HAPPY 21st TO MY F.E.D

Twenty one years ago I gave birth to a beautiful baby girl. She gave me quite a shock because she arrived five weeks and one day too early on a very humid night. When I woke her father at 11 pm to tell him my waters had broken, he didn't believe me at first. But he had no choice really and soon we were flying out the door to the hospital. We were so young and so naive and so inexperienced that we forgot to take a bag of anything with us. You know what I mean - clothes, toiletries, baby stuff! We had nothing with us. Looking back now it was hilarious!

That night a new midwife was doing her first shift in a new country hospital. She was told to expect a quiet night for her first night and within two hours she got an emergency. I remember her ringing the doctor who was not too pleased to be woken up. Apparently she made the huge mistake of ringing the doctor before examining me herself. The poor woman got yelled at but there was no doubt my baby was on its way, so she managed to squirrel out of any more doctor tongue lashings.

Like her sister two and a bit years later, she was too early to be delivered in a country town hospital and the Royal Flying Doctor plane had to come up from Perth to get me. Ashton was born the following day at 2.59 pm in between calls to my closest girlfriends.I have never seen such a look of delight on my husband's face as I saw that day.

The feeling of holding your first baby in your arms is quite inexplicable. The sudden rush of love
Iand wonder when you look down and finally meet your child can be compared to nothing else. You love all your children equally but the wonder of the first birth is just so special. It was so interesting to read another blogger #Lysa Wilds from #Welcome to My Circus describe exactly the same feelings in her recent post about her son, who coincidentally has a birthday this week too.

My daughter woke up in hospital on her 21 st birthday. She had surgery the day before which did not achieve what it set out to do, so it could have been a downer. But with the help of the nurses, doctors and friends and family we still made the best of the day. Eventually Ashton got discharged and home we went for flowers, cake and visits from family.

The health sagas are not over. We had hoped for the best of 21st presents. We had hoped to be de-fistulised. However, it wasn't to be this time.Once again I thank God for a doctor who knew when to stop rather than take risks.

So now its time to concentrate on a 21st party and on life. She will be reviewed by the doctors in a few months and a new plan of action will be made.We hold our collective breaths but till then life goes on.

Happy birthday to my favourite eldest daughter. 

Till next time...xxx

#1000 SPEAK - 1000 VOICES FOR COMPASSION

On February 20, 2015, 1000 Voices For Compassion will share their thoughts and stories about compassion in all its forms (love, kindness, understanding, empathy, mercy, etc.). I am so excited to be part of this, because in the last few years I have been on the receiving end of so many acts of compassion, a couple of which I would like to share today.

One of the stories which comes to mind occurred when Ashton was in grade 1. She was 6 years old and was suffering from terrible asthma and recurring pneumonia. At one stage I felt so desperate because the GP just did not seem to understand how sick Ashton really was and was limited help. So, I placed a call to the paedatrician in Perth and told him about my worries. I actually sobbed my heart out because he was so kind and attentive. He told us to come straight to Perth ( 4 1/2 hrs away) and Mark, my husband left with Ashton within the hour.That's a big job, to drive for that length of time with a very sick child.

Why didn't I go? Well at the time I was a Home Economics teacher and my students and I were in the middle of preparing to cater for a big function. This was a big assessment piece which needed me there and I just could not leave until it was over. So, the plan was that Mark would go down with Ashton to the paediatrician and I would fly down with Ciara (age 3)  when the function was over.

I was exhausted beyond belief. For the two weeks leading up to this I had very little sleep - kids always want Mum at night! On the days the GP had actually hospitalised her I had been sleeping at the hospital and leaving for work from there. I would then return to the hospital after work. My house was a disaster zone. Neither one of us had the time nor the energy to cope with anything other than the kids and some work.

With the function successfully over and with Ashton admitted to the children's hospital in Perth, I started to pack to join them. I felt terrible not being with my child but was making the best of the situation. At 8 pm, while I was bathing Ciara my doorbell rang. Being past exhaustion I hoped it wasn't a social visitor who would require a cup of tea and time I didn't have.

It was a visitor, my colleague Kate whom I had seen at work that very day. But, she wasn't there to be entertained. She was there to help.

In the next two hours she cleaned my house from top to bottom, helped me pack clothes for myself and my daughter and made me coffee and food. She joked about my fridge, telling me she never knew I had an interest in cultivating bacteria. I should have been so embarrassed but I wasn't. Her compassion overwhelmed me and I left for Perth in the morning with a spotlessly clean house and a place in my heart that will always be hers. It was the nicest thing anyone had ever done for me.

Ashton spent 8 days in Princess Margaret Hospital.My mother's intuition was right, she was very ill. We booked into a nearby hotel we couldn't really afford, so that we could  be close to our girl. It was the worst hotel I had ever stayed in but we had no choice as it was the closest to the hospital. Over the eight 
days Mark and I worked in shifts. One night he would sleep upright in a chair near Ashton's hospital bed and I would spend the night in the hotel with Ciara. The next night we would swap. Ciara screamed non stopped for whichever parent wasn't there. She was terrified and so was I by the drunken shouts from adjacent rooms.

When Ashton was finally discharged, we went to pay the bill at the hotel only to find that some compassionate human being had paid the bill for us. Now, I'm pretty sure I know who did it but she never admitted it. The fact that we didn't have to pay for that accommodation saved us, because as I had been off work I wasn't getting paid and we really had very little money.

Over the years as our health issues amplified there were many other examples of compassion. To me compassion is being empathetic. It means showing people in some way that you get their situation and you're on their side. It means going out of your way to make life better for someone else.

During my teaching, I often did a " pay it forward" project. If you haven't seen that movie you should. I found that the kids I taught, often from low socioeconomic backgrounds absolutely thrived from showing compassion; by doing good deeds for others and forgetting about their own situations for a while. One year for Mothers Day we made hampers of goodies for older women in the community who deserved a treat. The compassion and the love that went into these works of art was amazing! The tears on the kids' faces when they realised they had caused this happiness was priceless.

A little compassion in a world hell bent on negativity and bad news goes a long way. Try incorporating it into your life on a regular basis and always remember to pay it forward. Sometimes all it takes is a simple smile at someone to show you care and wish them well.


C  O  M  P  A  S  S  I  O  N

Till next time...xxx

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ST