Tag Archives: Facebook

Allergy Blog Awards UK 2017

Why not write a blog post about your success?” they said.

“Yes, why not?” I replied.

Ask your readers, family, friends, colleagues, social media followers to vote for you

and I nodded my head in agreement.

They might even promote you through their own social media channels!

“Fantastic!” I thought.

And then came the task of sitting down and putting pen to paper and doing that very un-British thing of talking about my success to, well you know, to other people.

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I am incredibly flattered and proud to have been nominated in 2 of this year’s Allergy Blog Awards UK‘s categories, the Parent Allergy Blog and Allergy Blog of the Year and would like to thank anyone who took the time and effort to put my blog forward for these awards. I am up against some wonderful other bloggers who have become friends over the last few years and they are definitely strong contenders for these awards, but I’m hoping that with the help and support of my readers, and maybe even your friends, I might make the shortlist for one category at the very least.

I started my blog to share the highs and lows of life with EGID and multiple allergies, not least the road we travelled to reach M’s diagnosis. I didn’t want any other parent to feel as isolated as Mike and I did when we were trying to convince the medics that there was something wrong as well as letting other families know that they really aren’t on their own with their battles. Since my first post in 2013, my blog has morphed into more than just a commentary on a child with a chronic illness, but looks at all aspects of family life from birthdays and days out to schooling and hospital visits. Without a doubt, I will always find the time to keep writing because each and every day brings a new challenge to overcome or achievement to celebrate and it gives me a form of release that helps maintain a level of sanity at all times.

So what can you do? – and yes this really is the trickiest bit to write. You could click on this link here and cast your vote in either of the categories I’ve mentioned above. Just scroll through the lists until you find 7yearstodiagnosis and click to make your selection. You could also share this through your social media channels or email contacts to ask friends to add their votes too. I really appreciate each and every vote cast between now and 30th November 2016, and will hopefully be able to share whether I have successfully made it through to the next stage or not.

thanks

 

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The Italian Job

Sometimes you just need some time off; a week away from it all; an opportunity to have a break from the everyday, to just rest and relax and be. The thing is that that is hard enough to achieve when you’re a parent and near on impossible when you’re a special needs parent. The stress of leaving your chronically ill child with someone else, even when accompanied by a small novel’s worth of detailed instructions about what to do in every possible and conceivable situation, threatens to overwhelm and can seemingly be insurmountable for a day or two, let alone more than that. Mike and I are lucky that my Mum lives close enough to give us some nights off during school holidays, but those days usually mean longer hours at work for me as I attempt to make up time missed for hospital appointments with M and include only the occasional trip out to the cinema or for dinner somewhere where we aren’t tied to the essentials of chicken, rice and cucumber of our everyday menus.

Last December, in fact the day before M was admitted to GOSH for those disastrous food challenges, I received a Facebook message out of the blue from one of my fellow FABED Mums:

“Is that you that has won a trip to Italy with schar? Saw Twitter post? Congratulations x”

and have to confess that at that point I had absolutely no idea what she was talking about! A quick unscheduled peek at my Twitter feed and a long look at my e-mails later, I was stunned to learn that she was indeed right and I had won a 4-night stay in Italy thanks to gluten-free producer Dr Schar and the Allergy and Free from Show, Liverpool. It has taken a little while to put all the necessary pieces in place, but finally, last week, 6 full months since I first received that message, Mike and I left G and M in my Mum’s more than capable hands and jetted off for a much-needed break from it all.

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Getting to that point did take some effort and there were last-minute wobbles before we finally left. It took an unbelievable amount of time to confirm the dates for our hotel stay due to the relaxed attitude of the Italian hotel staff and our flights were researched and scheduled by me once I knew the preferred airports for us to travel to and from. Two nights before we left, Mike questioned whether we really could go abroad given M’s current ill-health, but we trust my Mum implicitly and knew we needed to take some time for ourselves. That’s something that my Mum supported fully as she knows that reality as well as we do due to my T1D diagnosis at age 9. The truth is that you should never under-estimate the impact of a sick child on a marriage: the focus naturally shifts from each other to that child and home life inevitably revolves around what they need in every waking moment. In our household, those needs have not just been during the day, but at nighttime too as M’s sleep issues have been an ongoing problem that we continue to struggle with and every time we seem to be making some headway with it, something happens to set us back to where we were before. His broken leg has been no exception and has added to that regression as it has seen us playing musical beds with G moving to M’s cabin bed and Mike to G’s room to give M the comfort he needed to enable him to sleep in the weeks following the accident. The physical strain of looking after M with his broken leg has taken its toll on me, leaving me exhausted and Mike and I have had little time to spend with each other without interruption.

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Our plane is the one on the left, which looked tiny when seen next to the Easyjet one also waiting for passengers

Last Monday passed in something of a blur and proved to be a long day of travelling with more than its fair share of minor hiccups along the way, just to keep us on our toes. We were up at 3.30am to reach our regional airport before a 6.30am flight to Munich, followed by a couple of hours waiting at the airport before our shuttle bus arrived. Then there was the 30 minutes of pure stress as we failed to connect with the shuttle bus due to the unclear instructions as to where to wait that were written on the booking form and my tears of panic as Mike desperately tried to find a helpful German airport worker to help him communicate with the bus company, before all was finally resolved and the driver turned around to pick us up. IMG_0522[1]The following 4.5 hours in a minibus without functioning air-conditioning and unable to communicate with said driver due to my lack of German and his lack of English was interesting, though we drove through some amazing countryside and realised that 4 countries in 1 day (UK, Germany, Austria and Italy) was a record even for us. We finally reached Lana, our Italian destination, only to discover that the cable car to the hotel – the only way to reach it – had broken down and we were destined to wait for an indeterminate amount of time as the statement that “..it might be 5 minutes, it could be 30…” was accompanied by an unconcerned shrug. But, we got there in the end and, having reached what is an amazing resort, it was, without a doubt, all worth it in the end.

The 12 day countdown…

13100674_10153433365696123_5191707647482858646_nIt’s hard to believe that we’re already at the start of May, which means that in just 12 days time, it’ll also be the start of National Eosinophil Awareness Week 2016. For me, every year seems to follow the same pattern:

  • At some point in late February/early March I realise that #NEAW16 is approaching and think I probably ought to do something about it…
  • Mid-March arrives and I finally get round to discussing with M and G what they think we should do this year to raise awareness of EGID and might even make some notes…
  • April begins and I realise that time is flying past far quicker than I imagined it would and begin to mildly panic about getting started on our preparations…
  • End of April and, depending on what I’ve managed to arrange thus far, I suddenly go into full-blown melt-down and panic mode as I realise that the start date is just around the corner and absolutely nothing is ready!

This year has been even more hectic than usual and not just because of the additional efforts needed in coping with M’s broken leg and what looks to be a rather nasty flare-up of his EC as a result of it. Between the children and I, we’ve determined to make this year’s Awareness Week bigger and better than ever before, which meant starting much earlier than usual too. In the past week I’ve organised, arranged and pencilled in dates for various events and whilst some will be happening ahead of May 15th, there are others planned for the week itself. Our current plans include:

  • a stall at our local Scouts’ May Fair, raising awareness and money
  • an article in our local paper all about our plans and an update on where M is a year on since the last Awareness week
  • yet another interview on our local BBC radio station, who are willing and delighted to have me in talking all things EGID for the 3rd year in a row
  • M and G have written, illustrated, filmed and directed a brand new video for #NEAW16, which I will be posting a link to in due course
  • M is in discussions with his Headteacher and is hoping to have display boards up in the school hall or library during #NEAW16. He has also planned some lunchtime games to raise some money for Over The Wall, our chosen charity for this year, and wants to show his presentation during an assembly too
  • a stall at our local market at the end of #NEAW16, again an opportunity to get information out there about EGID as well as fundraising once again
  • Mike, G and I have all committed to “Eating like M” for the week, which is the first time that G has wanted to be fully involved and will require lots of inspirational cooking from me
  • Finally, I have committed to attempting to post a new piece of information about EGID, be that fact, photo or update, via my FB and Twitter feed throughout May – and have given fair warning that I’ll be doing 13124538_1016891105068739_2619415221843487211_nso!

Over the next few days, profile pictures across FB and Twitter will slowly turn purple as those families living with EGID around the world start to raise awareness of this chronic illness. It won’t just be me posting facts and information to share with families and friends about how it impacts on everyday life, but others will be doing it too. So, if you see a post, or a blog, or an update that particularly resonates, either from me or someone else, please share it on and help us reach another person who has perhaps never heard of EGID before.

We have decided to support Over The Wall and their serious fun camps through our fundraising this #NEAW. If you’re able to donate even a very small amount, you can follow this link to my JustGiving Page and help us to help OTW make a difference to another child with a chronic illness and their family.

When inspiration strikes

With the busy-ness of March almost behind me and M trialling cocoa, and therefore dairy-free chocolate, over Easter, you’d have thought that it was definitely time for me to take a step back and relax a little over the long weekend. However, as I’ve found so many times in the past, when inspiration strikes, I just have to respond as quickly as possible or lose the opportunity to act. Call it providence if you will, but the stars most certainly appeared to align on Thursday with the perfect timing of Easter, a different food challenge and a tempting photo on Facebook. It all started when a lovely friend from my Thursday choir shared a photo of the delicious-looking hot cross buns and Easter biscuits she had baked on Thursday. 20140418_154823I made some MEWS-free Easter biscuits a couple of years ago, but I’ve never attempted baking hot cross buns before, so you might wonder, given the complexity of M’s current restricted diet, why I would even begin to contemplate trying to now.

Whether it was the realisation that last week’s food challenge of grapes meant I could possibly create a bake that bore more than a passing resemblance to the “real” product itself, or the addictive sense of achievement that I get when I see the pleasure on M and G’s faces from the taste of something they haven’t enjoyed for a long time, I don’t know, but either way, hot cross buns made in a M-friendly fashion seemed to be a sensible use of my time on Good Friday afternoon – or at least, they did when I was lying awake thinking about it in the early hours of Friday morning itself.

Thanks to the amazing Nathalie of the Intolerant Gourmand blog, I had a fantastic starting point for my hot cross buns recipe. Nathalie’s recipe already replaces some of the main allergens, but M’s list of safe foods meant that I needed to make some more all important tweaks to produce a recipe that would be fine for him to eat. The hardest adaptation for me was replacing the yeast as obviously that’s what gives the bun it’s bread-like texture. IMG_0256[1]After some frantic, yet focused internet research, I found that it was theoretically possible to replace the yeast with a mixture of baking powder and lemon juice and so decided to give it a go.

The dough was surprisingly easy to make and came together really well. I carefully added the cross to the top of the finished buns, popped them into the oven and then spent the next 20 minutes distracting M from what was baking. The end result was not quite as springy as a typical bread dough, rather being a little more like scones, but despite that, the flavours were all Easter and really reminiscent of that popular seasonal treat. I can’t remember the last time that M was able to enjoy a hot cross bun, which probably explains the time it took for him to realise exactly what I had baked – it took me pointing out the cross on top for him to work it out! However, both children enjoyed them and I have to confess to be quietly satisfied with the final bake when I tasted one for myself. Sadly, grapes have not proved to be a resounding success for M, but I’m glad that, when inspiration struck, I took the opportunity to bake him something a little different to eat before reaching that conclusion.

A pain scale for every season

My last blog post about M’s interpretation of his pain and how important it is for his medical team to understand him sparked a series of interesting conversations both on-line and in real life about just how effective pain scales can be for those who suffer from chronic pain. So many shared their own experiences of how their children express their pain and adapt to a new “normal” based on what their average day looks like and the symptoms they assume to be something that everyone has because they’ve never learned any different. What was most fascinating was the array of ideas and examples of the different pain charts out there that were sent to me and I thought I’d share some of them with you:

painG’s godmother shared this pain scale image with me and I love the wording that is attached to it as it sums up to a tee how M has described his levels of pain over the years. From the magical unicorn of no pain at all which happens occasionally, to the breaking point of inconsolable sobbing and unbearable pain that little can ease, I’ve seen M pass through every stage of this chart on all too regular a basis. I doubt the colours, images or facial expressions would appeal overly to him, but it helps to clearly explain how he copes to those who need to know.

charlie_brown_pain_scale-170452A fellow FABED Mum sent me this one saying, “It’s the only one that’s ever worked – I think it’s because apart from the last face, they aren’t very emotional, so she is prepared to admit to them. There is a Lego one, but the emotions depicted on the faces is *extreme* – I think it’s more for a paediatric A&E type thing. So a kid with a normal pain/health experience would probably find it helpful, but the level of distress the pain correlates to isn’t much help for someone who has made this into their normal…I do think these pictorial pain scales are good – pointing is so much easier than talking, to start the process. R finds the words ‘annoying/uncomfortable/miserable/horrible’ very helpful and she even sometimes uses them without prompting.” The recent release of the latest “Peanuts” film will no doubt lend added appeal to this Charlie Brown themed scale.

legoThis third one I discovered through Twitter and was posted up by @2tubies, whose 6-year old son helped make his own pain chart for the school environment with the help of the school SENCo and his Mum. They used Lego figurines to depict how he might be feeling and offered some easy solutions for his symptoms. This solution-based approach is one that I find works well with M and have started using it more and more over the years. I rarely give M the option of staying home from school when he’s feeling unwell, but will instead list out those solutions I think might ease not only his pain, but also the whirlwind of emotions that is so frequently tied into what he’s feeling on a physical level. Whilst he was still being tube-fed, I would always start with the offer to slow down or even stop his pump for a limited amount of time and then followed that up with pain relief or a hot water bottle. My final question has always been what M thinks will help him the most and given he has a clear idea of what I’m suggesting, then we have always been able to find a solution that works for us both. Whilst giving these choices verbally works well at home, I imagine that presenting them in a pictorial fashion would make great sense in the school setting.

Of course, the ideas behind these pain scales can easily be extended to cover other physical and emotional needs that our children may have when outside of the home. When G was younger and dealing with her own health challenges, one of her fantastic teachers introduced the concept of a “magic marble”. We had discussed the use of a password, a word that was random enough to not be misinterpreted as a genuine contribution to a conversation and which would indicate that G needed help, but she was at an age when she was reluctant to vocalise her needs and the use of “rhinoceros” actually stuck out like a sore thumb most of the time. Instead, G kept her marble somewhere safe and easily accessible at all times, be that her pocket, bag, drawer or table, and just needed to give it to her teacher or place it on the teacher’s desk to indicate she needed some support. No other child was aware of the significance behind this marble and consequently didn’t bat an eyelid if they spotted her handing it over, assuming that she’d probably just picked it up and was handing it in. It was an easy way for G to communicate her needs about a sensitive subject and gave her a sense of ownership over a situation that was otherwise lacking her control.

Signal LightAt G’s secondary school, they have included traffic light coloured pages in the back of the pupils’ planners and the children are encouraged to use them by putting the relevant colour facing up on the desk if they need some help during a lesson, but are too worried or nervous to ask. For some children, a “traffic lights” approach using counters or cards can also be effectively used to indicate how they are feeling in any given situation, where red can indicate their sense of losing control or not coping with the environment surrounding them. The opportunity to be tactile with the counters may also help children with sensory issues order their thoughts and be more able to express them when asked. Even if the child is not able to share what’s troubling them, a clear plan of how the teacher or adult in charge should respond to each colour will change that child’s perceptions and experiences away from home. Similarly, M’s school uses a “Fist to 5” approach to their work, where fist indicates a lack of understanding and the need for some help, and 5 means they are confident and happy to carry on on their own.

Whatever the system used, these scales encourage a child to communicate with the outside world about how they are feeling and coping, even when they don’t have the words to express it.

There are no strangers…

“There are no strangers, only friends you haven’t yet met”

W.B.Yeats

Like most people, I have collected a variety of friends over the last 30+ years, picking them up as I’ve ventured down the various paths my life has taken me. Those friends I’m still in touch with these days span the years: from those I met in the playground and classroom during my first decade to those I survived my angst-ridden teen years with; from the few that are still hanging around following university and my accountancy training to finally that group of “Mummy” friends made since we first found out we were expecting G. In the last 5 years, my friendship group has grown massively as I’ve added to the mix those who are travelling alongside us in our current journey; the fellow EGID Mums and GOSH parents we’ve been privileged to get to know in some of the most challenging of times. These are individuals who really understand the daily struggles and ongoing battles that we survive and are always there to lend a shoulder to cry on or offer words of encouragement or advice when no-one else can. What makes these friends so special is that, in many cases, I’ve never actually met them face-to-face, thanks to the rise of the internet and social media, and yet they are unquestionably available whenever they are most needed.friendship-childhood-1024x769

During M’s recent GOSH admission, we received some amazing demonstrations of support and love from my friends, more than I could ever have expected, and which ensured I never felt on my own. Almost every day I received a message via text or e-mail or FB asking how things were going, sharing news from home and sending love, thoughts and prayers to both M and me. Sometimes those messages would become a conversation and sometimes they simply stood on their own as a reminder that other people were thinking of us. Cards and presents were sent to cheer us both and M’s class wrote their own messages to him, keeping him in touch with all that was happening in school.

We were lucky to receive visits from a couple of good friends: one who we met through FABED and the other from a Mum I met on Rainforest ward during our 2014 stay. These visits really brightened up the long days in hospital and I hope our visitors understand just how much their time meant to us both. Much to M’s disappointment, a couple of other planned visits didn’t happen due to our inability to leave the ward due to Klean-prep, last-minute appointment cancellations and at least one epic failure by me and the other Mum to successfully liaise where we were and when; but most importantly, the thought was there. We also got to meet 2 of shhh-gin-and-tonic-in-disguise-mug-p2968-4246_imagethose “virtual” friends from on-line support groups, who during the length of our admission were also admitted to GOSH. The ability to finally put faces to names, with a reasonably comprehensive background knowledge already in place and be able to spend time chatting, laughing, drinking tea and commiserating was priceless.

One of my highlights was the opportunity to reconnect with an old FABED friend and fellow blogger, Annie, one afternoon. Her son, R, had been at GOSH for tests that week, but had been staying at the patient hotel with his Dad. On this afternoon, they had been sent up to Rainforest ward for a final meeting before going back home and were given the bed across from M. Whilst Annie, her husband and I chatted away, catching up on news from the last 9 months, M and R renewed a previously fleeting friendship and spent time talking, constructing vehicles, discussing bearded dragons, watching TV and generally just spent time chilling out together.

The most truly astounding show of support came from another Mum that I’ve never met in real life and definitely wouldn’t know if I bumped into her on the street. She is based in London and has a friend who works as one of the visiting art teachers at the GOSH hospital school. Upon hearing that M was confined to the hospital buildings and that I had little time to get out and enjoy much more than quick foods for my meals, she thoughtfully prepared some home-cooked meals that she tailored for my dietary preferences, packaged securely for storage in the ward kitchen and sent in with her friend. These meals could be easily heated in the microwave and were a real treat after days of utterly uninspiring sandwiches and ready meals. As well as this bag of goodies for me including some much appreciated fresh fruit and biscuits, she also tucked in board games and some hand-made get well cards for M.Picture2

And it wasn’t just the support in hospital that made the difference: there were people keeping the home fires burning on my behalf too. Both schools kept in touch, asking for updates, talking to G to find out how she was coping with it all and keeping me informed of arrangements for the end of that term and the start of the next. Their Stagecoach principal e-mailed through a suggested directing project linked to the new term’s theme, which would provide some much-needed distraction whilst he was confined to his bed and sent text messages to ask how things were progressing, when we were coming home and wishing us a peaceful Christmas. Finally, thanks to the Mum of G’s best friend, N, Mike could keep those work commitments that he simply couldn’t rearrange as she kindly opened her house to G both before and after school to ensure she was looked after and cared for at all times too.

Changing Attitudes – NEAW 2015

Last week I took part in the Diabetes blog week and looked at my changing attitude to my T1D over the past 3 decades as well as changes I hope will happen in the future.  social-media-treeMy plea for improved education about T1D vs. T2D is closely linked to my longing for increased awareness about EGID and has resulted in my efforts to bring the focus of family, friends and our local community to the subject through local media coverage and social media this week.

During a music break in my recent radio interview, the presenter asked me an interesting question: whether I’m upset when people misunderstand EGID?  We had been discussing off-air the fact that there is often recognition of the food allergies side of the illness, rather than the disease itself and whilst I understand that allergies are something easy for people to understand, I’m frustrated that that’s what gets people interested in finding out more.  I pondered his question for a while and once the session was over was able to give him my honest answer: No.  I’m not upset that people misunderstand EGID because I’m usually impressed that they know something about it. The truth is that they must have heard of EGID in the first place to be capable of misunderstanding this complex disease and therein lies the problem.  Ignorance of EGID and the unseen effects it has on individual and family alike means that those of us living with it are sadly often viewed as making it all up or wildly exaggerating the severity. That attitude can leave a family feeling very alone at a time when emotional and practical support is needed most.

 This is what today’s C is all about – Changing Attitudes.


The truth about EGID is this:  It’s not just about the food allergies, that’s the easy bit to understand and, in many ways, the easiest bit to live with.  It’s about much, much more than that.  It’s 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.  legoThe 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 and you’re familiar with just about every pain chart created in the history of man.

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

And it affects the whole family, not just the one with the diagnosis.  The endless merry-go-round of numerous hospital appointments, medicines to be taken and food to be cooked safely, avoiding cross-contamination at all costs is exhausting.  The keeping of meticulous daily records of food eaten and symptoms experienced to try to find a link and make sense of what’s going on, and dealing with the self-recrimination when you miss a day out because what if that was the one that would give you more answers? Pictures July 06 030Day trips, meals out, holidays all require military precision to organise and every decision is coloured by whether needs can be met or not. The feelings of isolation, for parent and sibling alike, because it’s frequently the case that there is no-one else nearby who has the same experiences or can truly understand. The lack of any conversation that doesn’t revolve around toileting and being too worn out to come up with an alternative subject.  The sense that I, as the parent, know more about the intricacies of my son’s chronic illness than any medical professional we meet along the way and the frightening realisation that my children know infinitely more than them too.

It’s about the heartbreak of holding my sobbing child at 3am, tears streaming down my own cheeks as I struggle to find the words to bring the comfort that nothing else can bring at that moment in time.

At our recent admission at GOSH, one of the gastro consultants told me that it is widely recognised that children with gastro conditions have the worst quality of life of any child living with a chronic illness.  EGID is an invisible illness, one where the individual frequently learns to hide, disguise and survive their struggles and just carries on regardless, accepting this life as their norm.  Families supporting a loved one with EGID often feel isolated – not just from their circle of friends, but from the medical community, who know little about it and may question the integrity of the very people who are fighting to get the best care they possibly can.  It’s not a parental fad about food allergies or an over-anxious Mum fussing about the small things; and it’s definitely not a figment of anyone’s imagination.  The effects of EGID can be cruel to experience and devastating to see.  So a change in attitudes is not only important, but a necessity for all those living with this diagnosis.

Now you know a little more about EGID and just how it impacts, take some time to think about how you can support those you know living with this disease.  Don’t think that there’s nothing you can do to help.  An offer of a cup of tea once the school-run is over, a home-cooked meal for the parent not in hospital or checking to see if there’s anything they need from the shops is more than enough.  No gesture is too small: a smile, a text message or even a FB like or comment on Twitter will let that family know that they’re in your thoughts and that there is hope for change in the future.

Dear BBC Controller

Sometimes something happens that leaves me lost for words.

Having heard the furore on Facebook from fellow EGID parents, Mike and I sat down last night to watch Tuesday’s episode of “Holby City” on the I-player.  To say that I was speechless as the drama unfolded would be an under-statement; to say that by the end I was fuming would be a gross denial of the feelings that it had caused.  My hackles started to rise from the moment we were introduced to the character later described acerbically as “Mr Allergies” and we both sat in stunned disbelief as the storyline ended with everything being cured by a rapid diagnosis and a special injection.

For those of you who aren’t Holby City fans, or who didn’t have the misfortune to catch it when it aired on Tuesday night, let me give you a quick precis.  A young man, portrayed from the start as little more than a time-waster and with a list of allergies as long as your arm, is admitted into the hospital.  Nobody can pinpoint what’s wrong, but the doctor in charge of his care recognises that his symptoms fit with EGID.  She performs that little-known-as-highly-reliable diagnosing tool of an ultrasound (!) to rule out Crohns disease and Diverticulitis and comes to the conclusion that it could possibly be EGID, but is more likely to be a mental health issue due to him craving being a “rare” individual and the attention that obviously affords him.  On the basis of all this, and having given him leaflets about planning his own funeral, she tells him it’s a previously unidentified trapped nerve, gives him an injection and within minutes he’s up on his feet, completely cured and feeling better than he has in years.

If only M’s life were that simple.  If only a simple injection could take away the pain and acute discomfort that M struggles with on a daily basis.  If only I could tell him that the magic wand we both are longing for has finally appeared and all his hurt and frustration and despair will be gone, just like that.  If only it was likely that since he was small, my distraught 8 year-old has been craving nothing more than extra attention by being a medical rarity.  If only I’d known that it was all in his mind, or, more likely, all in mine as I’ve known from babyhood that there was something very wrong.

It has taken 7 years for us to reach a diagnosis, bypassing multiple doctors who thought it nothing more than a bad case of toddler diarrhoea and a somewhat neurotic mother.  Even though we now know his chronic illness by name, lack of funding and research means that we still don’t have any answers and every step taken with GOSH is a step of faith that something will help at some point. Every day I meet with people who have no idea what EGID is and the impact it can have on the family as a whole, let alone on my 8 year old himself.  Most of the medical staff we see have never heard of the illness, do not understand the subtle nuances of this hidden disease and have no idea how much we all need their help.  And we’re not on our own.  There are over 300 other families who look to FABED for support and share the highs and lows of this illness with each other, as we can understand like no outsider can; and that’s just in the UK.

 I’ve done my bit:

I’ve made my complaint known – via Twitter, via Facebook and via the BBC online complaints system – and I’ve written this blog.  BUT the damage is done.  Nothing is going to be able to take away their careless portrayal of EGID to the 5 million who watched Holby City on Tuesday night.  I would love to meet the researchers and writer for Tuesday’s episode to understand who they spoke to and where their information was sourced.  The daily battle that M and other EGID children struggle with bears no ressemblance to what was shown, but sadly that is the viewpoint the public will now hold.  I would love for them to spend time living life in the shoes of an EGID family, even for a day, so they could experience a fraction of the living hell that that life can be at times.  To comprehend the heartbreaking decisions we EGID parents have to make and the challenges of restricted foods, bowel problems, chronic pain and a multitude of daily medicines our babies deal with.  This type of inaccurate and frankly irresponsible representation of a serious illness is not what I associate with the BBC and it is left to parents like me, who have enough daily battles to fight, to raise awareness and voice our concerns.

You can do your bit too:  Just share this blog.  Make your family; friends; colleagues; strangers in the street aware of it and the rare illness that affects children like M and families like mine.  I don’t mind how you do it – RT it; link it to your Facebook page; send it out to your email address list; print it out and pin on noticeboards around your town; or get it emblazoned across the sky – but please do it and help us get our voice heard.

The psychiatrist’s couch

The thing about blogging is that, as well as sharing our experiences with others and maybe helping those who are facing similar journeys, it has become a form of cheap therapy for me.  I can pour my heart out into my words, delete those that needed to be said, but not shared and publish the rest for the world to see and comment on.  For those of you who know me well, you will understand that I’m not very good at sharing when I’m struggling with life, even to my nearest and dearest, and yet I can express my emotions through a few deft strokes on the keyboard almost without pause.

blogging

My Mum, who I know will be reading this and rolling her eyes (and yes, the phone-call will come later), frequently says she doesn’t understand the need to share everything with the world at large which so many of us do these days, be it through blogging or social media such as Facebook or Twitter.  Is there an easy or obvious answer to that why?  I can’t comment on why others share the most intimate details of their mundane lives, but I know why I do it.  I have a story to tell and life experiences to share.  When I started my blog I couldn’t anticipate how many people would read and follow my musings, but as I approach the 2,000th view of my blog, I am flattered that people have read something that has resonated with them.  I know that some posts will be far more therapeutic for me than interesting for you, my reader, and I thank you that you’re prepared to bear with me and keep on reading.

The rest of today’s post is very much in that vein as life with M is proving difficult right now and I need to lie down and share from the psychiatrist’s couch.

Couch

Since M’s relapse back in April, we have been waiting for his system to settle and for things to improve and return us to where we had been at the start of the year.  Our GOSH appointment in May had reassured us that his gut would repair and they spoke positively about the possibility of trialling one of his forbidden foods and even reducing his medication over the next 6 months.

Unfortunately, life hasn’t turned out that way and instead we are caught in a downward spiral and seem to be sinking fast.  Our weekend at Legoland was a real step back to where we had been and much nearer the beginning of our journey then we were happy to be. As well as the return of multiple soiling accidents with chronic diarrhoea, M has suffered from stomach cramps, overwhelming tiredness, fluctuating appetite and blood in his stools.  He is obviously struggling with his emotions and frustrations and is just generally out-of-sorts.

My conversation with our ever-wonderful dietician last week confirmed my inclination to speak to M’s gastro team as we really need to get him back on track.  I was worried that we would be asked to remove something further from his already restricted diet, but the registrar told me that that wasn’t the way forward right now.  Instead, we are introducing another medicine into the mix to try and suppress the reactions he’s experiencing and are being sent to our local hospital for an abdominal x-ray.

There are no easy answers to this problem for the time being.  We don’t know why his small body has  gone back into hyper-drive in response to the food allergies and we are feeling helpless in our inability to regain some semblance of control.  If the x-ray is clear, which we’re expecting it to be, then the next logical step is another set of scopes, but that isn’t an easy decision to make because of M’s problems with anaesthetic.  We also know that we still haven’t removed the possibility of moving M to the elemental diet from the table either and that seems like a daunting prospect.

The one thing I have learned from the wonderful families we met through FABED is that we’re not on our own and that however hard the next step might seem to us, there will be somebody else out there who has walked that path before us and will hold our hands along the way.

tea

What’s more, a cup of tea or coffee and a chance to escape the EGID world, even for half an hour, is great therapy too.