Paintballing was a laugh. Just what I needed infact, complete distraction. I did find myself on a couple of occasions feeling a wave of sadness which is perhaps not the ideal emotion to experience as paintballs are fizzing past at 300 foot per second. The impacts brought me to my senses pretty quickly and I have some pretty funky bruises. I managed a 'hero' award for one of the games although it was ironic that it was the only game where I didn't hit anyone. I was pinned down with people shooting at me from three sides and I couldn't escape. I suspect not, but I wonder if there is some symbolism in that. More likely the Fosters kicking in!
Got home and called Clare. Then called her 3 times more as her f&*()^g iPhone, fantastic as it is as a wonderful piece of technology and advanced interface design, is actually shite as a phone. People slate Microsoft and regard Apple as the pinnacle of cutting edge cool but I'd take function over form any day.
Anyway I thought I'd review my mid night ramblings to see if any of it made sense and found a comment on the blog which did something funny to my eyes. The comment was from my mum, my wonderful mum. The comment itself was beautiful but what caused the irritation in my eyes was that I knew that she had signed up to a blogger.com account in order to make it. My mum is pretty advanced now in terms of computers and the web but she normally calls me to set stuff up and talk her though, but (and this is in no way meant to sound patronising) she did it all herself and she did it so I wouldn't know the comment was waiting and would find it in my own time and that means more than I can tell you.
Not long after I checked my work email account and found an email from my dad. My dad and me are close ('my Dad and I' - private joke) are close and we talk all the time but black and white does so much more and I had the same strange eye irritation. Amazing, heartfelt words. Reasonably embarrassing as Clare and her two mates were in the room. I took that as my cue to have a shower. I was pretty filthy to be fair.
Battery is at 10% and I should save my work, apparently. More tomorrow.
Saturday 24 May 2008
Before & After
Here's what our baby's cleft might be like. A complete right-sided unilateral cleft lip.
3 months old (1 week before surgery)
I can't wait to take photo like this one!
3 months old (1 week before surgery)
1 hour after surgery
All fixed
I can't wait to take photo like this one!
Peaks and troughs
4.30 am is a funny time of the day / night. I didn't think that the baby would have me up at this time before it was actually born! Once you're up though it's quite a nice time to be awake, I've always felt like I'm getting a headstart on everyone else and, if nothing else, it'll give me plenty of time to get ready for paintballing! Sleep deprivation was the one thing that worried most before we found out about the cleft(s) but now I realise how insignificant that's going to be in the grand scheme of things. It's always made me chuckle that even the toughest, hardened criminals get sleepy, even Phil Mitchell needs his sleep. The air at this time of the morning is lovely though, it has a different quality to it as if unpolluted by the day's activity. Also I can't believe how many cars I can hear on the road. Where is everyone going at this ungodly hour?
Yesterday afternoon we went back to Royal Surrey and had a second scan with another sonographer who was great and explained pretty much everything we'd already heard but she showed us in more detail on the scan. The cleft lip definitely goes through the gum but we won't know the extent of the cleft palate until the baby arrives. We do know that it's a right-sided complete unilateral cleft lip, not left-sided as the first lady reckoned. At the moment the cleft is 7.7mm and I love it to stay that size but it'll obviously get bigger. It's amazing what 24 hours does, I find myself looking at pictures of other peoples' kids, strangers' kids with clefts and I'm not wincing anymore, now I understand the condition. Ideally I'd like everyone I know (and everyone I don't but may come into contact with) to read up and do as much research so they're not shocked. I feel selfish that all I'm now really worried about is what other people with think, will they think our baby is a freak, will they stare and whisper, will I have to punch someone in the face? I'm sure that during the first few months there will certainly be some very tough times but I also know one look into our baby's eyes will put it right in a heartbeat. I think that the anticipation is likely to be much worse than the reality as we're only focussing on the negative right now and we seem to be forgetting that, despite the set back, we're having a gorgeous (natch) bundle of joy which is going to give us years of pleasure (and grief in all likelihood!).
We had a really nice evening, a few phone calls to various friends and family and yet more reassurance from the same website's gallery. We walked into town and had too much pizza, waddled home to watch Jonathan Ross and Clare fell asleep on the sofa; just like any normal Friday, but we went to sleep happy. As of now all is o.k with the world (apart from being awake at this ridiculous hour) and we're going to be fine.
Yesterday afternoon we went back to Royal Surrey and had a second scan with another sonographer who was great and explained pretty much everything we'd already heard but she showed us in more detail on the scan. The cleft lip definitely goes through the gum but we won't know the extent of the cleft palate until the baby arrives. We do know that it's a right-sided complete unilateral cleft lip, not left-sided as the first lady reckoned. At the moment the cleft is 7.7mm and I love it to stay that size but it'll obviously get bigger. It's amazing what 24 hours does, I find myself looking at pictures of other peoples' kids, strangers' kids with clefts and I'm not wincing anymore, now I understand the condition. Ideally I'd like everyone I know (and everyone I don't but may come into contact with) to read up and do as much research so they're not shocked. I feel selfish that all I'm now really worried about is what other people with think, will they think our baby is a freak, will they stare and whisper, will I have to punch someone in the face? I'm sure that during the first few months there will certainly be some very tough times but I also know one look into our baby's eyes will put it right in a heartbeat. I think that the anticipation is likely to be much worse than the reality as we're only focussing on the negative right now and we seem to be forgetting that, despite the set back, we're having a gorgeous (natch) bundle of joy which is going to give us years of pleasure (and grief in all likelihood!).
We had a really nice evening, a few phone calls to various friends and family and yet more reassurance from the same website's gallery. We walked into town and had too much pizza, waddled home to watch Jonathan Ross and Clare fell asleep on the sofa; just like any normal Friday, but we went to sleep happy. As of now all is o.k with the world (apart from being awake at this ridiculous hour) and we're going to be fine.
Friday 23 May 2008
Whirlwind
The last 24 hours has been a shock! My head is going at a million miles an hour and I don't really know where I am. This blog seems like a good idea.
Last September my wife had a miscarriage so at our three month scan we were obviously paranoid and expecting the worst; although we have an amazing set of family and friends, good jobs and a wonderful home, the events of the previous year had seem to conspire against us somewhat and although we try to make sure the glass is always half full, sometimes it's not that easy.
Anyway the scan went well, all looked normal and the sigh of relief was universal; things were slowly going for the better. Naturally, then, we walked up to the maternity unit at Royal Surrey with something of a swagger presuming that this would be routine and all would be well. Actually that's a lie, we did say a prayer the night before but assumed the same God would be listening!
Anyway the scan was going well, with the sonographer changing the 'not normal' buttons to 'normal' by right-clicking and progressing through the list. Clare finally asked 'So is everything O.K then?' to which the lady replied;
'Well...not everything'.
You never know how you'll react to bad news but when I heard her response my whole body stiffened and a wave of heat passed over me. Clare's grip tightened and we braced ourselves. We were told that our baby would be born with a cleft lip and probably a cleft palate. I say probably as a scan can't tell the true extent of a cleft lip, palate or what combination they come in, if at all.
The lady explained that, as bad news goes, this was pretty good. Apparently of all the things that could come up a cleft, regardless of size, type, seriousness etc is the one you want. It didn't feel like that at the time and whilst I'm relieved it's not more serious, I'm having difficulty giving small mercies any thanks.
I've only fainted once, when I had blood taken the time before last (I was lying down at the time, pathetic I know!) but I felt that without water and removing my jacket this would be the second time. I've always found it weird how the sight of blood or hearing bad news could provoke such strong physical reactions but I managed not to faint and we were ushered from the scan room to a cosy room which is obviously used for much worse news than ours.
Clare said 'I don't want to the people who come into this room' and we all knew what she meant. The symbology of the soft furnishings amongst the stark NHS decor and stop smoking posters was deafening in its silence. I was trying to stay as practical and blokish as possible as Clare and her mum sniffed through their tears while waiting for the next nurse.
I felt like a bit of a statistic as we were waiting. I really hope I never have to be in the comfortable room again in my life.
And so the reading began.
We started by looking through the paperwork the nurse gave us which explained everything we were going through and what to expect and also had a piece written by a mother who'd gone through it all and how we shouldn't worry too much. A before and after shot offered little comfort as even though the after was a miracle of science, up until that point we were going to have a 'perfect' baby which was going to be head boy / girl, happy, rich, famous and would probably do a lot of work for charity.
People with illnesses or disabilities gravitate towards the web and whilst this must be a pain for doctors who regularly have to deal with the self-diagnosed dying patient with a cold, it was of great comfort in the first few hours.
www.clapa.com is the official site of the official body and is probably the best place to start. It explains the procedures, time scales and has, more importantly, loads of before and afters. What I noticed (other than the obvious) was that the before shots were just as happy as the afters. It's important to know that the baby doesn't suffer as a result of having the cleft, it's not sore, nothing's missing, just that bits of its palate, lip, nose, gum etc have not quite grown together or have grown in a slightly different direction. IT CAN ALL BE SORTED. And the first op is at three months old....this is one which makes the baby's face look much more normal. Whatever 'normal' is. I'm not sure I'm normal!
So, we made a few important calls to key people who could spread the word. Explaining the same scenario hundreds of times is not we needed last night but we do want everyone to know so they don't feel uncomfortable later on. This worked well. The calls and texts started soon after and we explained it a few more times but in the main I would recommend using friends and family to do some of the hard work at least to start with.
I'm a typical bloke and I can fix everything but I can't fix this. Not yet, at least. Clare's mum was upset, as she to, cannot fix it. Clare's upset for the same reason but it's always harder on the woman; she thinks it's her fault, which of course it isn't. It's no one's fault, there's nothing which could or should have been done to avoid it. If there was, believe me Clare would have done it as she is the model expectant mum. It's one of those 1 in 600 things and we're number 600. Or 1 depending on how you look at it.
Anyway we flaked out around ten and woke up to reassess the situation. One thing is for sure and that's that the next 4 months until the baby arrives are going to be a series of peaks and troughs. I went to bed upbeat (2 beers / half a bottle wine) and Clare was teary whereas I woke up feeling blue and Clare was o.k. It changes throughout the day an we're not yet 24 hours into 'the news'. The one thing I can't get out of my head is this. We know time is a great healer but it's difficult to get used to something which hasn't happened yet and this situation is going to rule the next 4 months. I feel a bit cheated that our outlook on the whole situation has changed.
The specialist came at 10am this morning which is pretty impressive. In fact she knocked on the door at 10 seconds past ten, although my watch is fast. Anyway the NHS machine has kicked in and we went through a LOT with her and I'm going to write more on that tomorrow. But we feel a million times better having seen Ann(e), our angel, than we felt yesterday.
We're going to see Indiana Jones tonight for distraction and I'm going paintballing for a stag do in the morning and you can probably guess how much I'm looking forward to that.
Last September my wife had a miscarriage so at our three month scan we were obviously paranoid and expecting the worst; although we have an amazing set of family and friends, good jobs and a wonderful home, the events of the previous year had seem to conspire against us somewhat and although we try to make sure the glass is always half full, sometimes it's not that easy.
Anyway the scan went well, all looked normal and the sigh of relief was universal; things were slowly going for the better. Naturally, then, we walked up to the maternity unit at Royal Surrey with something of a swagger presuming that this would be routine and all would be well. Actually that's a lie, we did say a prayer the night before but assumed the same God would be listening!
Anyway the scan was going well, with the sonographer changing the 'not normal' buttons to 'normal' by right-clicking and progressing through the list. Clare finally asked 'So is everything O.K then?' to which the lady replied;
'Well...not everything'.
You never know how you'll react to bad news but when I heard her response my whole body stiffened and a wave of heat passed over me. Clare's grip tightened and we braced ourselves. We were told that our baby would be born with a cleft lip and probably a cleft palate. I say probably as a scan can't tell the true extent of a cleft lip, palate or what combination they come in, if at all.
The lady explained that, as bad news goes, this was pretty good. Apparently of all the things that could come up a cleft, regardless of size, type, seriousness etc is the one you want. It didn't feel like that at the time and whilst I'm relieved it's not more serious, I'm having difficulty giving small mercies any thanks.
I've only fainted once, when I had blood taken the time before last (I was lying down at the time, pathetic I know!) but I felt that without water and removing my jacket this would be the second time. I've always found it weird how the sight of blood or hearing bad news could provoke such strong physical reactions but I managed not to faint and we were ushered from the scan room to a cosy room which is obviously used for much worse news than ours.
Clare said 'I don't want to the people who come into this room' and we all knew what she meant. The symbology of the soft furnishings amongst the stark NHS decor and stop smoking posters was deafening in its silence. I was trying to stay as practical and blokish as possible as Clare and her mum sniffed through their tears while waiting for the next nurse.
I felt like a bit of a statistic as we were waiting. I really hope I never have to be in the comfortable room again in my life.
And so the reading began.
We started by looking through the paperwork the nurse gave us which explained everything we were going through and what to expect and also had a piece written by a mother who'd gone through it all and how we shouldn't worry too much. A before and after shot offered little comfort as even though the after was a miracle of science, up until that point we were going to have a 'perfect' baby which was going to be head boy / girl, happy, rich, famous and would probably do a lot of work for charity.
People with illnesses or disabilities gravitate towards the web and whilst this must be a pain for doctors who regularly have to deal with the self-diagnosed dying patient with a cold, it was of great comfort in the first few hours.
www.clapa.com is the official site of the official body and is probably the best place to start. It explains the procedures, time scales and has, more importantly, loads of before and afters. What I noticed (other than the obvious) was that the before shots were just as happy as the afters. It's important to know that the baby doesn't suffer as a result of having the cleft, it's not sore, nothing's missing, just that bits of its palate, lip, nose, gum etc have not quite grown together or have grown in a slightly different direction. IT CAN ALL BE SORTED. And the first op is at three months old....this is one which makes the baby's face look much more normal. Whatever 'normal' is. I'm not sure I'm normal!
So, we made a few important calls to key people who could spread the word. Explaining the same scenario hundreds of times is not we needed last night but we do want everyone to know so they don't feel uncomfortable later on. This worked well. The calls and texts started soon after and we explained it a few more times but in the main I would recommend using friends and family to do some of the hard work at least to start with.
I'm a typical bloke and I can fix everything but I can't fix this. Not yet, at least. Clare's mum was upset, as she to, cannot fix it. Clare's upset for the same reason but it's always harder on the woman; she thinks it's her fault, which of course it isn't. It's no one's fault, there's nothing which could or should have been done to avoid it. If there was, believe me Clare would have done it as she is the model expectant mum. It's one of those 1 in 600 things and we're number 600. Or 1 depending on how you look at it.
Anyway we flaked out around ten and woke up to reassess the situation. One thing is for sure and that's that the next 4 months until the baby arrives are going to be a series of peaks and troughs. I went to bed upbeat (2 beers / half a bottle wine) and Clare was teary whereas I woke up feeling blue and Clare was o.k. It changes throughout the day an we're not yet 24 hours into 'the news'. The one thing I can't get out of my head is this. We know time is a great healer but it's difficult to get used to something which hasn't happened yet and this situation is going to rule the next 4 months. I feel a bit cheated that our outlook on the whole situation has changed.
The specialist came at 10am this morning which is pretty impressive. In fact she knocked on the door at 10 seconds past ten, although my watch is fast. Anyway the NHS machine has kicked in and we went through a LOT with her and I'm going to write more on that tomorrow. But we feel a million times better having seen Ann(e), our angel, than we felt yesterday.
We're going to see Indiana Jones tonight for distraction and I'm going paintballing for a stag do in the morning and you can probably guess how much I'm looking forward to that.
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