Recognising The Problems – Sensitivity in your newborn
I recognized almost from the start that Kameron was different. As a baby he appeared to fuss over every little thing. I was hopeful that this was a phase.
It was 2003. I had given birth to my first child, lying in a hospital bed, and my midwife beside me, had just told me how to feed him. I was bottle feeding. However, after taking his first couple of ounces he refused subsequent bottles. I was sure I’d read all the right parenting magazines and was doing it right. There was no other ways I could try to get him to take his feed. He just didn’t want it!
I was distraught as he was not allowed home until they were sure he was feeding. The midwife’s were dumbfounded. This was not a traumatic birth and Kameron was healthy. In the attempt to relax him enough to soothe him with a bottle a midwife bathed him. But, despite her best effort, he wasn’t interested. As time passed, it became more of an issue and I was desperate to take him home – to get back to normal and establish a routine. Perhaps he sensed my anxiety. I will never know for sure. After returning, from the bathroom, my husband proclaimed that he had taken his feed from him, and we could go home. The relief was huge.
At this point I didn’t realize that his faddish nature could be an indication of being gifted. Here, I can only recall how difficult I found parenting to be. I was unprepared for the reality.
The first thing I did when I got to the house was to make feeds for the night. I was glad to be in my own environment, and my mother was enjoying the cuddle time. Kameron took his first feed at home well. In a parental role, I was confident of looking after my baby without too much guidance. I am the eldest of five. I’d supported my mother when she was raising my brothers and sister. But this was different. This was my own child. I realized what a great responsibility it was. He cried a lot and, I had little sleep that first night.
Baby days pass quickly. Yet my concerns grew. Kameron’s behaviour was still present and I was experiencing more difficulties. As he reached his development milestones I sensed his constant need for stimulation. If he wasn’t occupied he would become agitated. Whilst other parents were boasting how easy the first stages of being a parent was, I found it incresingly hard. He would complain over every little thing. Whenever I tried to get on with something that didn’t involve engaging Kameron, he would quickly show his dissatisfaction. And even to this day, he can come back from a jam packed, fun filled day and say, “I’m bored, what can I do?”
Of course, I had read up on tips to eliminate this behaviour but none of it worked for me. I didn’t know then that everyday methods wouldn’t work for him as I hadn’t recognised his extreme sensitivities as a special need – I just thought he was sent to try me.
The hardest thing for me was being subjected to his reactions to stimuli. When something wasn’t as Kameron liked, he would react – loudly. He was deeply affected by imperfections and his outbursts were intense. When I look back I still cringe at the thought – back then I wanted the earth to swallow me whole. The pitch of his scream could cut ice. It was enough for bystanders to turn and comment, “What’s wrong with him?” They would either look at him in disbelief or disgust. I remember wanting to prove to them that he wasn’t ill or playing up. I am deeply aware of his sensitivities. I had begun to expect this behavior from him, but others continue to perceive it negatively. It is hard to educate those which don’t appreciate the tendencies of someone who thinks differently. And it is their ignorance that influences me to take action.
It is exactly in those moments when you feel out of your depth. I recall dreading having to take my son, anywhere! It will probably occur to you, too, how socially disabling this is. But, it is not healthy to hide away and, you couldn’t do this forever. For me this was the time I started to look for answers. Although, I never felt that I couldn’t cope, I knew that eventually my son’s behaviour would attract professional attention – it would come to the point for intervention.
For me, acknowledging that this difficulty will not pass was my giant step forward. This will help you to stop feeling ashamed and to ask for support. It is the advice that better leads you to understanding why your baby acts this way. When you accept them for who they are, you learn how to work with their nature, rather than against it.
So, voicing your concerns and working with professionals shouldn’t worry you. By wanting to take steps to establish the problems, focus is on the well-being and, intervention offers, suitable solutions.
It was through Kameron’s emotional issues that his intellect was hidden. Luckily, other distinctive characteristics had presented themselves.
As Kameron develops so, do his behaviors. Techniques derive from his characteristics and carefully designed methods have taught him how to act accordingly. This is what makes intervention so important. Special needs cannot be met by me alone. Kameron’s care was inevitably shared with others – usually educators. These people are also concerned with the ways he develops and performs. Having detected what he requires obviously makes his transitions easier.
My Best Friends – Parenting and Raising Children
My best friends are shambolic. They admit that their children don’t sleep at night and even when they do they are up at 5 am ready to start the day. Their mornings are not very organised or efficient, in fact, they are chaotic and noisy. It is a scramble to get everyone dressed, fed and ready to face the day and a whole lot of shouting takes place. Sometimes not everyone is fed (usually Mummy) or even particularly well dressed.
My best friends have naughty children that don’t listen the first time they are asked to do something or even the third time. They throw tantrums in public places and their clothes are never clean. When Mummy and Daddy need them to be quiet they are loud and when it would really be nice if they would prove to Grandma that they really do know their ABC and not just the entire repertoire of CBeebies’ theme tunes, they are mute.
My best friends know they shouldn’t eat that Penguin biscuit that the children wanted for their packed lunch box tomorrow but it has been a bad morning and that biscuit will really take the edge off things so that a happier Mummy arrives at the school gate and in fact, that is a good thing. They know they really should practice what they preach to their children and eat nothing but celery and fruit and heaven knows it would be nice to shift those last few post-baby pounds. They know so well that they have even bought all the diet books and signed up for all the websites but they can wait until the time is right – surely?
My best friends reassure me every day that the fact that occasionally children get taken to McDonald’s is not a mortal sin and social services won’t be calling immediately afterward to interrogate me as to my motivation for such actions. In fact, it is highly possible that the presence of fast food in their diet will not result in GCSE failure and a bleak dismal future on the dole. They counteract every relative’s ‘tut’ by reminding me that all children have their moments and not every parent has the answer. We do our best and nobody praises us for it but occasionally an ‘I love you Mummy’ or an invitation to cuddle from two little arms lifted up comes our way and all is right with the world again. We know why we do this parenting deep down and it is truly worth it.
My best friends work really hard juggling commuting, offices, unsympathetic bosses, deadlines and schedules only to come home and have to do it all over again for the family. The washing waits patiently for them to return from work or a day out with the kids and never goes away. The washing has no respect for a busy day, a holiday or even a weekend and even if they do manage to get round to sticking it in the machine, the chances of it being folded or god forbid ironed, are minimal. What’s wrong with creases anyway? My best friends look gorgeous whatever they are wearing.
All parents feel guilty. Guilt because we don’t play with the children enough, guilt because we don’t focus on our relationships enough (let’s face it nobody is having regular sex nowadays no matter what lies they print in all the magazines), guilt because we go to work and guilt because we don’t. Do we avoid getting the paint and glue out even though the children beg us to ‘create’ because it makes soooo much mess and surely that’s what playgroup is for? Besides, we reason, our children have flea-like attention spans so as soon as we have set up a table of creativity rivaling the best Blue Peter episodes they flit off to play Lego or run in the garden! How many of us have found ourselves finishing off their ‘masterpieces’ and wondering what the hell we were doing aged forty-something playing with glitter and used up toilet roll tubes? I went to university and got a degree in Printing and Packaging Technology for this?!?!
My best friends’ kids can’t swim (well some of them) and they don’t all ride their bikes without stabilisers. They still think my children are great and point out their ‘unique’ talents whenever they can. They understand that the reason my children are on reins like badly trained puppies or strapped tightly into pushchairs on a regular basis is that they are a danger to themselves and not because I have over-bearing Victorian tendencies. They also reassure me that it is not weird or over-reactionary to think about Madeleine McCann every time you leave the house and you happen to lose sight of your little cherub for a nano-second and for it to feel like an hour.
My best friends worry about what food they need to have in to cater for my fussy eater rather than telling me how their children will ‘eat everything and you get what you are given’ in their house. They don’t always cook nouvelle cuisine recipes for their darling family and the food is not always on the table when Daddy arrives home. The lawn doesn’t get mowed that often and nobody really cares if there is a layer of dust around Granny’s picture frame so thick you can most definitely write your name in it. When we go to each other’s houses we know to look at things from a distance in order to achieve the true beauty of the place.
My best friends are ‘one piece of paper away from disaster’ and so am I. This is why I love them. I met my best friends through the NCT.
Negative perception and bad judgement is the basis for many of the ‘evils’ in our world today. Racism is a way to pass judgement on people of a different race, and label them as worse or better than you are, purely because of the colour of their skin. The same can be said about bullying, homophobia, xenophobia, gender discrimination, etc. These issues are not only rife in our society; they are often on the rise. With all our modern schooling and psychology, more children are turning to suicide because of bullying than ever before and therefore it is time to start teaching good judgement in children so we can move towards a future of being judgement free.
The reason I am bringing this up is that I did the most fascinating exercise on the weekend. I attend a writing group once a month. It’s nothing formal; just a few people sitting in a room, writing whatever nonsense comes to mind, and encouraging one another. This past Saturday, our group leader told us to write a story about an incident, but in two different voices. In other words, we had to write the same event from the perspective of two different characters.
Think of the benefit of teaching this kind of good judgement to children, and allowing them to practise this skill. Do you think there would be so many bullies around if they had to imagine the pain that their victims felt? Would so many people hate gay people, if they understood how gay people really felt? Below is the story that I wrote in one of my writing groups. Just to give a little background, in South Africa, where I live, we have car guards. They work at shopping centres, or wherever cars often park, and as the name implies, they guard cars. They don’t earn a salary for this. They actually have to pay the mall to be there. Thus, their only source of income is tips from people parking their cars. On an intellectual level, I don’t support the car guard movement. Malls should provide security with paid workers. However, the ‘people level’ is another story… Here is what I wrote.
Voice 1
The sun shone brightly over Durban. Everybody jumped into their cars and headed for the beach. Just as well that I got there early. By the time I left, there was no parking available. After drying off, I hopped into my car, retrieved my wallet from my bag and pulled out a few coins. I handed them to the guard and drove off.My stomach grumbled as I drove home. Luckily there is a Spar along the way. I ran in, grabbed a pie and was out of there in under three-minutes, and wouldn’t you know it, the car guard shadowed my walk back. What a nuisance. Really, this car guard story is getting ridiculous. I’ve only been here a few minutes, I thought to myself. He ‘ushered’ me out of the parking lot. Well actually what I mean to say is that he just stood in my way. Without looking, I sped off.
Voice 2
Eish, the sun is out today. It’s hot and I can’t find my hat, but the taxi is coming soon. I can’t wait; I’ll just have to suffer, again… “Goodbye children. I promise there will be food on the table tonight.” I ran the two kilometres to the taxi rank. I was already sweating before I even got in. The 17-kilometre journey took over an hour today. There was traffic. My heart pounded as the driver raced through. More close calls than usual today. I hope the rest of the day is going to be better. For a change, it was, until my loaf of bread at lunchtime. Some white guy nearly rode me over. No thanks, no tip, no nothing. It’s like I wasn’t even there. It was like I didn’t even chase those children sitting on his BMW. Now, my head is burnt, my heart is broken and my spirit is crushed
These kinds of writing exercises are perfect to get children to understand what the shoe is like on the other foot. Not only will it teach them good self-judgement, but it will encourage good judgement in people around them too.
The international best-seller Dean Koontz captured the essence of why we accept painful labours so easily when he wrote:
“Fear is the engine that drives the human animal. Humanity sees the world as a place of uncountable threats, and so the world becomes what humanity imagines it to be.”
In our dark dank past women were exploited. No surprise there then. They were not even allowed an education so that they could say “Hey, stop exploiting me you patriarchal society you”. We have had to fight tooth and nail for our relative freedom. The only battle that has yet to be won in the civilised world is childbirth.
Fear of childbirth has been instilled in us for hundreds of years. Doctors have made money out of us by keeping us in fear so that their services are needed to provide a medical model of care to help us birth. Early midwives were burned as witches so that women would turn to the medics in their time of need.
There are people on this planet that believe that the world is flat. Despite all the evidence to support a spherical earth, they still do not believe. Despite Aristotle, one of the first European thinkers to propose a round earth in 330 BC, who proved it by doing the math. Despite pictures from space that showed the awesome ROUND earth, they refuse to believe. “The world becomes what humanity imagines it to be.”
Modern health care follows blindly the belief in painful labours as the norm. There has been no research that I know of to support this belief. Within the UK we pride ourselves on offering evidence based practice and yet there is no evidence that uterine smooth muscle is designed to cause the sensation of pain when contracting normally. Yet we continue to believe.
Perhaps women want painful labours. Perhaps fear is the engine that drives the human animal. Perhaps we only feel comfortable when something we believe in comes true. Any other outcome would be too hard to accept, too big a paradigm shift for us to relate to.
Well tough. Get with the plan. Pain Free Labour has begun to seep into our belief system concerning childbirth. Midwifery led birthing centres are springing up all over the UK. Women are having pain free labours during the first stage when taught how to approach labour. Relaxation techniques are being learnt in parent craft sessions to keep women from entering the stress/pain cycle often seen in labour.
We are being allowed to learn the truth about labour now in the UK only because the strain on the NHS from medicalised care has become too much. A calm pain free labouring woman in a pool is cheap compared to a theatre full of expensive equipment and staff. The caesarean section rate has reached an all-time high. We have lost faith in our innate ability to labour naturally.
Two out of four of my labours were pain free. If I had not experienced this phenomena then I may well have been one of the supporters of offering elective caesarean sections for maternal choice. As a midwife I have helped countless women to have a pain free labour. As an author, I have explained in detail why uterine smooth muscle was never designed to cause the sensation of pain during a normal contraction.
So, who will join me in supporting the massive shift that we need in our belief system that will enable women to labour as nature intended; with medical support on standby if needed? Who will be brave enough to swim against the tide and face the wrath of humanity when one of their “uncountable threats” is removed leaving them uncertain and afraid? Who will take a leap of faith in order to free women from the last of society’s manacles holding us down? Who, maybe you?
Getting Past Distrust: Pregnancy after a Miscarriage
No woman wants to hear “miscarriage” after a positive pregnancy test, and if it happens to you it can feel like your world has shattered. More than once can be unbearable, where sadness and questions evolve into fear and despair. What I would suggest is worse than the initial loss of your child, is the continual fear of losing a new pregnancy.
Seemingly unavoidable feelings of guilt, questions of what went wrong, and fear of this “being it for you” can swamp your mind. No matter the number of consolations, the love is shown, and the reassuring words from medical staff, it can be hard to turn off the voice in your head that says something is wrong.
A painting I created after my first miscarriage to help with my grief
The fact is that approximately 1 in 3 of all pregnancies ends in miscarriage but that most of those happen in the very first weeks of pregnancy. Until the 1970s women simply couldn’t be sure they were pregnant until much later when symptoms would start to show which meant most would consider it a late period. This is one of the reasons why, at least here in the UK, women are told that unless they have had 3 consecutive miscarriages there is little need for more tests. This can feel frustrating and upsetting but the truth is the chance of being someone who has a recurrent miscarriage is 1%, and hence you have a 99% chance of everything being fine. Even so, the first weeks of pregnancy can feel like weeks of waiting, weeks of fear, and weeks of detachment rather than joy.
I suffered two miscarriages in just 10 months. I didn’t think I would feel worse the second time around, but it was a new and different pain. Thoughts of blame, of what I could’ve done differently, of grief, and the mental images circled me like demons in the night. I told my husband I did not want to try again for at least a year; I couldn’t face sex or pregnancy as in my mind they only led to one situation: fear, blood and loss.
Without trying I became pregnant 3 months after my second miscarriage. I couldn’t feel happy about it, and for a long time struggled to think about it at all: I didn’t want to take prenatal vitamins, tell anyone, or read about babies because that would make it real. My distrust caused me to disconnect, to protect myself from the harm another loss might do me. It took a long time for these feelings to fade, and it had a lot to do with the weeks gradually adding up. At 12 weeks I just felt able to tell our parents, but no-one else. At the scan seeing my child still didn’t feel real.
I had to eventually force myself to take small steps and allow myself to grieve whilst embracing the joy of this new time in my life. I still probably don’t act like most mums-to-be by getting excited about clothing or toys but I am gradually accepting their presence. Despite my distrust and concern, I had to let go or risk never truly bonding with my growing child. I had to hope and believe that I could be one of the 99% that my child would come out of me healthy and happy, screaming at being naked and suddenly surrounded by people.
I can’t say it is easy to forget, it’s not and miscarriage is one of the hardest things a person can go through; it is also something not everyone will understand. However, in the same way that you can ruin your life by constantly thinking about death, we can’t let miscarriage destroy your experience of pregnancy or children. There is hope, no matter the situation, and even if the worst were to happen, there are options.
Allow yourself to grieve. If you have the time, give yourself time in the same way you would for the loss of a parent, a sibling or a friend. You may not have seen them, held them, named them, but if they were real to you your grief is real. Do whatever you need to do to process, to memorialise, and to work out life after this loss.
Finally, allow yourself to hope. It may sound silly but a phrase that helped my husband and I smile a little was “Well, at least we know your little ones can swim.” It was enough to make us laugh. Sometimes we are all too quick to look at the worst case scenario, but instead why not look at the positive stats. You can be the 99% who never have to go through this again. You can keep trying and end up with a child in your arms. You can become the parent you always wanted to be. You can hope for the best and enjoy what you have right now. Try hope.
If you have any questions, please feel free to contact me.
‘When it all changes, change it all’ – how one mother made major changes.
Running a business whilst being a parent is never easy but it can be the best thing you will ever do! I have always had a strong desire to work for myself, I suppose that the 9 to 5 thing has never really suited me and whilst I have had really great 9 to 5 jobs the best ones were always those that offered a certain amount of autonomy.
I first decided to set up my own business when I was about 8. It was called the Brown Paper Bag Co and I’m not really sure what it was meant to sell, I just remember that everything I sold had to be in a brown paper bag because I thought that looked like a cool branding idea! Since then I have explored many business ideas, all of which have been focused (without me really realising) around a central idea of helping others to find themselves. After my degree in Psychology I did further training and qualified as a Psychotherapist and used this to work as a coach with individuals and businesses. At the time I was also working in a full time Marketing Managers role and loved the idea of combining coaching with helping small businesses start up so that’s what I decided to offer and it started to really take off…
Then my lovely son came along, he was very much planned but naively I was shocked that he came along so quickly after my ex-partner and I decided to try! I had always wanted children and I knew that I wanted to make the most of the time being a mother so I put everything on hold and gladly devoted myself to being a mum. When Noah was about a year old my old boss for whom I had been working for as Marketing Manager asked my partner and I if we would accompany him to Monaco to start up his now very successful building business – we decided it was an opportunity we couldn’t turn down and followed him there, leaving everything behind in storage, having sold the house.
Monaco was indeed a fantastic and beautiful place to live but I hadn’t given much thought to the fact that I had given up my support network along with everything else. I grew increasingly lonely as I realised that having a young son, with no friends or family to look after him whilst I tried to do a bit of work was just not happening. My partner was working lots and I was left alone with a small child in a place I did not know and could not really explore because I had no money to do it with. I grew more and more isolated and wanted to go home. As I thought about the loneliness I felt I realised that perhaps I was not the only one who, in the pre-school years of motherhood, felt that life had become smaller and different and that a whole new world of mums needed to be located and explored. I felt that telling other mothers where they could go to meet people, where different groups were being held, and what motherhood could really be like might be a useful thing for a lot of people. So, that became the project that saved me from feeling so useless and alone.
From our apartment in Monaco I got together a business plan for what I was going to do. I phoned accountants and printers and designers in the UK and got everything set up ready for our return to the UK (we had made the decision by then to return after a year of being abroad). I submitted my business plan to a competition, which if I won would mean I would have a subsidised office space, £2,000 to play with, and a lot of help and support. Somehow I did end up winning that competition. I got my office, received lots of press coverage because my business plan had won, and life was back on track. I launched my magazine, Nought to Nursery, having taught myself design and layout so I could do it all without extra money, and started to distribute the 30,000 copies I had printed across all of the local nurseries, schools, play schemes, cafes etc. I was able to work as flexibly as I needed and motherhood and work seemed to fall into place, so that it all fitted together very well.
That was when the next problem surfaced – no one said it was easy right?! Another magazine, a franchise, aimed at exactly the same demographic as mine started just a week after I had fully launched. The fact that they had access to a national database of regular advertisers to keep them funded through the early days made them streets ahead. I had to sell the advertising space in mine to make money and it was something I realised I wasn’t very good at and really hated doing! Needless to say I struggled to compete and much as I loved the magazine I had to let it go so I didn’t go into further debt trying to keep it alive.
There were however, a number of people who had been contacting me after I won the business plan competition to ask if I could help write theirs…I agreed and started to help a few people, I also started to advise them on their marketing having done this previously. I also found that many of them wanted a coaching style approach to know how to define their business offering – I had found myself back in coaching! I approached Barclays Bank to ask them if they would refer their new small business customers to me and after a few talks I ended up being one of their official referrers and got people from all over the area who were setting up businesses and needed marketing consultations. I started to offer talks in school to help students become more motivated, I offered coaching to corporations and held talks and workshops. Things were again going well.
But you know it’s not happily ever after yet…I then had a bit of a personal disaster. I found out that my partner no longer wanted to be with me, he had found someone else and even trying for six months to hold it all together it wasn’t to be. I was devastated to say the least. Work held no interest for me. I was thrown into a state of panic over how I would provide for my son alone and what on earth we were going to do. I neglected the business as I fumbled around trying not to fall apart, trying not to cry all the time and trying to find my feet again. I eventually found my son and I somewhere to live that we could just about afford, it was tiny but idyllic in a lovely village that we still live in today. The one good thing to come out of what felt like the end of the world was that I had a sense of total liberation. I remember (and so does my son as he often reminds me of it), driving one day and saying very excitedly to Noah “we can do whatever we want now, Noah, we can go anywhere, do anything. It’s you and me and we have a whole world of opportunities to explore”. I truly felt like I had been given a gift of a brand new start and that we needed to make the most of it.
So we moved into our new village virtually penniless and began exploring what was next. I started volunteering at the local school when my son enrolled and became Chair of the PTA which really helped to get to know people and help in the local community. I also knew that now was the time to fulfil a couple of lifelong dreams. The first of these was to write a book, the second was to act. I began a few ideas for a book but none really called to me as something that I knew I could finish but I did sign up with a few acting agencies and began getting auditions and jobs. My only claims to fame so far are being an extra in a Richard Gere film, being nominated for Best Actress in a short film and being on a Sky advert! I was having the time of my life and I was able to pick my son up every day after school and spend hours of wonderful quality time together in the countryside. I knew though that to survive financially long term I would need to find a more permanent and stable career. I decided to retrain as a Primary School Teacher and was lucky enough that Noah’s school allowed me to train on the job as part of the GTP training scheme where I could earn as I trained. I then got a job at the school afterwards as a part-time position had become available just as I finished the training. I worked three days a week and on my two days off I finally wrote my book and published it on Amazon.
The following year a full time position was available and I took it and had a full time wage for the first time in forever! It was great to become more financially stable, we moved to a bigger house and things became more settled. The thing that was sacrificed was time, don’t believe that teachers work from 9 until 3.15 it’s a total myth! I have never been so consumed by a job, never worked so hard and never been so involved in a world. It’s a wonderful world, a precious one and the children I have taught have taught me so much. I realised though that I needed to spend more time at home, it wasn’t fair to my son that we never saw each other anymore and I wanted to rectify it, even if that meant giving up the money that was now so much better.
Which brings me to today, today I am again part-time teaching, for one more term before I am completely self-employed again. I started a blog once I had handed in my notice at school. The blog gave me a chance to write regularly and a chance to interact with people who are also starting their own businesses. I wanted to coach more again and that is what I am now doing, alongside some more acting (I am making a film next week!) and writing another book. I offer the coaching through retreats that my friend runs, to individuals at my home or over the telephone and also to groups of people who want to discover how to turn their lives around. Personally things are brighter too; my son has a great relationship with his Dad. My ex-partner and I co-parent well together and have moved on to form a valuable friendship with one another.
Without the journey I had been on I wouldn’t have had the experiences, hard though some of them were and many I haven’t mentioned, I wouldn’t be here now doing what I really want to do and able to empathise at a much deeper level with what other people go through. If I have learnt anything it is to really reach for your dreams because they can come true and they do. You can be a devoted parent and still follow your own path to happiness, you can be successful in life and do it without having a huge sum of money behind you first, you can be who you want to be and you must.
When I was trying to decide whether to go part-time again or not I spoke to my son and put the following to him “If I work part-time again we will have less money for a while but more time together, if I carry on full time we will have more money but things won’t change from what they are now, what would you choose?” He said in reply “Mummy If you can really go part-time I will give up all my birthday presents every year and never have any treats so I can see you more”.
Well, what can you say to that? My decision was made in that instant. Money doesn’t ever buy back the time that you could spend with your child, spend time wisely and money sparingly and I guarantee life will be infinitely better, and it is.
Postpartum Thyroid Disorder
According to the NHS Choices website [Thyroiditis], postpartum thyroiditis is caused by a problem with the immune system but only happens in women who have recently given birth. A vast majority of postpartum women will experience the symptoms of an overactive thyroid (hyperthyroidism) followed by a period of underactive thyroidism (hypothyroidism). However, it isn’t always the case that it will occur in this order in all situations. Generally, after twelve to eighteen months, the thyroid should return to normal.
The generic list of symptoms above is just that: a basic, general list. Personal experience and anecdotes from numerous thyroid websites have led me to the conclusion that the symptoms are varied, to say the least! I definitely suffered from some weird and not so wonderful ailments at my worst times.
After the birth of my first child, I experienced hyper followed by hypo symptoms. Thankfully my thyroid gland did rectify itself but I was informed by my endocrinologist that if I was to become pregnant again then my thyroid would not make such a recovery. This became my situation and I now have permanent hypothyroidism. A small price to pay for having Isobel in our lives!
I have found through talking to other new mums that many women are misdiagnosed and sometimes post natal depression is suspected in the first instance. Although obviously, this is a very real illness in its own right; the symptoms of thyroid disorder can very much mimic those of post-natal depression and vice versa. This also happened to me and only because I made my GP aware of my family history of auto-immune disorders, including hypothyroidism, did I receive the appropriatehypothyroidism treatment.This led to an eventual correct diagnosis.
Thyroid Blood Tests
Your body should produce a thyroid hormone called T4 (and also T3 and T2, but T4 does the majority of the work) that has the job of controlling your metabolism (all things to do with growth and brain function). When it is failing, your brain tells it to produce MORE or LESS TSH (thyroid stimulating hormone). If it isn’t producing enough, your brain says “produce more! And, your TSH will be HIGHER. If it’s producing too much, it says “slow down!” and your TSH will be LOW. If they suspect autoimmune thyroid problems they should also test for antibodies.
Thyroid blood tests seem to cause great confusion and the ‘normal’ ranges which the blood results are measured against, vary from surgery to surgery and consequently laboratory to laboratory. In some areas of the country, the normal range is between 0.5-12.0, in other areas, it is between 0.4-5. Several times I have been informed that my blood test was ‘normal’ although I knew I still didn’t feel well. Recently I was informed that my blood test results showed a TSH reading of 6.24, which is just slightly out of the ‘normal’ range for my GPs’ surgery.
However, I know from personal experience that I function best at around the 1.0 TSH level. I have been advised to continue with my current medication for a few months and then have the blood test repeated. If I had not asked for my results, I may not have been made aware of this until my annual review. I was also told that I should be symptom-free at this TSH level, but that is the reason I went to the GP: I was feeling lethargic and just not myself.
How can the GP recommend what TSH level will result in a feeling of wellness if you weren’t tested when you were fit and healthy? Often you may only be tested for TSH, however, if you have a familial history a good doctor should test: T4, T3, TSH and antibodies. If in doubt, especially post-baby, do go and get checked out at your local GPs’ surgery and request the relevant thyroid blood tests. Don’t be afraid to ask for actual figures of blood test results either and in time you will learn at what level your body functions best.
Have you experienced Postpartum Thyroid Disorder and how do/did you deal with it?
The night that changed my daughter’s life forever.
There is one visit to the doctor’s I will never forget. Even though my eldest daughter Millie had been drinking lots of water and visiting the toilet more frequently throughout the night; I still believed the GP would have me down as an over-anxious mother and at worst he’d say she had a bladder infection. The shocked expression on his face said it all, as he confirmed she had an extremely high blood sugar reading. He then proceeded to tell me that I needed to get Millie to the children’s department of the local hospital without delay; she had diabetes.
My head went into a complete spin and I was shaking but trying not to scare Millie, so I tried to remain calm. We had walked to the doctor’s hence the journey back seemed to take an absolute age even though we both walked faster than ever before! It was one of those surreal moments when suddenly a loved one is diagnosed with an illness and within moments you treat them like the most fragile person in the world; even though five minutes previously both of you had been blissfully unaware.
We were rushed into a side room in the children’s A and E department where I entertained Millie with ‘Where’s Wally?’ books whilst they took lots of blood from her. She was so brave and even received a certificate of bravery. Although the consultant was fantastic, his parting words before we left for the paediatric ward were: “diabetes can cause diabetic ketoacidosis (DKA), it’s poisonous and can be life threatening, but you don’t want to hear that now!” Bit late when you’ve already said it. Later I learned that what he had said was true, even though I’m definitely sure I didn’t need to hear that just then. Whenever I begin to dwell on Millie’s condition I do replay those words in my mind, but on a daily basis I push them right to the back!
The next few days were a crash course in nursing. It was like suddenly having your new baby placed in your arms and thinking what do I do now?! But this time the outcome could be catastrophic if I made any mistakes, especially at 5 am! When your child is ill in hospital you feel reassured that the medical staff will do their job and you’ll handle the emotional side. I didn’t expect that on the first night I would be handed a syringe and told to inject my own child! It was the scariest thing I’ve ever done. But there was no time for my own fears to come into it. I had to remain focused and take as much information in as quickly as my brain would let me.
Thankfully, as it was the weekend we got the opportunity to meet the diabetes nurse and consultant before Millie was discharged. That gave me longer to practise my injecting techniques on poor Millie, as well as slowly begin to learn how to carb count! Little did I realise that I would soon learn how many carbohydrates were in everything from apple juice to sweetcorn! The extra days also ensured that Millie’s blood sugar levels decreased sufficiently before leaving hospital.
In retrospect those early days were a whirlwind of information and emotions. Things have settled into a routine now and Millie has even made the transition from insulin pen to pump which is much less painful than having regular injections. Although at present there is no cure for diabetes and it is an element of life which is always present in our daily lives, it is treatable. That is the thought that keeps us going.
The day I almost killed my daughter – keep an eye on your kids!
It started out like any other Sunday. We went to a car boot sale in the morning and gave our girls £1 each. Thing One immediately dropped hers and Thing Two immediately offered up her own £1.
We did not let her give the £1 to her sister. Instead. she carefully chose a little doll in a wood crib, her chubby hand opening like a flower to reveal her sweaty, shiny £1.
“Thank you for mine Dolly.”
…she said shyly to the seller’s shoes.
Back home we dined on Marmite and cheese sandwiches in the garden which was washed down with milk and slices of apple.
I then brushed off the crumbs from my T-shirt and cracked on with digging a large hole to plant an Acer in. My husband got busy laying down foundations for a summer house. The children bounced on their trampoline, they played in their paddling pool and they frequented their cubby house.
I was busy swearing at the Ivy roots that my spade would not cut through and my husband was busy making sure the foundations were flat for the summer house. We had our backs to our babies, as so much more important were our tasks!
We did not notice Thing Two get off the trampoline and wander round and round the garden. Did she stop to pick up a snail or a dying daffodil head before she found the weed killer?
She appeared by her daddy’s side and her mouth was on the nozzle. Her little chubby hand that recently held her £1 was now on the trigger.
We went on our knees, trying to make eye contact and stay calm, but we were begging…
“Did you spray it in your mouth, baby? Tell daddy!”
Too scared to admit the truth, for fear she might be in trouble, she vehemently denied spraying the bottle. She didn’t seem ill. In fact, she seemed fine. She wanted to go back to bouncing on the trampoline.
But, soon the sickness came. She was lying on the sofa, her blue eyes to big for her grey face.
“Baby, do you feel ok?”
“I’m ok…”
… she whispered. But, she was not. She got sick again and again. My husband raced her to A&E and I stayed at home with her crying sisters, pacing, obsessively cleaning and waiting for my phone to ring.
At last.
She is going to be ok. We’ll be here for a while yet, though.”
I crumpled into a pile of her dressing up clothes.
I was not there when she had her anti-sickness and she got treated or dehydration. Apparently, when they asked her to open wide, so they could put the lolly-stick in her mouth, my amazing daughter, with her sore little throat croaked…
“Where’s the lolly?”
When she left she told them…
“I go home, have bath with mine mummy now. Thank you.”
