A day worth remembering!

On the 12th of July 2012 my father-in-law passed away after losing his battle with lung cancer. ‘Thebodyguard’ and I were both with him when he died, along with his mum and two sisters.
We sat all night hoping for the impossible, and then at approximately 6.00 a.m we watched helplessly and drowning in tears as he died!

I cannot get the image of his last moments out of my head. He turned all shades of red and purple as his face blew up like something out of the alien - his eyes suddenly changed colour from brown to darkest grey-blue, and then after what seemed like forever he turned to look at his wife of nearly sixty years and gasped his last breath.

My life long death fears have dramatically increased in intensity since witnessing Dads death and I wanted so much to write about those fears tonight.... I can’t, I’ve tried and I can’t.
I’m terrified by these very real images of death (both my own and other peoples) and I know it would be cathartic to write them all down but for now at least, it would seem I am unable to do so.

Anyway, as I’ve mentioned before in previous posts I often go to my diary in search of something positive when I’m struggling with intrusive thoughts, and this evening I would like to share with you the events of the 13th July 2012 (The day 'after' my father-In-Law passed away)

Though I do have rather more positive entries in my diary this was a day worth remembering for one reason and another. It wasn’t all bad, and is relevant to where my thoughts are this evening.
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13th July 2012

‘Littlies’ school performance today was wonderful, and for the most part just what the doctor ordered!
As soon as the music for the first act began I felt my spirits begin to lift, a wheel chair dance, fantastic.
Second act saw the audience waiting with baited breath for one of the younger students to complete her part of her classes piece, she had no lines to remember, no special face mask or dance routine, no.. her contribution was to take one step, that’s right, you read correctly, one step!
For around four minutes in absolute silence parents, teachers and children watched this almost motionless child being held up by a member of staff and encouraged gently from behind to take a step, the concentration on said child’s face would have melted even the hardest of hearts!

The excited whoops and cheers that filled the room as this amazing little girl took the anticipated step could surely be heard all over Essex.
Never before have I felt such pride and love for a child who wasn't my own. WOW doesn’t cover it!

Third act saw our ’Littlie’ (one of the main characters) performing ‘Little rabbit foo foo’ with her classmates, she remembered all of her lines (well all two of them) focusing the whole time on our faces, and again my heart is mush, joyful mush.

Fast forward to act seven, the older children performing a very moving rendition of ‘You bring the sun out’, three lines in and I am picturing ’Littlie’ with her Granddad and suddenly feel overwhelmed with grief. 
I thump down into my seat unable to watch anymore, and, with tears pouring down my face I am lost in the words of the song, my mind flooded with memories of their very special relationship.
Oh dear, it was nice while it lasted! I glance at ‘Thebodyguard‘, he too is crying, a couple of weirdo’s sat at the back of a roomful of joyful parents crying like babies. What must they all think of us....

One o’clock sees us outside a coffee shop in West Road, a quiet, friendly little place that owing to my ‘Agoraphobia’ we visit for those reasons. We order coffee and lunch and go outside to sit down.

A sour faced middle aged woman is sat on one chair between two tables, room for us then, OR NOT!

As we approach she drags a spare chair towards her saying “my daughters sitting here”, “that’s okay” I say politely, “we will grab some chairs from inside and sit at the other table”, sour face is not happy about that! 
Surely you don’t need two tables” is my response to her outcry.

A table becomes available on the other side of the open door way, hurt and a little agitated I give in to sour face and hubby and I move across. I cannot resist saying, rather too loudly it turns out “some people are so nasty”.

Her daughter overhears me!
Sour faces, sour faced child reacts to my comment (I wish I’d kept my mouth shut!) she begins yelling at me across the tables, ‘OH GOD! I really, really don’t need this right now, and neither does my grieving husband‘!

My heart thumping in my chest, feeling nauseous, shaking like a leaf, on the verge of tears and grateful to the nice lady who has just plonked herself down in-between me and the enemy, I say quietly “our dad has just died and there was no excuse for your mums nastiness”. WRONG!

It turns out there is a very valid reason for sour faces unreasonable behaviour, the same bloody pain that ’thebodyguard’ and I are dealing with right now. (Sour faces brother has just died, she recently buried her husband and they on their way to the chapel of rest after lunch!) 

OH GOD, OH GOD, OH GOD, OH GOD,  just my luck, I am attacked unprovoked in the midst of my grief, sour face started the altercation, I did nothing to justify her attack on me, and yet here I am practically sat on ‘Thebodyguards‘ lap, desperately trying not to cry, on the verge of a panic attack, and suddenly it is I who feels ashamed of myself!
There must be hundreds of people in town at this time of day and I have to be victimised by a victim.. I have no words!

We sit for around ten minutes each party lost in grief, then unable to live with myself any longer I gesture to 'Thebodyguard' and we get up and walk over to the lady, who is now sad face in my observation of her (not sour) and I take her hand, I tell her how sorry I am for her pain and also for my reaction to that pain, she cries, I cry, there is a hug, there is forgiveness.
I GOD bless her, she GOD blesses me, I feel better, I hope she does too.

THERE WILL BE PRAYERS!
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PRAYER
LORD, Please help me to get through tonight because I am so afraid that I won’t be here in the morning. Thank you GOD for every day that you wake me and bring me to my children. Amen

POSITIVE THOUGHT
I never go anywhere without my camera. Never did two people love each other more than my ‘Littlie’ and her Granddad, and I have it all on film.

Thank you for allowing me to share

GOD bless you and all those you love

Kimmie x                                                Copyright©2012kimmie All Rights Reserved

'ASPIRATIONS OF A BENEFIT SCROUNGER!

For the past few days I have been pondering over ‘David Camerons’ recent address to the nation during which he twice declared ‘Tory’ Britain to be an ‘Aspiration Nation’. Using the words ‘aspiration’ and aspirational’ a total of nine times during his speech he arrogantly declared that ‘Aspiration Nation’ is to be built upon hard work - strong families - taking responsibility and a desire to succeed.

While speaking of his Aspiration Nation’ he implies that ‘scroungers’ like me and mine lurk behind our curtains in the morning while decent hard working people head off for work.
He implies ‘through the back door’ so to speak that all people who rely on welfare (and if his actions are anything to go by that includes the sick and disabled) are weak, dysfunctional families who lack  responsibility!

Before I go any  further with this latest bloggy ramble I would like to share with you all (and that includes you ‘Dave') the meaning of the word ‘Aspiration’ just so we’re all clear.

The (noun) ‘Aspiration’ has four senses:
1) A will to succeed - a goal that one strives toward - an aim
2) A cherished desire - a longing - a hope
3) A manner of articulation involving an audible release of breath
4) The act of inhaling - the drawing in of air (or other gases) as in breathing

Well I’m fairly sure that most of us manage the third at some point or other especially I suspect if we are listening to one of Mr Cameron’s speeches.
The fourth sense of the word refers to something we are all required to do in order to stay alive, some of us without thinking - others with considerably more difficulty depending on health!

Today on a personal level while at the same time sticking two fingers up at Mr Cameron and the rest of his evil (there’s no other word for them) tribe I would like to focus on the first and second senses of the word ‘Aspiration’.

So what are my aspirations? What have I aspired to in the past, what are my aspirations for the future? My hopes - goals - cherished desires.
How have I succeeded in the past how do I hope to in the future? What goals did I strive toward today?

Well lets start with today. At tea time today I was making my way miserably through a huge mound of ironing I felt extremely depressed, was plagued by intrusive thoughts and due to self starvation and severe fatigue found I had to stop what I was doing every now and then to hang onto the ironing board fearing I was going to pass out.

I was not really strong enough to be out of bed let alone attempting household chores and yet there I was determined that my long suffering hubby would not have to add this task to his already very long list of things to do!

I had to will myself on, my aspirations’ as I worked were firstly and probably most importantly to get through the task in hand without giving into the urge to place the hot iron down onto the back of my arm whilst ‘Thebodyguard was in the next room attending to our daughter and secondly to smooth and put away every last item in the crumpled pile beside me. 

I had a goal this tea time - a will to succeed - an aim! I strove towards my goal and I achieved it.

Now let me take you back seven years to the birth of my 5th child. She was born weak, floppy, unable to cry - move - open her eyes or feed. She spent three weeks in the special care baby unit during which time there were many occasions where we had reason to fear we might lose her. When she was just over a week old we were told that she had a chromosome disorder (Prader Willi Syndrome) and would always have special needs, we were devastated!

By week two although still too weak to move, cry or feed herself she had been moved from the high dependency unit to the room next door (The preparing to go home room) My husband and I were terrified!

Our baby needed two people to bath her (one to hold her extremely floppy head up and the other to attend to the rest) she was prone to frequent deceleration of the heart and was wired constantly to a monitor and would remain so for the first year of life.
She needed  repositioning every hour day and night, she was and still is unable to produce correct amount of saliva and needed hourly mouth care. She could not regulate and maintain correct body temperature and she was too weak to suck so needed tube feeding.

In order for us to take our little girl home we as parents would need to learn how to do all of the things that until now medical staff had done for us!  We would have an on call team and a PCN who would come in every day to do observations and address any concerns  but effectively my husband and I would now be responsible for all of her considerable and complex care needs.

Well let me tell you friends we had a cherished desire - a longing - a will to succeed during and way beyond these first few weeks of our ‘Littlies’ life.
We had a huge goal to strive toward and despite my already complex mental health issues, despite the fact that ‘Thebodyguard’ had no choice but to give up work to help with her care needs and despite the fact that we were drowning in fear strive we did! We aspired, we learnt and we took our child home!

Fast forward a few weeks and we find ourselves at home with our still extremely vulnerable child,
I am by now unable to go out alone and have not left the house without my hubby since coming home from hospital. My fear of the outside world has somehow developed into full blown agoraphobia and in addition to this I panic to the point of passing out if left alone at home!
My OCD is probably the worst it’s ever been and my clinical depression is topped up with a lovely dose of postnatal depression, my husband and I are both on our knees with fatigue and the crisis team call in every other day!

I am picturing ‘David Cameron' and his henchmen Iain Duncan Smith' and 'George Osborne'  now as I write and I can’t help but feel bloody angry! How dare they suggest that because we are on welfare we are weak, dysfunctional or lazy.

During the first eight months of ‘Littlies’ life I aspired to breast feed her, it was sole destroying but breast is best right? And let me tell you she needed all the help she could get!
This is a long blog and I forgive you if you’ve buggered off by now but let me try and explain just how difficult this particular ‘aspiration’ was:

Without a child stimulating my breast my body was not receiving the correct messages this meant that every time I sat down at the breast pump I would remain there for a period of around two hours (day and night) with that evil bloody machine pulling at me as if I was a prize cow in order to produce just enough milk for one feed.

When I wasn’t at the pump I had my lifeless child at my breast squeezing tiny drops of milk into her passive mouth in the hope of stimulating a sucking reflex mindful all the time of her lack of gag reflex and the possibility of fluid reaching her lung!
I spent hours implicating the mouth therapies I had been taught by the PCN which involved pushing up onto the roof of the babies mouth with my finger firmly.

When ‘Littlie’was eight months old I removed her feeding tube without advice and sat with her day and night for a week doing nothing other than trying to strengthen the weak sucking reflex that she had by now begun to developed. During this time the breast pump was almost permanently attached to which ever breast she wasn’t latched onto at the time.

Well we did it! After months and months of ‘aspiring’ towards this goal - this cherished desire, we bloody did it!

Hows that for ’Aspiration’ Mr Cameron’? Clearly not good enough!....

If I were to list all of my past aspirations and hopes for the future I would put you off of ever coming back so I will now wrap up this rather long ramble.

I will finish by touching in brief on my mental illness. I have had mental health issues since childhood.
I saw my first psychiatrist at age eleven and have lost count of how many different therapists I have seen since, how many different courses of treatment I have tried to engage with. I have aspired all my life to be well and will continue aspiring toward that goal for as long as I live!

PRAYER
LORD, Thank you for giving my family and I the strength we have needed to get through some very difficult circumstances. Amen

POSITIVE THOUGHT
I may never be well enough to work I may always need ‘Thebodyguard’ by my side, but I will never ever give up!

Thank you for allowing me to share 

GOD bless you and all those you love

Kimmie x                                                      Copyright©2012kimmie All Rights Reserved



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MY FIRST HUSBAND WAS A WEREWOLF!

Today my muddled mind took me back to the middle of October 1987, back to a night that many of you will remember for reasons far more catastrophic than my own - The night of 'THE GREAT STORM'!

Eighteen people died that night, winds in parts of the UK reached 100mph causing massive devastation! Millions of trees were blown down, some onto roads and railways causing major transport delay.
Thousands of homes across the UK were left without electricity, phone lines went down and many homes were damaged.

The events of that night are still so clear in my mind and while the catastrophe I have just spoken of should not be played down, or indeed forgotten, there is another reason that keeps this night so fresh in my memory.

I was at home that night, with my first husband and two year old son, none of my windows were blown in, none of my family or friends were hurt, and the trees on my street (though slightly battered by morning) stayed standing.

The storm did not hurt me. My severe anxiety on the night of 'The great storm of October 1987' was caused by my own catastrophic mind!

Let me take you back to my experience of that night!

It's gone midnight when I get into bed, Danny, my two year old is sound asleep in his own room undisturbed by the battering the house is taking, and Nick (my husband) is snoring loudly beside me, also unaware of the storm tossed world outside.

I snuggle down (as you do) and prepare to sleep. The rain (aided by the strong wind) is crashing against the bedroom window which is set directly above my head, the tree outside the window smacks against the glass pane eerily every thirty seconds or so, and the wind is howling, actually howling!
This is horror story weather.. werewolf at the window weather.. Hammer house of horror weather - My 'Stranger within' is in her element!

I look across at Nick, still sleeping soundly beside me, having turned on his side he is no longer snoring, and is now laying with his back to me. Suddenly he stirs, and the quilt drops slightly revealing his shoulders, hairy shoulders (hairy can't be Nick's cause Nick's not hairy shoulders!). Very slowly he turns his head... his face is dark, shadowy, and covered in thick wiry hair,  his yellow smile is lecherous, and his eye's... Oh God, his eye's!

Okay, you get the picture, I'm outta there! Nick, in reality, is still sleeping through the storm oblivious to my madness, but mad or not... I'm not taking any chances.

I go to Danny's room armed with my coat, and his (Just in case), and spend the rest of the night wide awake, carrying out inner compulsions, and filled with terror!

I know how irrational this must sound to you reader, but when I say terror I mean terror... The storm continued to rage, my family continued to sleep; and I, bolt upright on the floor beside Danny's bed in varied states of panic continued to be persecuted by my own mind.

Despite trying desperately to rationalize with myself periodically through the irrational, there was no way I was going back into the same room as my husband.

Before first light I had endured all sorts of horror scenarios in my mind, most of which had climaxed on me running like a madwoman (with screaming child in arms) out into the storm that ravaged the UK.

I forgive you, dear reader, if you couldn't help but laugh while reading this post. I can see how crazy I must sound, but let me tell you; at the time it was no laughing matter... I was beside myself with fear!

Intrusive thoughts are a symptom of OCD (obsessive Compulsive Disorder), and are a part of my everyday life, they have been for as long as I can remember. Consistently, there are thoughts of my own death (everyday, at some point during the day or night, I fear my own death is imminent, and have done since childhood), sometimes I see images of me hurting myself, or worse still others - sometimes I see images of people attacking me or mine...  and occasionally, my intrusive thoughts are as mad as they were during 'The great storm of 1987'

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Thank you for allowing me to share

GOD bless you and all those you love

Kimmie x                                                Copyright©2012kimmie All Rights Reserved 

Extremely, unashamedly, wonderfully GAY!

As I type I can see 'Danny' so clearly (partly because my memory is full of his gorgeous little face right now, and partly because a picture of him as a boy is hanging on the wall in front of me.)
 
He is three years old in the picture I speak of, his head is tilted on one side, he has chubby cheeks - baby bum skin - bright hazel green eyes, and a smile that lights up the room. A happy, cheeky, smiley toddler who knows even at this young age that he is loved, cherished and accepted by all who know him.

Now to another picture, one that exists only in my mind but is as clear to me as the one hanging on the wall in front of me today. 'Danny' is five years old and is hopping around excitedly in the living room dressed in his new school uniform while mum (that's me) does her best to do something with the unruly mop of curls on the top his head.

His cheeks are still chubby - his eyes are still smiley, he is a happy confident little boy eagerly anticipating his first day at school.

Here I will fast forward through infant school, where 'Danny' spent two happy years eager to get to school in the mornings and popular amongst his young peers, and on into the later years of junior school where I begin to notice a change in him.

He is no longer eager to go to school each day - is no longer asked to friends houses for tea (nor does he ask if they can come to ours) - he sobs uncontrollably on the morning of sports day begging me to let him stay home (he stays home!) and his smile no longer reaches his hazel green eyes.

Worried, I approach the school who convinced I am an over protective mother patronize me for half an hour before politely showing me the door.
I am still concerned by the change in him that only I seem to notice, and do my best to encourage him to open up, but to all intense and purpose he is fine. The school report no evidence of bullying, 'Danny' won't (or can't) tell me whats wrong, and his grades remain promising.

Fast forward again.. 'Danny' is now somewhere between the age of twelve and thirteen and in secondary school, the lad he is now bears almost no resemblance to the three year old I described at the beginning of this post.
He is introvert, sulky, in trouble at school (nothing major but enough to prompt the school to tell me on a regular basis what a pain in the arse my child is!)  and his grades are dropping.

Now what I do know at this point in his life is that he is Gay -  he hasn't told me this, and for all I know hasn't yet realised himself - but I know, I am sure of it, don't ask me how I know, I just do.

What I am not aware of, and won't be for another few months is that he is being bullied!
The school tell me there's not a problem, 'Danny' tells me there is not a problem - until one summers day toward the end of August just after his thirteenth birthday.

I am enjoying a well earned cup of tea in the back garden, nursing the mother of all headaches, and the phone rings - It's 'Danny', and he is in a terrible state, I can barely make out what he's saying, he's sobbing and whispering my name over and over, which at this point is all he can manage.

I tell him to come home, right now! - Do not ask permission, do not explain to the teacher why you are leaving the school, do not pass go!  Stay on the phone and come home - which is what he does.

When he arrives home he falls sobbing into my arms but can't tell me whats wrong. We hug for a while until he has calmed down a bit, and then I suggest he go up stairs and lay down for a while. This gives me time to think about what I need to say to him, throw some more pain killers down my throat, and work my way through half a packet of cigarettes.

I'm nervous as I climb the stairs - what if I'm wrong, if I throw this thing out there and I'm barking up the wrong tree will he ever forgive me.

I find him curled up in a vulnerable ball when I enter his room, 'Christina Aguilera' fills the room, and behind the music 'Danny's racking sobs. I cross the room, and then sitting on the edge of the bed put one hand on his shoulder to announce my presence while reaching with the other hand to turn 'Christina' down to a more acceptable level!

"What is it son" I ask, and he, still sobbing, still with his back to me, "I cant tell you mum", I turn him around so that (despite the fact that he can't bring himself to look at me) we are at least face to face.

I say, "Danny, there is nothing in this world that you could ever say to me that would stop me loving you", he doesn't answer but he does look up at me, I cannot begin to describe the pain in his eye's, but his expression is one of pleading.

Okay, here I go, sink or swim! "Danny' are you gay?" - no answer, but no horror or anger in his expression either, he looks down, and then after what seems like forever - quietly, whispering "I'm Gay mum" .... my answer, "I know".

Turns out the school bullies had that day put posters of my gorgeous boy up all around the school corridors with a phone number underneath his profile, and the words.. 'I LIKE BOYS, CALL ME'

My son is twenty seven years old now, he still turns his head to the side when he smiles, his skin is still 'baby bum like' and his smile always reaches his hazel green eyes.
Oh! he is also extremely, unashamedly, wonderfully GAY! - I couldn't love him more if I tried.

PRAYER
LORD, I thank you for my children, the disabled one, the scatty one, the bubbly one, the hyperactive one and the GAY one. They are all exactly as you made them and all perfect in your eye's. AND MINE! Amen

POSITIVE THOUGHT
That's easy MY KIDS!

Thank you for allowing me to share

GOD bless you and all those you love

Kimmie x                                        

Copyright©2012kimmie All Rights Reserved



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