The winning Mum will win a holiday for 2 adults & up to 2 children in Malta. 

 and it turns out that I was on the short list...

I asked my clients who was responsible for this and received the following copy of her entry in to the competition and thought you might want to see what she said about her experience of having a birth doula:

"I would like to nominate the duo Lucy Symons who was by my side in Labour and her partner Maggie Vaughn who have changed my perception of pain and the World. These two wonderful ladies made the birth of our son extra special, less daunting and magical. I had originally wanted a Doula because I find visiting hospitals tricky because I had a spinal injury (fractured my neck in childhood) This has caused me great anxiety and triggered memories ..... so we met Lucy and Maggie and they were the perfect fit. 

Pre-Labour

Our Doulas supported both my partner and me through pregnancy and gave us top tips to remain calm, settle baby in my womb & for sciatic nerve pains towards the end of pregnancy. They reassured me at every stage and actually enabled me to enjoy pregnancy. My mum did not enjoy pregnancy yet our Doula's enabled me to not follow in these footsteps but to be positive, have baths, bond with baby via massage and relaxation. (this worked like a DREAM) 

I even had a car crash at 5 months in pregnancy - Oooops! Both Lucy and Maggie were there for us and again I focussed on being positive and praying how lucky we are to have such a resilient baby. Maggie visited promptly after this. 

Our 'Charlie's Angels' (Doulas) visited us on numerous occasions, providing books, DVDs and helped with ideas for the Birth Plan. They enabled me to be mentally prepared and were honest too and enabled me to manage pregnancy and the stress / pressures of work. (combining the two) 

Our Charlie's Angels were in contact with my boyfriend and supported him through the pregnancy too. 

Lucy and Maggie talked me through the stages of labour which initially shocked me. However, when I attended my ante-natal classes I was psychologically more prepared. 

Maggie and Lucy suggested ways to help us get baby in the correct position using gym ball, swimming etc. I felt I was being pro-active and in control of the pregnancy and doing my 100% best I could - thanks to our Charlie's Angels.

Labour 

My Contractions began.......Lucy protected me by not telling me that the maternity ward at our hospital may have to close as they were so busy & understaffed.  She did not tell me that if we turned up we would have to go home or to an alternative hospital. Had I known this information I would have gone into distress mode and started to hyperventilate. 

Our Charlie's Angel created distractions throughout labour, even washed my hair and consoled me.  She kept the family calm and requested they sleep, she timed my contractions for me and noted them. 

Lucy continuously rang the hospital back to try to get a room for me - thank the lord for our angel because we did eventually get a room and knew this on the car journey there (what a gem).

She helped me manage pain until I was 7cm dilated in my own home using water, massage and tens machine. UNBELIEVABLE - I could not have done this without Lucy. 

She supported my decisions 100% especially when I asked for an epidural.

When my baby was born I was in shock.  Lucy was able to cuddle him whilst I gained some awareness through all the medication/drugs

Post Natal 

I had no memory triggers from my childhood trauma when I got to the labour ward and even enjoyed my stay at the hospital. (thanks to our Doulas) 

We received an entertaining letter for our son outlining all the various conversations and stages of labour.

Aftercare

We received a meal & home made chocolate cake delivered to our home which was divine.  I received help with breastfeeding and general aftercare. Maggie advised me on what to eat and the natural approach to breastfeeding really worked better for us. 

Lucy explained all the details of labour afterwards. How the hospital was going to close and things she had protected me from hearing. My jaw was on the floor. I'm so glad she shielded me from this and for taking the time to explain what happened in labour in more detail. (Our baby had been in a tricky position, with both his hands on his head)

I could not have asked for more!!!!!!! Both Doulas who worked in partnership are already winners in my eyes and our family. They made labour a positive experience and they have a special place in our hearts."

What more could a doula ask for?  I Love my job.

What had been a perfectly natural, really lovely labour at home was suddenly transformed into a strange medical procedure in the hospital where we all waited for things to happen, feeling disconnected and slightly like observers rather than participants. My role as a doula was suddenly transformed into that of companion, her boyfriend was quietly sleeping in a corner and the midwife would come in, smile at us both and go straight to the monitor or the drip – no longer really paying attention to the person in labour.

Eventually my lovely lady managed to get to 10cm and started to push. She was instructed what to do because she had no natural urge to push. She did brilliantly and after a long hard second stage, her son was born. I remember quite clearly through a sleep deprived haze bursting into tears as he was born and her boyfriend doing the same as their son took his first breath. The midwife was efficiently kind and also obviously moved. But my lady lay on the bed watching us with what appeared to be detached confusion. My tears and those of her boyfriend seemed totally alien to her and even a little annoying. We passed her the baby but she didn’t seem to be terribly interested. She asked that I take him and so I took him for a little walk around the room as her boyfriend held her hand whilst she was being stitched. Finally, I brought him back to her side and she gestured for me to give him to her boyfriend. I left that birth wondering how she would manage.

A few days later I went to their home and met with them. We discussed the birth of their son at length and I was thrilled to see she had bonded brilliantly with her son as she breast fed him. I asked her about the moment he was born and she admitted (after a little nudging) that she had felt absolutely nothing, but was only aware of the brutality of the experience. My emotion and her boyfriend’s at the time was exactly the opposite of her feelings… she said she felt like she was observing everything and not experiencing it. I gently explained to her that oxytocin (the body’s natural expulsive hormone necessary for giving birth) is also known as the “love” hormone. She had received a synthetic form of that hormone in the drip which does everything that oxytocin does physiologically but none of the emotional things that you would expect. As a consequence, she was going through the motions of giving birth but had none of the natural endorphins nor did she experience the woosh of maternal love that she would have done had she been able to have a natural labour and birth. In breast feeding her son, she was producing the oxytocin that she had missed at birth and as such was rapidly falling in love with him.

Oxytocin plays such a vital part to bonding with your baby it is little wonder there has been a recent spate of men writing about how removed they felt from their children when they are first born. Several journalists have reported recently that they feel it is the unspoken taboo, fathers who don’t feel anything towards their newborn children. Of course (most) men learn how to love their children but sometimes it takes a little time. They don’t have that natural leg up that we women do. And nor do some women who have surgical or chemical births. It is something to consider if you feel that your birth experience was less magical than you were expecting. It is very helpful to know that with the absence of oxytocin, you can experience a more disconnected birth than if you have a totally natural experience. Don’t beat yourself up about it, but be aware that it is perfectly normal for it to take a few days of breast feeding for you to feel that deep connection with your baby, and for your partner to grow into loving his child.

In working as a post natal doula, I am in women’s homes after they have had a baby and it is perfectly normal for me to see new mothers sad or miserable or even crying.  It turns out this is one of the questions in the Edinburgh Post Natal Depression Scale, a self reporting tool developed in 1987 to help identify women with post-natal depression; something your health visitor may have asked you to complete.  Another question is “have you felt scared or panicky for no good reason?” which equally most of the women I work with in the early days of motherhood (if they were honest) would say yes to.  

Motherhood can be very very hard to adjust to for most of us, and in the struggle to get a handle on it (and possibly to realize that you will never truly get a handle on it) it is only normal to expect to be teary or feel fear.  Immediately postpartum a new mother is probably physically exhausted, sleep deprived, hormonally frankly quite mad and deeply in love with a tiny new person they feel biologically programmed to protect and care for.  She may also find herself at home alone with her baby if her partner has to go back to work and her family is not near.

Couple this with the fact that motherhood is without a doubt the hardest-easiest job in the world and you may very well find a woman who weeps and feels scared.  Intellectually, we know that a baby’s needs are so simple: food, warmth and love.  And yet… and yet… it can seem like a relentless cycle of food, warmth and love and regardless of the food, warmth and love it also seems that they cry.  A lot.  And every cry goes through you in a way that you would never have believed before it happens to you, and every fibre of your body reacts to that cry.  Sometimes a baby’s cry is hunger, sometimes it is discomfort and sometimes it just is. 

I have a client who recently told me that the minute she realized that her son just needed to be held, she was a much better mother.  She had spent the first six weeks of his life feeding him and changing him and winding him and then believing that she should put him down, in a basket or a crib or in a bouncing chair and he would be satisfied.  He wasn’t and so he cried.  When she realized that by carrying him, he was happier, she was much better able to be a good enough mother.  But it took her six weeks to figure out what she imagined she would know instinctively.  The solution she found for her baby worked for her and for her son was not something she read in a book or someone else told her to do, or even something that will work for you (although it might be worth trying!) but eventually through trial and error, she came to the conclusion that her baby would only stop crying if she carried him with her.  Pregnant with her second child, she is now preparing for her next baby to be the same.  Perhaps he will be, or maybe she will have to do all that learning again with a different child, either way she understands the fundamentals of being a good enough mother.  You try your best to find the best solution to any given situation and forgive yourself if you don’t manage it quickly.  Every mother should march to the beat of the tiny drum her baby beats for her.

There are no simple answers to motherhood, it is not an exact science.  The best you can realistically hope is be a good enough mother.  To figure out what your baby needs and provide it as swiftly as possible and understand that sometimes babies just cry.  You may find that carrying them helps, or singing to them, or walking around the park in their pram, or sometimes it could be that nothing helps and your baby is just exercising his right to shout.  A lot.  A friend says her son frequently sounds like he is being attacked by cats.  A second time mother, she spent his first week rushing to save him from the imaginary marauding felines and then slowly realized that is just how he is.   It is normal for him to cry like that - it doesn’t mean anything is wrong particularly, it is just the way he is, different from his sister before him

It is also important to remember that babies are very receptive and so,  if you feel anxious or panicked or scared, they will pick up on that.  If in the face of motherhood you feel fear (and really, I don’t know anyone who is honest who can say it doesn’t ever fill her with some sort of fear) your baby will react in a way which may make you feel even more fear and so a vicious cycle begins.  I have a client at the moment who said to me “Why is my baby always so calm when you are here?” and it isn’t because I am a magic baby whisperer (more’s the pity), it is because my being in her home means she can focus only on her baby and not worry about the washing or the cooking or the ironing or the shopping or answering the door to the post man or cleaning out the fridge or putting the flowers in water or any of those other things that distract us from our babies and so SHE can make her baby more calm by being more calm herself. 

I am not sure that women are more inclined to post natal depression these days myself.  I do think the adjustment we make as we transition from individual to mother is a very difficult one, emotionally and physically, possibly harder to do when older but if that manifests itself in tears or random moments of panic, then we should embrace them and ask for help.  Being alone and sad and panicked is far more overwhelming than sharing it with someone who cares for you and so much the better if that person can normalize those feelings for you.  It is right you should feel sad sometimes as a mother and being responsible for a tiny new person is also pretty scary, but grab that fear with both hands harness it and be the best mother you can be.  It is also right that you should feel overwhelming joy and discover meaning in your life that you had no idea existed.  And enjoy being a mother. For most of us it’s the best job you will ever have.

A maths teacher was quoted in The Observer last Sunday saying that he corrected a child’s homework, pointing out that a nought was in the wrong place.  The child watched as the teacher changed the answer (corrected the answer) and smiling, changed it back saying “Thank you, but I prefer it where it was.”  Mad mathematical renegade or spoilt brat?

As a parent we all want happy children… but ultimately what is really going to make your child experience long term happiness?  When do we need to step in and teach our children that they can’t always be right and that life isn’t always happy?  When do they learn that they don’t always get to be first, selected for the football team or the lead part in the class assembly?  It is a vital lesson without doubt, and one that needs to be assimilated before entry in to the Big Bad World where there isn’t always going to be a mummy to take the naughty person to task for not recognising (perhaps well hidden – or truly absent) genius.

I do understand that having a happy child is vital, but I wonder if ultimately little Johnny is going to thank you for this effort?  Research shows that children who are never corrected or thwarted actually have lower self esteem than their more robust challenged counterparts.  Life is as much about managing disappointment as learning to manage success.  Realistically, in a class of 30 children, your little darling is unlikely to come first and 29 times more likely to come second or lower.  And someone has to come last!  Surely childhood is where you learn that, safe in the knowledge that you have parents who love you no matter what and will comfort you and teach you that not being The Angel Gabriel in the Christmas production is actually not The End of The World.

If, as a mother, you beg the teacher to remark homework or add your child to the team roster or change the casting for the school nativity play making your child happy again, if only for a little bit, what lesson are you teaching your child?  Complain and you get what you want, perhaps. Is that true of life?  Perhaps a little bit, but generally speaking life is pretty much a meritocracy and if you aren’t best suited to the role, you won’t get it.  And how hollow a victory would you experience if you were in the starting line up of a big match only because your mummy made the coach put you in?  I cannot tell you how many painfully shy children I have watched squirming with embarrassment, unable to speak when called upon to do so, after their mother has negotiated them in to a role in the school play they aren’t happy with.  Surely that is a far worse fate for the child than being cast as part of a nice crowd scene where you can lurk at the back and don’t have to speak?

As a parent, you have to moderate your expectations to fit your child.  If you have a terribly uncoordinated chatter box who loves to show off… perhaps they would be selected for a part in the play but left off the netball squad.  Should you perhaps trust the teacher to make that decision for you, rather than barrel in and take them to task?  We had a situation at my children’s school recently where a mother insisted her daughter take part in the “gifted and talented programme” arguing that it would only be fair if everyone had a “go” at being Gifted and Talented.  This child was also told that she couldn’t take the exam for the grammar school (the 11+) because she was “out of catchment” although a patent lie.  The poor child repeated this to anyone who would listen and watched as people nodded their heads in pity more than agreement, understanding that an untruth had been told to her to save her feelings.  What does this teach her daughter?  Will she thank her mother when she is older? 

We surely should be thinking of our children’s happiness in a much broader sense rather than immediate disappointment and upset.  To teach a child to accept the rough with the smooth and understand their own limitations is vital.  “Life is short and  brutal and then you die” was my father’s response if I ever complained about any perceived injustice – perhaps rather old school, but I got the message.  We need to celebrate our children’s achievements and I fear that when they really do work hard and achieve, the subsequent joy may be diminished by the previous devaluation.  Encourage them by all means, but be realistic and understand that you may be (should be!) slightly biased when it comes to your own little darling.  That your adoring, uncritical, maternal view of your child may be best kept in the home, though.  You can be a one person cheering squad for your own children behind closed doors, but you also need to be able to be a shoulder for them to cry on when they are unhappy.  Without sickness we wouldn’t appreciate health and without sadness we wouldn’t appreciate joy.  Everything in moderation makes for a happier more confident child in the end, I think.

It is very tempting I think, as an over-tired, stressed out mother, to take the line of least resistance with kids when it comes to food and discipline.  And no one can blame you.  But I think we all have our limits and a sensible mother will have an eye on the Big Picture as she gets from day to day in the tricky early years.

The way you raise your own family has a great deal to do with your own expectations and should you choose a totally child centred family, no one should criticise you.  BUT if you have a child centred family and struggle with the reality of that (letting children fall asleep when they feel like it, eat, wear and do what they feel like and generally dictate the terms of the family’s life) don’t expect a lot of sympathy when you complain that you have had yet another sleepless night or you find being with your children out or just with other people a struggle.

If you understand how your child and your family will (inevitably) have to fit into the larger society when you enter the scary world of school and the social necessity that brings with it, you can begin to understand the problems you may encounter.  If you have ways of dealing with your children at home which embarrass you or would seem “odd” to other people, do appreciate that sooner or later you are going to be part of a larger community and you may find that his sweet little quirks may cause him (or you) embarrassment.

I know many mothers who left dealing with peculiar loo habits until school.  I can remember a mother being loathed to accept a teatime invitation for her children and thought she just didn’t like me and was trying to give me the hint by constantly refusing.  Eventually it all came tumbling out that her child would only poo in a nappy in spite of his advanced years and four pm was the appointed hour.  Once this was out in the open, she did come for tea, armed with the nappy and all was well.  I do think for her that school was when she realised that she would have to force the issue with her five year old and sure enough a few weeks later he was pooing in a loo just like everyone else.  I think she found converting him to a normal pooer a lot easier than she had expected as well, when she finally grasped that particular nettle.  Sometimes avoiding a situation gives it a lot more power over you or your child than it should… “feel the fear and do it anyway” seems to be an appropriate battle cry for all mothers.

Food is another tricky place.  You know what you will expect your child to eat at home and with your own family and if a steady diet of strawberry yoghurt and crisps is acceptable to you, then don’t let anyone else put pressure on you to change that.  If you are aware of basic nutrition and also would like to be able to send your child to other people’s houses for meals, it is probably an issue you should deal with sooner rather than later.  Most children have a few food fads, but you – as their mother- should lead by example, and try to find a way to deal with the most extreme of them to make your little honey less socially different.  (Having said that, we have a very lovely friend who is married to a top consultant who works at a teaching hospital in London and comes to dinner parties requesting a fish finger sandwich… white bread and marge as well, none of that home made organic bread crap.  He has survived in to his forties so far and seems to be at the top of his game in spite of his lack of a well rounded diet.  His wife may tell you he is hard to take out, but he seems very happy.)

Most children are remarkably flexible when you get right down to it, but if they sense a weakness in you, don’t expect them not to capitalise on it.  If you let them peel the wallpaper off their bedroom walls or refuse to have their hair washed, they probably will keep it up for as long as you let them.  Any socially unacceptable behaviour must have consequences… if not in your home, then how is your child going to learn that we have a certain expectation of behaviour in the extended world?

Motherhood is about balance and trying to find a way to see the Big Picture without causing yourself undue anguish.  Having a child who sleeps through the night may be a necessity for most of us.  Encouraging that through incentives is a very healthy way forward.  Trying to raise a child who has a varied diet and can eat pretty much anything that is put in front of them is always convenient for travel and visiting friends and family and a lot less embarrassing in a restaurant or when visiting Great Auntie Maud.  I would rather raise balanced and socially capable children rather then cripple them with phobias and fears and psychological quirks which may have just started as bad habits.  Or worse, maternal short cuts.  I know that when I was at a low ebb and couldn’t be bothered to labour a point my kids got away with murder and could have kept it up if I hadn’t realised I was the adult and reigned them in.  My children were ghastly in grocery shops and so I tried to go when I was alone.  What I had failed to appreciate was that sooner or later I would have to do take them with me and because they weren’t used to it, they behaved worse than ever.  If I had just gently introduced the idea that we behave with patience in a super market trolley I would  have been much better off.  Instead I was stressing about their behaviour which, of course, they picked up on and played to their own advantage.  I was never going to be the mother with the child in the trolley eating crisps…  

A child who can sleep anywhere is a lot more portable than the one who needs to have an adult gently singing the Skye Boat Song whilst lying next to them stroking their head until they fall asleep. And you may find (as I did) that most children tend to prefer parameters; they actually like knowing the rules and are reassured that you are in charge and that there are consequences for aberrative behaviour.  So, try to be aware of limits you are may be placing on your children and, if you can, get rid of them.  You want to try your best to raise confident, happy, children who become confident, happy, adults… not strange people who can’t pee in public toilets, eat anything that is yellow or sleep anywhere but in their own beds.

So, you’ve fallen pregnant and maybe it wasn’t as easy as you thought it would be.   You’ve navigated the rocky waters of pregnancy and given birth.   You’ve survived the first few weeks of hormonal madness and total sleep deprivation and have settled in to being a family.   You are managing your partner and the house and your in-laws and your family and what if it isn’t always what you imagined it would be?   What if it isn’t always fabulous?

I was part of a discussion last night about motherhood which made me think it was worth writing about those bad days we all experience.   In the group of mothers who were bearing their souls, there was a good cross section of those who fell pregnant at the drop of a hat, those who battled with miscarriages, those who relied on IVF or IUI and those who adopted.   We were variously mothers of singletons and up to a mother of four, generally straight talking articulate and opinionated women (with a few bottles of wine in us – I have to admit, it was “book club” after all).   We all admitted that at various stages of our lives as mothers we had had very dark moments when we felt we weren’t as happy as we had hoped we would be.

Most of us had found sympathetic other mothers to speak to in those dark hours (and generally it is a   fleeting feeling of “Oh my God, What have I done!” rather than anything resembling full blown post-natal depression) but what stood out to me was that those of us who had really struggled to fall pregnant and ultimately to have a baby (and had had assisted conceptions using IVF or IUI or even adopting) felt less able to voice their negative feelings.   Some admitted to actively hiding these negative moments from those around them fearing they were “not allowed” to be questioning their decision to become a   mother because it had been so much harder (and in some cases, more expensive)   for them.   “I felt I didn’t have the right to complain,” said one, a mother of an adopted daughter “and worse, I had the social worker constantly breathing down my neck asking if I was coping.   I couldn’t say I was ever having a bad day.”

I know some mothers whose husbands snap at them “This is what you wanted!” or “You chose this!” when they ask for some sympathy.   That would quickly teach you not to voice your concerns again to that particular audience.   So what do you do?   I think my best advice has to be to find some like minded and non-competitive mothers with whom to speak.   Some kind ladies who will admit their feelings.   I also think it is vital that you know, as a mother, that you aren’t going to love every day and you wouldn’t be human if you didn’t occasionally wonder what your life would be like if you hadn’t had a child.   That doesn't mean you don't love your children.   These dark days are fortunately few and far between for most of us, but it is absolutely vital that mothers feel they are allowed to have them.   Please be generous with each other and be honest about your real experience of motherhood. Being faced with someone who smugly tells you that their baby sleeps through the night, their husband never needs to have sex with them and that they would much rather scrub the kitchen floor than go to bed early is too depressing for words, but also not really true in my experience.   I am always wary if someone is coping TOO well.   Especially if they have twins, or an IVF baby or an adopted child.   Much wanted children can also be a burden some days.   By and large motherhood is a wonderful experience, but as in everything you have to experience the dark to appreciate the light.

I am not sure if it is a function of my age or a by product of having children but I have noticed recently, how painfully aware I am of my own mortality.   I noticed it first when flying with a tiny child (on an aeroplane I hasten to add).   I sat rigid with fear as we took off, suddenly aware of all the things that could go wrong.   I have flown my whole life (I commuted by plane for six years from the States to my boarding school and home again six times a   year, for heaven’s sake) and always rather enjoyed it.   I even derived a small amount of pleasure in the overcooked food they serve in little tins to be eaten with a spork…   suddenly there I was with a small person in my arms imagining all the things that could go wrong.   The lurching as we took off, the speed, the clanging noises all filled me with fear.   The smell… could it be something gaseous and poisonous?   The people around me… were they shoes bombers masquerading as business men?   The pilot… did he know what he was doing.   No, REALLY?   I even went through in my head if it was better that we two would die together rather than me dying leaving her behind…   

At about the same time, I noticed that I could no longer handle roundabouts or amusement park rides with the same cavalier abandon I used to enjoy.   I can even imagine the worst when driving my car now, what if a lorry veers off the road?   A wheel comes off my car at high speed?   At home I am even suddenly aware of fires and floods and what if the wind blows the chimney through the roof?

This all came to a head this summer when my gorgeous (if slightly hyperactive) younger daughter shimmied up our front wall posts (either side of the path in the front garden) the night before we left on our family holiday; creating a human bridge, and demanded that I walk beneath her legs. ‘Get down.’ I said in a long suffering way. She refused, I was to go through or not get back in to the house. Much hilarity. ‘Get down.’ I said a little more crossly. She refused and finally I decided (as most mothers do) that it was easier to humour than to fight her. I started to walk under her legs when her wellies slipped on the wet bricks (it was raining, this is London after all and we have just had the worst August on record) and she swung down, her firm little skull smacking against my nose in a sideways slightly crushing action.

I heard a loud crunch. My knees buckled. The blood started to squirt. I saw funny colours, possibly stars. I sat on the wet pathway, my head spinning.

My husband took me to various emergency clinics until we ended up at St George’s which has a specialist ENT unit. Not, I am sad to say, open on a Saturday night. I telephoned the girls from the hospital to reassure my poor daughter that I was alive and not angry with her; telling her I loved her and understood it was an accident. She said ‘yeah, but I have to go and change clothes because we have a show with singing and dancing to show the babysitter, so bye’.   Heartless little hussy.

We waited and waited and eventually a nice lady explained that the thing with nose injuries was that you could ‘just’ push them back in the first half an hour (long past) or ‘manipulate them’ within the first week (but after the swelling reduces). After that, the injury sets and you are faced with rhinoplasty or a nose that is ‘not THAT disfigured’ (in her professional opinion). It was the night before the family left for a three week holiday in Hungary.   My husband said, rather sweetly “It’s not that bad…” but we both knew that I was going to have to stay behind and get my nose manipulated before I could join the family.

I have never been without my whole family for a week before.   It was a very strange thing, sort of like being without a limb, I imagine.   I wandered about the house looking for things to do.   I can’t remember the last time I saw the bottom of the laundry basket and the airing cupboard has never been empty before.   I ironed everything…   I even scrubbed the kitchen floor.  

Finally it was the day for me to have my MUA (Manipulation Under Anaesthetic).   I was sitting being a big brave girl in the day surgery unit – on my own…   my family were all away and it was the middle of August so even my (selfish) bezzie mate was off on holiday.   Now, I have to say that I am usually pretty matter of fact about these things (and had turned down kind friends and neighbours offers to take time off work and accompany me).   I am not one to lose my head or become hysterical…   but I was totally (and quite calmly) convinced I was going to die.   I admit I have never had a general anaesthetic before and perhaps this is all part of that, but I sat until my operation in a waiting room, listening to the nurses phoning for victims who had already been operated on to transfer them to ICUs because “things didn’t go quite as well as we’d hoped” thinking I was going to be sick.   I wrote a letter to my daughters telling them I loved them to be read on my almost certain demise.   I even emailed my oldest friend in Cyprus to instruct her about my memorial service (lots of laughing and dancing and champagne and singing – preferably culminating in a rendition of “slipping through my fingers” from Mamma Mia) and what to do with my body (donate to science once all the useable bits could be salvaged and reused) and who was to have my car.   I even convinced myself that during the op itself I may be knocked out, and unable to move, but still aware of everything they were doing to me (which I decided may even be worse than death and could result in my dying from the shock anyway…).

I contemplated making a run for it more than once, trying to figure out how far I would get in a gappy hospital gown on a London street, happily abandoning my clothes, before someone brought me back.   If this had been a case of pure vanity, I am sure I would have gotten used to looking slightly more Owen Wilson than Meryl Streep, but I was warned that a floppy septum may heal either way blocking a whole nostril which would cause problems in the long term. It also explained the strange and painful vibrating feeling when I sneezed and the vaguely irritating whistle I experienced when I breathed. I really had to go through with it.   In spite of the fact that I was GOING to die.  Leaving my children.  And my husband.  And the dog.

I didn’t die, you will be surprised to hear, but I wonder how common that conviction is?   Is it because we are now responsible for children and feel their need for us so acutely?   Is it because most of our grandparents have shuffled off this mortal coil and our parents are getting older and we suddenly see the in controversial inevitability of aging and death?   Are we one generation closer to the oldest and with our own kids beneath us see how the cycle of life continues regardless of our fear?

I am not sure, but I can tell you that I long for those carefree invincible days when I could face anything without a second thought.   And hope that I manage to give my children that same confidence in their immortality… to a point.   Perhaps with a little less climbing thrown in…