuously pumped into his tiny body over a 6-day period in an attempt to clear the resulting chronic impaction.

Nowhere in the master plan had I seen fair warning that, by day 14, I would be rendered utterly helpless and only able to sit, holding his hand and massaging his aching limbs, as M was left bent double from the cramps that were consistently hitting an 11 on the pain scale, where 10 was classed as the worst pain imaginable.

dancing-in-rain

Somehow we limped through endless hours of pain and frustration and dashed hopes, and we survived. Somehow we talked and ranted and sobbed and challenged until finally the medics acknowledged that things had gone horribly wrong, and we survived. Somehow we managed to stand strong and stay strong and stand our ground and refused to compromise on what we knew was in M’s best interest, and we survived. Somehow we rode out the fiercest storms and learned to dance in the rain, and we survived. Somehow we found enough humour in each day to keep the smiles on our faces and to laugh the smallest of giggles, and we survived. Somehow we got through the unexpected and started to find our way back to our normality, and we survived.

But that wasn’t part of the plan.

Another year over

Déjà Vu

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déjà vu (noun)

a feeling of having already experienced the present situation

Last week, when I penned my blog post marking M’s 1st tubiversary, we were in the midst of a busy week involving Christmas music concerts (G), school Christmas fairs with a choir appearance (M) and my own choir concert; and I was trying hard to avoid an eerie sense of déjà vu that just refused to go away. At the back of my mind I was very conscious that it was one year on from our last GOSH admission and had hanging over me the reality of a long 22 weeks wait for a bed to become available for another one. I can smile about it now, just, but the stars really were aligned for last week’s outcome: my Mum was abroad again; my choir’s Christmas concert was planned for the Saturday night again; and G’s birthday was fast-approaching again.

So really, when you think about it, I shouldn’t have been surprised that the phone-call actually came when we least expected it. I think I’d been lulled into a false sense of security by the time we got to the Wednesday night. Last year our phone summons came at 1.30pm on the Tuesday afternoon and M and I had to be at GOSH by 11am Wednesday, so with no communication from them at all, other than the information passed on by our dietician that he was now top of the waiting list when Thursday dawned, I thought that was it for another week. I had my Friday planned – pack some birthday presents for G, pick up some bits and pieces for Christmas and pull together the items I’d want to take with me to GOSH when we finally had to head to London; plus some much-needed sorting out in the house to get it ready for G’s godfather and his family to visit for her birthday weekend.

I was, in fact, mid-conversation with a work colleague about what was going on re his admission, when the office phone rang and that was it. The bed was available now and we needed to head to GOSH and Rainforest ward as soon as we practically could. With so little notice, dropping everything to go there and then just wasn’t possible, but fortunately Mike and G were at home as she had an inset day, so were able to speed through a couple of loads of laundry and start pulling out all the essentials for a 2 week hospital stay. 7176037017_45f555b6cc_z I started contacting those who needed to know – school, work, his GOSH dietician – and somehow managed to put in another couple of hours at work before heading off to pick M up from school and finish the packing job. The 4 of us eventually set off from home and hit London perfectly in time for the tail-end of rush hour traffic, meaning we finally reached our destination at around 8.30pm.

M and I quickly settled in the bay on Rainforest, not quite the same bed as before, but close and with some old familiar and very welcome friendly faces amongst the nursing staff to help us feel at home. It was almost as if we hadn’t been away, even though it had been 12 months since our last stay. And that was when the real sense of déjà vu hit – we had been here before. It was not just the same situation, the same bed or even the fact that it was the same ward, but on exactly the same day too, something that we could never had anticipated, even though this admission came as no surprise at all.

A Numbers Game

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Tomorrow’s Tubiversary marks:

12 NG-tubes and the accompanying tube changes, which included…

…2 tubes pulled out by accident and 3 that broke unexpectedly;

4 pump backpacks worn out and replaced (and number 5 will be needed soon);

approximately 70 Feeding Friends stickers and 60 strips of Tegaderm used to keep that tube firmly stuck to the side of his face;

and at least 3 other tapes tried, tested and rejected;

1 Christmas, 1 Easter and several birthdays survived and celebrated;

Nearly 1 whole school year achieved with only a few days off;

1 week away in Cornwall enjoyed;

4 weekend trips planned, packed for and successfully negotiated;

5 safe foods and 2 safe oils identified and back in his diet, resulting in…

…around 15 new recipes adapted and perfected…

…4 new kitchen gadgets invested in and well-used…

…and impressively 16 restaurants found to be amazingly able and willing to accommodate the trickiest of dietary requirements

Not forgetting:

410 litres of E028 pumped

12 daily medicines reduced to just 3;

nearly 3kg of weight gained

5cms of height grown

And including:

12 months of stock counting, and rotating, and checking, and ordering

52 weeks of new syringes and dressings

365 days dealing with pumps beeping – …on…off…start…stop…blockages…settings…errors…”just becauses”!

8,760 hours of making sure the tube is tight enough, taped enough, in the right place enough…and not getting caught on anything

525,600 minutes of longing to be able to hold or stroke or kiss that precious little face without the tube getting in the way

Countless tears shed, hugs shared and frustrations vented

All amounting to…

One year of the best health ever

“Run, run as fast as you can…”

Apple crisps – a mixed success

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When I first discovered my own potato intolerance, there were a few things I knew I would miss. Mashed potato I could do without and chips had never been a particular favourite of mine, but the prospect of a life without roast potatoes or crisps seemed a grim one. Of course, 7 years on and the reality of all that M has had to give up from his diet, my occasional longing for a crisp butty pales into absolute insignificance; but the one thing it has given me is the insight into how much M might be missing his favourite foods and it made me determined to search high and low to find him a safe alternative to that much-loved part of any child’s lunch-box: a bag of crisps.

With rice an early staple in M’s new diet, we quickly included rice cakes as a regular part of his lunch-time routine and the discovery of Rude Health Mini Rice Thins was a success that continues even now as M really enjoys munching on these during his lunch-times at school. Great as they are, the rice crackers don’t quite replace the crisps and I continued to look for something else that might just fit the bill. Rice was quickly followed by chicken and cucumber, but neither really opened up any viable alternatives and it wasn’t until the successful reintroduction of apples into his diet that we finally had a whole new realm of options to investigate.

Thanks to the advice of a couple of my fantastically supportive #EGID Mums, we heard all about Perry Court Farm Apple Crisps and couldn’t wait to try them out. I bought a mix of both their sweet and tangy varieties and the moment the box arrived, M eagerly grabbed a bag to try out. The sharpness of the tangy crisps proved a little too much for his particular taste-buds and he refused to eat more than one or two crisps from that original pack. Fortunately, the sweet ones proved to be more palatable and M enjoyed the addition of some crisps to his daily packed lunch. Sadly, I have to be honest and say that these haven’t been our most successful find as M isn’t keen on the after-taste he is convinced is there and has now stopped eating them completely. They do, however, satisfy my cravings for my much-missed crisps and I’ve really enjoyed them as part of my lunch-box choices for work.

M’s marks: 3.5/10 My marks: 9/10

That’s what friends are for

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Over the last couple of months, I’ve been focusing my blog on new recipes, holiday travels and weekend adventures, but of course, in the background of all that, there have been the ongoing food challenges, unavoidable medical dramas and inevitable hospital appointments that are very much part of our everyday life. Those are the bits that take a little longer to process as we adjust our expectations and plans for the coming months, and understandably are not always the easiest parts to share. However, whilst we’re picking our way through the discussions of our latest appointment, I wanted to share this story with you all.

You see, our most recent GOSH appointment was declared “…the best hospital appointment EVER!..” by M for reasons that had absolutely nothing to do with what his consultant or dietician said, discussed or did; and absolutely everything to do with some amazing friends he has met and made since our journey to a diagnosis started over 4 years ago.

We arrived an hour early for our clinic appointment, something that is nothing short of a miracle given the comedy of errors that unfolded as Mike attempted to connect with M and me mid-route as we headed into London by train. Let’s just say that realising your wife and child are not on the train you’ve just boarded and which is now leaving the station, but instead the one that’s just pulling into that self-same station behind you, probably doesn’t rank very highly in Mike’s top ten of successful travel arrangements, but we did eventually meet up and safely got to the hospital with plenty of time to spare! I knew that good friend and fellow EGID Mum, R was also there with her son, A, who has become great buddies with M since we were in GOSH last Christmas and had already tentatively arranged an attempt to meet up if at all possible. As we trundled through to the waiting room, I spotted R across the room and to my delight saw she was chatting with another old FABED friend of M’s and his Mum, L.

These 3 boys were thrilled to all be at clinic together and spent the next couple of hours sharing their electronic devices, playing games and laughing. Being in clinic with 2 good friends helped occupy M’s time and the lengthy wait just flew past as they entertained each other and we parents took the opportunity to do some catching up of our own. All 3 are on extremely restricted diets and represent beautifully the 3 different faces of elemental feeds: A who bravely drinks his daily; M with his NG-tube; and R with his PEG. It was wonderful to see, especially as all 3 were looking fit, well and really no different to other boys of their age. They looked as 3 friends should do: relaxed, happy and comfortable in each other’s presence.

I’ll be honest, as amazing as it was to watch these 3 lads pick up where they had left off, after however long it has been, without missing a beat, it was also heart-wrenching to see them spending time together in the hospital waiting room, knowing that the reason they were there was a chronic illness that has had a long-reaching impact on each of their young lives. But; in that most perfect of moments for them all as they sat united on the waiting room floor, we also realised just how blessed we are to know such amazing people and how important it is for M to believe that he’s not on his own.

More than a smile

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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, I 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. 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.”

Fast food – home-made style!

7 years to diagnosis

Searching for an answer