Losing the Run of Ourselves

Obviously encouraged by the recent bouncy castle success, we threw caution to the wind and booked a short family holiday, on an island no less. Our now über-normal nuclear family casually committed to ferry timetables like it was second nature to us. Admittedly, the planning did start back in the late spring as we haven't quite arrived at the 'spur-of-the-moment-family-break' stage yet but we're damn close! Jess decided that it would be 'good for us' - her words exactly- to have a holiday where we could all cycle together somewhere safe. After much consideration, an island without any sheer cliff faces was considered the best option. Inishbofin - just off the Connemara coast was a no-brainer: close to home, few cars, beautiful beaches and best of all a house with an enclosed garden to rent - what's not to like?

That, of course was the easy part, the difficulty was getting a date to fit with Rory's ever increasingly frequent 'olgist's appointments and the other kidney's hectic work schedule. This short break was subject to some of the most elastic scheduling ever witnessed by any aspiring tourist! The elastic finally snapped when the school bell rang again in September, so we opted for the first weekend after the dreaded school return, figuring it might lighten the back-to-school blues for our less-than-enthusiastic pupils.

And so off we went, I stressed as usual over the packing, with copious lists and then some lists about lists and more just-in-case supplies than your average UN African peace mission. When we arrived at the quayside I was marginally concerned that our luggage may sink the rather tiny looking ferry. I say tiny only because the patch of Atlantic that stretched out between the pier and the island looked so vast and I, not being blessed with a pair of sea legs, was not relishing the short but inevitably bumpy crossing. Boy wonder, on the other hand was positively buoyant at the prospect of having his guts rattled by the waves! While the local insect life feasted on my face (judging by the trail of bites still visible across my cheeks, I was clearly a rare delicacy in those parts) we loaded on to the ferry set sail for our own little treasure island.

What followed were two days of sheer bliss. The sight of Boy Wonder's be-helmeted head thrown back, arms out-stretched in joy as he sailed down the fuchsia-filled lanes on the back of his father's bike will keep me warm right through the cold winter ahead. Jess got her wish and we cycled every navigable lane on the island - and as it's been a while since I've been on a bike, I now have the John Wayne walk to prove it!

It was a fitting salute to the brave Tour de Picnic crew, cousin Dave and Auntie Mags, who cycled the 90km from Dublin to Stradbally in aid of Temple St. Hospital that same weekend. Thanks to all of you who supported their fundraising so generously, because of your help, the event raised almost a half a million euro for the hospital's neurology department.

You could say it was a great weekend all round.

Cheers,

Ann

The Future is Bouncy

Ever since his birth I have avoided looking forward, choosing instead to be grateful for each 'present' with Boy Wonder. The future was not our country, we had no business there. Today, on the occasion of Boy Wonder's seventh birthday we allowed ourselves the indulgence of a day-trip to the future. We fearlessly planned a party but not just any come-over-we're-having cake-event, this was a full-blown, bouncy-castle bonanza.

It was delivered shortly after noon, he had to stand on a chair to watch through the kitchen window as it inflated before his incredulous eyes. His sister swelled with pride, hardly daring to believe that this festive event was destined, at last, for her back garden. The call came from the other kidney minutes later, 'the guy says he needs two kids to test this yoke'. They were like bullets out of a gun, whizzing out the back door. The bouncing began to shrieks of laughter and whoops of delight; the facility being thoroughly tested and declared party-ready before the cousins arrived. The afternoon was dry and we settled around a garden table, which creaked under the weight of palette-tickling party food. Pots of tea punctuated the ease of the gathering, all relishing the now while acknowledging but not dwelling on the past.

This is, dare I say it, yet another milestone; his birthday has magically morphed from difficult memory to joyous celebration. He has asserted his seven-year-old self and demanded his own gifts, written his own guest list and dictated his own day. I had never let myself travel as far as to even imagine this day. To see him seemlessly, breathlessly and brazenly snatch it, has been one of the greatest thrills of my life. Long may you bounce my boy, long may you laze in the love of all around you, long may you and your sister make us feel like we have glimpsed into the future and been granted the world.

Cheers,

Ann

Summer Fun

I couldn't think of an appropriate way of describing the joy of summer holidays spent without the restriction of travelling to Dublin three days a week for dialysis, so I thought I'd just show you instead.

Cheers,

Ann

Guest Post

A post with a difference today - My nephew is doing a charity cycle - one of the best ideas for a fundraiser I've heard in years it's the Tour de Picnic - a cycle from Dublin to the Electric Picnic Festival in aid of Temple St. He has a target of 500 euro to reach by late August so he's putting out the call. I appreciate times are tough so no pressure here folks but if you do have a few spare quid (rare these days I know) and you would like to see a good return on your investment, this might be just the thing for you! Or better still if you fancy fighting the summer flab and getting into training yourself, this could be a great day out and you get to attend the festival for free afterwards. Sounds like a win / win scenario to me!

Hey Guys,

I'm doing a fundraiser cycle event for charity and I have created a fundraising page on mycharity.ie. The Temple Street Children’s University Hospital is a very worthy cause and I would very much appreciate your support in helping me to raise funds for this charity.

All proceeds go directly towards purchasing vital life-saving equipment for the Hospital, in particular the Neurosurgery Department. I became very aware of the special work this hospital does just a few years ago when my young cousin was born without both kidneys. Through the work of the staff he was kept alive until he was able to undergo a kidney transplant operation. By donating to this charity you are contributing to the vital work needed to assist children who are suffering from life-threatening brain and spinal conditions.

Click on this link and see what I am doing and when I am doing it. You can sponsor me by credit or debit card through the mycharity.ie webpage that I have created. Don't worry, the site is very secure and your credit card information is very safe. Please give as generously as you can.

Thanks in advance for your support,

Regards, David

Cheers,

Ann

This Place is Crack-a-Lackin!

Dear Galway Dive Club,

I took Boy Wonder for his routine post transplant check up in the Renal Clinic in Temple St. last Thursday. Although word had reached us that Olive, the play specialist, had transformed the clinic waiting area into a jungle, nothing could have prepared us for the gasp of delight from our little man as he rounded the corner. His eyes lit up and he stood rooted to the spot, momentarily speechless, until he turned slowly and announced to the assembled staff and kids that this place is crack-a-lackin'! High praise indeed from a very discerning young man who, in his short 6 years has seen the inside of most of the Paediatric facilities on this island, and some other islands too!

This magical transformation was entirely financed by the sale of your beautiful calendars. I was incredibly moved by the fact that a group of people who had probably never even been to Temple St., contributed their time and energy into raising money to enhance the lives of kids like our Boy Wonder. For kids with renal disease, frequent hospital visits are an all-too necessary part of their childhood. For parents, having a joyous and welcoming hospital environment lifts our spirits at a time when they in danger of being quenched.

Please know that the money you raised has already made a very important difference in the lives of the kids and staff of the hospital and will continue to do so for many years to come. Take pride in the fact that your efforts will be the ingredient that will help a scared child overcome the worry of an impending blood test or provide a frazzled parent with a welcome distraction from the drudgery of dialysis.

Thank you for thinking of us, our tough journey has been eased by your concern.

Wishing you good luck and awesome diving!

Cheers,

Ann

Late and Lame

The HSE have now confirmed the shocking total of 37 children who have died while in the care of the state, 18 of whom died of 'unnatural causes'. We wonder how this can happen and why nobody has been talking about it. Let me give you a little insight into why these appalling statistics do not surprise me.

As you all are sick of hearing - in July 2008 boy wonder was referred to a speech therapist employed by Enable Ireland; a HSE funded organisation charged with the care of children with a physical disability. In the words of the Attorney General of the State of California, this particular therapist was ' a threat to public safety'. The Children First officer charged with the implementation of child protection guidelines within the HSE West issued a report in September 2008 stating that by referring my child to this therapist, Enable Ireland were in breach of these guidelines. It is almost two years since that report - and almost a year since I had my son's services transferred to another service provider. In all that time I had no contact from Enable Ireland, until a letter arrived last week from the medical director who is a consultant paediatrician.

This is what it said:

I would be very pleased to discuss Rory with you at a time that is convenient.

I know that you had a number of concerns about Rory and the Enable Ireland services and would wish to address these with you.

Best Wishes etc etc.

Two years after such a serious incident I get this kind of nonsensical response. And the icing on the cake: both my name and address were written incorrectly.

Now tell me, would you bother meeting a muppet like this?

Cheers,

Ann

More Munchies Mr. Mozart

Rory's been on a steady diet of Mozart and solid food lately. Yes, your eyes do not deceive you, I said solid food, well incredibly mushy, puréed solid food, but food to be ingested by the mouth, so technically it's solid OK? Are these connected I hear you ask, who knows? They have certainly coincided and we have noticed Mr. Mozart working more than mere musical magic with boy wonder in the past so draw your own conclusions.

So here's the deal, boy wonder recently completed a three-week intensive listening therapy programme with an amazing speech therapist who worked with him some years ago when he was known as tiny tot wonder. At that stage he was still sans kidney and hadn't even learned to walk, but he was covering some ground at high speed on his be-nappied rear end - leaving miles of high gloss shining floors in his wake. We even considered hiring him out to contract cleaning companies such were the lean-mean-polishing-machine like characteristics of his developmentally-delayed derrière.

But I digress, he was well shy of the 10kg body weight required to even be considered for a transplant and since he had no urine output his intake was severely restricted to 450ml per day. A mere 'wee dram' in drinking terms. We were desperate to get him to eat so we could beef him up with some solid calories. A course of Therapeutic Listening was prescribed - it sounded non-invasive and pleasant and well, we were running out of options so we gave it a try. The effects were astonishing; within weeks he had been weened off his anti-hypertension medication and was as mellow as a Californian surf dude on a sunny day.

We had tried to do the intensive LIFT programme a few times since the transplant but there was always some impediment, a tummy bug, a hospital admission or just general meltdown.So, by a series of serendipitous encounters, all far too complicated to go into, we found ourselves at the Listening Therapy Centre in Galway in mid-April.It was one of those extraordinary cases of the very right place at the very right time. Rory had two hours of Mozart five days a week for three weeks, during which time, with the supervision of our Temple St dietitian we cut back on his liquid calories.

At this time he was eating a Petit Filou yogurt daily at school but still refusing point-blank to open his mouth for food at home. The listening therapist felt it would be imperative to widen the range of locations in which he agreed to eat, home being the last mountain to climb. Within two days, he was eating during his therapy sessions and by the end of the first week aided by bare-faced bribery and without too much protest he tasted food at home.

We have now arrived at the stage where he is eating a full jar of baby food at school in the morning and a range of puréed fruit and veg in the evenings at home. The bribery has radically diminished and the protests have all but disappeared. Even as I type I have to look twice at that last sentence, pinch myself and swear I'm not making this up. Suddenly our horizons have been utterly transformed, the tantalizing thoughts of family mealtimes, even a restaurant outing are flagrantly stalking my day dreams without fear of ridicule.

I think we can officially claim this as progress!

Cheers,

Ann

Tursday 20th update:

This must be our week - our nurses have apparently been reinstated. We can't be sure because of course we haven't been told, but it appears the nurses have been told to turn up - when and for how long? Well we'll just have to wait and see won't we. Obviously we will be the last to know, as such information is highly sensitive and probably top secret... so, if anyone asks, you didn't hear it from me.

Shush!