Elephant Length Pregnancy? Or Just Having an Elephant?

So we've had a hectic few weeks at the Mummy Household.  And all on behalf of the Littlest Prince.

Our local hospital should just give us a bed and let us sleep in - we've been in at least twice a week for various things over the last few weeks.

 

Due to Princess Mummy being overweight at the start of the pregnancy and not gaining any weight during (both of which has annoyed my doctor- just can't win!) extra baby growth scans were scheduled at 28 and 34 weeks.

 

At the 28 week scan, Littlest Prince was supposed to weigh around 2lbs- a little under would be ok.  After a lot of muttering about "generous sizes" and checking the measurements twice, the sonographer told us that our Littlest Prince would weigh in at around 4lbs or a little over!!!

 

At the look of horror on my face (I've got to birth him!) she told us kindly that a low birth weight was more concerning and that he would probably cope very well with an early delivery with very little intervention if any.  She also, on finding out that my midwife and obstetrician appointments clashed, told me to keep the obstetrician and miss the midwife so that inspired me with confidence.

 

The obstetrician gave a low whistle looking at the scan (nice) and told me she wanted to repeat the Glucose Tolerance Test because a baby this big suggested Gestational Diabetes.

 

Anyway, much to-ing and fro-ing and tests and results confirm that, yes, I DO have gestational diabetes and on Friday was issued with my own personal blood sugar monitor and testing log.  Which was a very exciting gadget til she showed me how to jab my own finger with the pokey pin shooter (technical term) then I lost interest and decided I didn't want to play.

 

So I test blood sugar 4 times a day - before breakfast for a fasting reading, then an hour after each meal which has to be planned carefully to suit sugars and carbohydrate levels.

 

As of Monday, I think I'll be summoned back in because even my fasting levels are very high and so my post meal levels are astronomical, despite following the diet plan to the letter.

 

Oh, and according to the midwife I'm already measuring at 39 weeks which explains why I'm now confined to a wheelchair to get around instead of long walks (hard to accept at first but the freedom is dizzying) and why my liver is struggling which makes me itch ALL the time!

 

At least with the GD they are looking at bringing my due date forward to mid-to late January instead of February so now at least, the end is in sight!

My Narcolepsy and Me

When people hear I have narcolepsy, their first response is usually "oh that falling asleep thing".  And to make life easier, I tend to say " yeah that's it".  But Narcolepsy, like so many other things in life, is rarely that simple.

 

Everyone has seen the "funny" pictures and memes on the internet, the videos on YouTube. People with Narcolepsy falling down.  I'm as guilty as anyone of perpetuating the myth that Narcolepsy is a funny illness that just means sleeping a bit more.

 

So here's my attempt to put the record straight and explain my Narcolepsy and how it affects me.

 

I do fall down asleep.  Let's all get that laugh over with.  This, in my case, is known as Cataplexy and in most cases is linked to my emotions.  Imagine being afraid to laugh, to cry.  Even pride or shock are triggers for me.  I cannot watch a horror film or a comedy without having someone to supervise me.

 

When Cataplexy attacks, I can suffer a number of symptoms from the mild - head bobbing, slurred speech - to the major. A complete loss of muscle tone.  A puppet with the strings being cut.  And all the time, I'm awake inside and aware. 

 

Bathing is a major pitfall for me.  How many readers enjoy a long soak in the bath? Maybe taking in a book and a glass of wine?  I've lost count of the number of times I've nearly drowned.  Taking a bath, and hearing a car door slam outside.  Or a cat fight in the street.  Or even a dog barking if I'm relaxed enough.  Each of these can be enough to trigger a Cataplexy attack which is a loss of consciousness - although inside I'm awake and screaming.  Imagine feeling the water going up your nose and into your mouth and not being able to do anything.  The more scared and panicked you become, the more impossible it is to move and the more you can feel yourself breathing in the water.

 

The only reason that I'm still here and blogging is Prince Daddy.  He has pulled me from the water, drained my lungs.  He knows what is likely to trigger an attack and the most likely effect it will have on me. 

 

I cannot drink as even a small amount of alcohol makes me incredibly drunk incredibly quickly.  So that glass of wine is out.  I also sober up very quickly, finishing a night out as though I had not drunk anything at all.  Some say this is a side effect of the medication, some say it is my metabolism.  All I know for sure is that alcohol stops my medication from working for days ahead and so drinking becomes more trouble than it's worth. 

 

Although Narcolepsy is commonly known as a "sleep thing", it is classed as a Sleep Disorder because although sleep is a feature of Narcolepsy, the quality of the sleep is very poor and not necessarily restful.  From the moment I go to sleep, I dream.  And I dream until I wake.  Non-Narcoleptics cycle through a number of stages of sleep including deep sleep which allows rest.  I do not.  And the hormone your body releases in order to paralyse you and prevent you from acting your dreams is not always there.  So I regularly act out my dreams.

 

When my body does release the paralysing hormone, it does not always dissipate as it is supposed to, meaning I can "wake", be still stuck in a dream, and unable to move or speak.  As a child these were known as Night Terrors-a precursor to Narcolepsy, if we had only been told.

 

Because my body does not always distinguish between sleep and wake, I lapse into sleep during waking hours - not always realising.  I recently blogged about hallucinating a cat.  This is one, more humorous example.  Some of the hallucinations are more scary.  Having a pet made it easier to tell truth from fantasy.  If the cat reacted, it was real. If the cat ignored it, then I was probably confronting my own dream.

 

This doesn't even touch on the dangers of Automatic Behaviour.  The wandering off, the waking up, realising I've lost 10 minutes or more of my life and done things/been places I had no intentions of.

 

The limiting that comes with having to plan a life around Planned Naps in order to limit the amount of Cataplexy attacks that may come later. 

 

Next time I'll blog about Narcolepsy and Family.  About the effect Narcolepsy has on Prince Daddy and Little Prince.  And on the people around me.

 

I just hope this helps others to understand.

Feline imaginary

The primary topic of conversation this week has been whether or not my hallucinations have moved up a level from small crawling critters to bigger walking critters.  To explain, I suspect I may have hallucinated a cat! 

As you do.

I was watching tv on Monday night and was suddenly aware that there was a cat on the sofa sitting next to me.  Not odd unless you bear in mind that the Mummy clan no longer have a cat after Little Prince became very allergic and suffered horribly around our puss.  Yes, we'd had the cat longer but I suspect Little Prince might have been a touch harder to rehome.

So, Monday, I may have closed my eyes for just a moment.  Barely a second really, in fact, not so much closed them as rested them.  Yes, I rested my eyes. That's what I did.  When I opened them there was a cat sitting next to me, looking at me. I looked at it then it got off the couch and took itself outside via the open back door and into the rain. 

So there are a few arguments for against the cat being real.  In the pro column, cats are reasonably common where we live.  The back door was open and it was raining.  So it's not against the realms of possibility that a cat took refuge from the rain. 

In the "Princess Mummy's a nut job" column, the sofa wasn't wet or warm where the cat had sat, the cat appeared to voluntarily leave into the rain, and Little Prince had no ill effects the next day when a guide dog in school left us in no doubt as to his allergy.;  

So we may never truly know.  Royal Dr O (Princess Mummy's narcolepsy doctor) is in the pro-hallucination column.  He's actually surprised that I haven't upgraded from crawly bugs before.

Prince Daddy wants to know if I'll now be catching small animals under crockery for him to dispose of -that disappear when he arrives to do his Daddy duty.

The answer - mayyybeee.  I'll keep you informed.

Narcoleptic Nightmares

I spoke too soon.  I know I did.  I even said I was speaking too soon in my last post.  But I did it and this week I have paid.  And paid.  And paid.

 

I have not had an easy week this week.  Every night I've woken up from the worst nightmares.  Cold sweats, the lot.  And trust me, a Narcoleptic Nightmare is scary.  We can't always tell real from fantasy - which isn't as much fun as you might think.  In fact, there should be an age limit, a really tall height bar and, hell, a maturity test before you're allowed to wander through my subconscious.  It's got to the point now where I'm actually a little afraid to sleep and when I actually do sleep, I act out my dreams and wake as tired as I went to bed.

 

As a result my days have been as bad as my nights.  I've been running slower and laggier than a 1980s PC.  Seriously, anything that needs doing? Ask Prince Daddy cos Princess Mummy is just not functioning. 

 

Another fun side effect of severe sleep deprivation is the increase in periods of automatic behaviour.  For non-narcoleptics, that means my brain is taking a 5-20 minute siesta without telling the rest of me.  So I carry on doing whatever I was doing before sleep.  Saturday, that something was eating grapes.  So I carried on eating grapes - until I'd eaten damn near the whole pound! I also missed a big chunk of what I was trying to watch on TV and was as sick as a dog.  (Eating a pound of grapes in a sitting will do that to you!)

 

Last night I had my first full night's sleep in over a week.  Woke up this morning feeling tip-top.  Took Little Prince to school - all of a 5 minute walk away and continued to prove my fineness by having a splat in Tesco.  So, one good night's sleep does NOT conquer all!

To update from last week's post, I met with the Anaesthetist at the hospital.  He was quite excited that I was his first Narcolepsy sufferer in 30 years of practice.  Vaguely disturbing.  He had, however, thoroughly researched Narcolepsy, Cataplexy, and their effects on Pregnancy and Labour.  He is quite happy for me to try for a normal birth which was good news as some people in my Narcolepsy group reported that their consultants etc had pushed for a caesarean section under the heading of "better safe than sorry." 

I don't know if I should be happy or scared that, as my obstetric team have no experience of Narcolepsy, they are happy for me to make all the decisions and call all the shots.  So much responsibility on my little - nonmedical - shoulders.  Still, I assume that if anything was to go wrong, or I were to suggest anything outrightly dangerous, they'd step in.  Right?  Right? Um.....

Sex? Yes Please!

Princess Mummy has had her 20 week scan and everything is going great guns.  The Nugget has been checked and has 10 fingers, 10 toes, 2 matching arms, 2 matching legs, a beautifully functioning heart, spine etc.  Oh, and a Willy!!!

The Nugget is now officially to be known as the Littlest Prince. 

So much for this bump "feeling" female! (although I was hoping for a brother for Little Prince.)   We have dithered somewhat on names - the first name we chose we weren't completely sold on and, when the radiographer told us we were the seventh person with that baby name that week, we felt that the Littlest Prince couldn't possibly be one of the crowd.  So we went to our backup name.  Which was also the name of Queen Nanna's dog which passed away 2 years ago.  So; back to the drawing board. 

 

Out came the Modern Book of Baby Names - offering such gems as Ethelred, Cuthbert, and Mehitabel.  But seeing as we do love our Littlest Prince, we went with something more traditional and less likely to get him beaten up in the playground.  We asked Little Prince for his choice of names, but rejected Optimus, Ratchet, and Ultra Magnus for the same reason Mehitabel didn't make the cut.  Although Prince Daddy maintains that Optimus might well be the coolest kid in the playground.

At risk of speaking too soon, this pregnancy - narcolepsy aside - has gone like a dream.  The worst I felt was doing the drugs withdrawal thing which passed (eventually).  Since then, I have cruised through - although a lot of credit should go to Prince Daddy who has gone over and above the call of duty in terms of housework/supervision etc whilst Princess Mummy has reclined on the sofa indulging her cravings for salt. 

Which makes my non-existent weight gain a bit of a mystery.  As I now weigh LESS than I did at the start of the pregnancy, my consultant is insisting extra scans are the way forward.  Although it's a little hard to put all my faith in him at the moment.

When my midwife told me she wanted me to see the Medical Conditions Consultant because of the narcolepsy, I was a bit nervous.  More nervous when he told me he'd NEVER had a patient with narcolepsy and proceeded to google it in front of me.  Tomorrow I'm meeting the head consultant who, I hope, knows a little something about the condition, otherwise I'm taking myself and bump off to Narcolepsy Clinic and having the baby there!!!

Finally Feeling Real

So I've now hit the 20 week mark and am finally starting to feel like this pregnancy is a real thing that is really going to happen. 

 

From the first day I found out, I was afraid that November might repeat itself and that I would lose my last chance to be a mother for the second time.  Prince Daddy and I agreed that, no matter what happened, this would be our last attempt.  Losing our baby once was so very hard; if it happened again we wouldn't risk going through the pain for a third time.

 

Plus, being pregnant and suffering narcolepsy is hard!  The moment it was confirmed, I had to stop taking my Modafinil and Clomipramine.  Like, dead stop.  Cold turkey.  And boy it was not a good time!!! Sweats, chills, hallucinations, you name them I suffered them and am determined never to do that again! When my GP said it would be like the withdrawal from cocaine, I thought she was exaggerating.  If she was right, I've just found yet another reason not to play with recreational drugs.

 

Now I'm officially half way through my pregnancy and I'm hoping to find the second half a bit more bearable.  Although I still can't take any of my meds - the lack of which I'm really feeling - I know I'm on the home stretch and I have a finite period of time left that I just need to get through. 

 

Princess Mummy is looking proper pregnant now! I have a ginormous bump and can feel The Nugget moving inside.  From flutters and bubbles, this week we have graduated to full kicks and wiggles which are unmistakeable and are helping me, finally, to truly feel like this is a real thing which is happening to me! 

 

I thought the 12 week scan would be enough to help me accept this was real, but, although I could see the scan and knew the baby was there, I suppose some sense of self preservation stopped me getting attached.  Now, however, I cant wait til our 20 week scan.  Which is Tuesday.  In 3 days time I get to meet our Nugget and find out if we're having a Nugget or a Nuggette.

Little Prince was adamant we weren't allowed to find the sex of the baby - until he realised that once we have a gender, we can go about picking a name.  Now he can't wait to know if he's having a brother or a sister.  He's already (using the tried and true method of asking me 10 minutes before the alarm went off) got me to agree that as soon as I have the scan, he can have the picture to take to school to show his class.  

So, to sign off on a prediction: I have a feeling that this baby will be a girl.  When asked what we want, Little Prince always answers "A Transformer".  Prince Daddy and me say a boy would be easier so that he and Little Prince can share a bedroom.  But this bump, for lack of a better word, feels female. 

So when I blog again on Tuesday, I'll either be very smug or be typing here with egg on my face.  Who knows?

From Rags to... Well, More Rags

This week I have been mostly buying maternity clothes.  Or, more accurately, trying to buy maternity clothes.  Being on a limited budget, and knowing I would only have to wear them for a few months, I resolved not to overspend and to buy only from the High Street. 

Well, it was an experience to say the least.  A sad, disappointing, disheartening experience.  Having hauled my ever-expanding self up to the bus stop in the heat, rode to the Shopping Park, I confidently expected to wander nonchalantly in, scoop up half a dozen tee-shirts and a similar number of pants and be away.

HA!  I never thought I'd call myself naïve before.  Did you know all the big shops - Next, New Look, George, Tesco have all moved to selling online?  And online ONLY!  In fairness, New Look had 2 stands of clothes-8 "arms", and that was it.

So despite being the time when a woman's body changes most; when her whole form expands in different directions and in different amounts, she is expected to go online, buy clothes that will fit her old body, then pay to have them delivered.  Then, in case pregnancy isn't stressful enough, she has to go through the faff of returning them and ordering again-in a size she hopes will fit - and pay all over again for delivery.

NICE!  It's not like they should be trying to keep our business as we'll soon have little (yet fast growing)  bundles of joy to clothe - as well as needing more new clothes ourselves!

Pregnant not ill!

So here's another post midnight Blog for you all.  Shh!  Don't tell Prince Daddy or I'll get told off.  Again.  You know the way men say (quietly) "She's pregnant, not ill,"  Well, I wish someone would tell Prince Daddy that.  Being looked after is quite nice for about a day and a half, then I have the urge to club him over the head with something unpleasant - like a Lego Gandalf!

 

To be fair, there are women everywhere yelling "Shut up and enjoy it" at their computer screens.  Women who aren't spoiled rotten every day - but I'm not one of them and even though I know I'm coming off as bossy, irritable and ungrateful, I just cant sit on the couch with my feet up drinking tea for the rest of time.

 

There's been a fair bit of upheaval in the Mummy Household in the last two weeks.  The Welsh Assembly Government, bless their souls, approved the funding for our bathroom conversion into a shower room.  We originally requested a simple shower riser over the bath allowing me to shower unsupervised.  In a bath I tend to drift to sleep and drown.  They sent out their "people" who said no.  They thought a wet room would be more suitable.  Less for me to hit my head on as I fall down.  Oh, and a downstairs toilet so I didn't have to wake Prince Daddy to warn him I was planning on peeing when he was sleeping off a night shift.  I still need someone on hand while I shower, but at least they don't have to be in the same room any more and I don't have to announce my bodily functions in case they lead to a splat on the stairs.

 

Prince Daddy was in his element.  We had a houseful of builders who'd all been briefed on Narcolepsy With Cataplexy and all supported him in his theory that pregnant women who are prone to falling down shouldn't be allowed to wander around.  My favourite builder D, even made the tea when Prince Daddy wasn't around!

 

I've been truly fortunate in terms of pregnancy symptoms.  After the fortnight of hell that was Medication Withdrawal, I've been pretty much ok.  Some morning sickness - not bad but at the worst possible time.  I missed my best friend's son's birthday party today.  From about an hour before we needed to leave until just before the end, I was awful.  Since then, fine (feeling nauseous doesn't count)  Tomorrow there's a Family Christening the Mummy Clan should attend.  I have 2 bags ready to take.  My pretty handbag, and a sicky bag with paper bags/wetwipes etc in for the car journey. 

 

Wish me luck!!!

The best - and worst - days of my life.

It's ten past eleven at night - a time when all good narcoleptics should be in bed and sleeping.  A time when I  am normally in bed and sleeping.  But tonight, I am sitting, pecking out letters on a keyboard, munching on indigestion tablets as though they are sweets.

 

Every time I try to sleep, restless legs kick in - quite literally as far as poor Prince Daddy is concerned.  Not that he is bothered.  Sleeping the sleep of the Night Worker on a Day Off, he keeps trying to tuck me in, ignoring that my arms are flailing also.

 

The cause of the whole restless legs is my new little hitchhiker.  Yes, there is a new Little Prince or Princess on the way.  And this pregnancy is SO different from that of November last year.

 

At just 6 weeks pregnant, Princess Mummy (ME!) has the full set of pregnancy symptoms.  In the last week, I have had tummy cramps, sore boobies, bloating, and of course, indigestion.  And today, the morning sickness has kicked in - thoroughly!

 

When we first found out about the pregnancy, we visited our GP.  The advice she gave was to stop all of the narcolepsy medication immediately.  She was very pleased about my pregnancy symptoms - strong symptoms this early suggest a good rise in baby making hormones etc, especially bearing in mind that I was symptom free last time. 

 

Dr S had to look up my meds as she has no experience with narcolepsy.  The modafinil was simple enough. Do not take, no way, no how.  Clomipramine is not quite as simple.  Do not take, no way, no how BUT you will feel like poo while your body withdraws from the drug.  The words Dr S used were "the worst flu of your life for the next few weeks".

 

She really wasn't kidding.  I cannot stay awake from one hour to the next.  Every joint in my body hurts.  Although I don't have the headache/sore throat etc of flu, I feel as though I'm just getting over the worst bug EVER!  In theory though, as the Clomipramine passes through my system, I should get over the worst and enjoy the pregnancy although I will still have to balance the narcolepsy.

 

Yesterday, I met with Dr O - Grand High Chief of narcolepsy in Liverpool and was very depressed to find that the only thing he could do is impress upon me the need to nap regularly as there are NO meds at all that are safe to use during pregnancy.  He told Prince Daddy that I would be worse than useless for pretty much the next 7 months.  I'm  not to climb stairs alone, not go out alone unless I want to go back to A&E and pick out my plaster cast colours in advance.  Basically, I'm to be treated like china.  Which is just what I've spent the last week trying to convince Prince Daddy NOT to do.   Sigh.

Sports Day and Other News

Little Prince's School held their annual sports day last week.  As he is still in the infant section, they don't do formal sports but have 35 stations around the school field where the kids rotate round and do little events.  Such as the rugby "try", the bunny hop, shooting basketball hoops etc.  It was a joyful shambles. Half of the younger kids kept wandering off and having to be rounded up by the leaders.  The older kids had set up the events and the "jumps" etc were spaced too far apart for the miniatures to jump in one leap.  The queue system fell apart quite early on as all the kids wanted to have a go and sundry calls of "Jo-fish" and "Welly-ottt" were heard. A lot. 

 

The whole day was an incredible success.  The day was well supervised and the teachers and children gave their all.  Parents and kids had a great time and winners were declared by house colour.  The only formal race that was run with winners was the 60 metre race which was run in heats.  Even though Little Prince was spectacularly bad at all of the events bar the bunny hop, he had a great time and everybody was upset when 3 o'clock came round and hometime was declared.  Little Prince's sports day was so different from the sports days of Princess Mummy's youth.  Maybe it was the fact that it was an afternoon instead of the whole day.  Maybe it was that the event was planned for May instead of mid-July, or maybe it was because the teachers were so enthusiastic and engaged that the kids couldn't help but be sucked in. 

 

In other news, Princess Mummy has started Weight Watchers.  Last April I climbed on the scales and the numbers went up, and up, and up.  So, when Prince Daddy broke his leg, and I had to take care of him, I was thrilled to see the weight drop off.  But then it stopped.  Then it crept back on again.  And so, finally, I took matters into my own hands and dragged my sorry bum to WeightWatchers. 

 

Honest to Goodness, I've never eaten so much food in my entire life.  Instead of the whole "eat less, move more" mantra, I've found myself eating better.  Tonnes of food, but better quality.  And 3 meals a day!  I haven't eaten 3 meals a day since I was 18 and moved out of Queen Mummy's house. 

 

Being in WW has caused me to reconsider how I treat food.  Prince Daddy has always said that my relationship with food is downright unhealthy.  And now I'm starting to see what he means.  Apparently one meal a day is not healthy.  Ok, one meal and a giant bar of chocolate. 

 

Yesterday, for example, I ate 2 poached eggs on toast, a baked potato, pasta in cheese and tomato sauce, mini biscuits, a banana, and some grapes.  And still, at first week's weigh in, I lost 3 1/2lbs.  How does that even work? 

 

I'll keep you informed whether it works again this week.  Keep everything crossed for Wednesday's Weigh In.

Stockholm Syndrome - Induced by a Professional

I'm living in a dictatorship and sadly, I don't seem to be top dog.  This is not how my life was supposed to happen.  I was gonna be large and in charge and run my house like a military operation.  Iron fist in a velvet glove and all that.  Except real life isn't as easy as the fantasy.  And motherhood isn't as easy as Queen Mummy makes it look.  So, really, it's all her fault for doing it too well.

 

Anyway, the despot in question is 4 foot tall and 3ish stone. And totally without mercy.  Seriously.  A career in Gitmo is in his future.

 

I think I might have developed Stockholm Syndrome.  Little Prince has been testing the theories in his the Sleep Deprivation / Rewards for Good Behaviour portion of his "Dictatorship For Beginners" book.

 

Granted, he has a head start running the sleep deprivation ruse on a narcoleptic but there you go.  Every day for the last week, I have been woken between an hour and an hour and a half before the alarm.  With kisses and cuddles.  Little Prince has a lot on his mind and needs answers.  Now.

 

So the big questions of the week are as follows:

 

What does snail poo look like?

 

Why don't snake's willies fall off when they slither on the floor?

 

Why do penguins "wobble" instead of walk?

 

(The answers, by the way, are white strings, they're tucked inside the snake until they need to be used, and because their legs are short and their bums are big.)

 

After the most recent wakeup, Prince Daddy and Princess Mummy held a summit meeting.  We decided to explain to Little Prince that Princess Mummy needs unbroken blocks of sleep.  That waking me up is ok if it's important, but other things can wait til alarm time. 

 

Little Prince listened, took it in, gave me tons of kisses and cuddles and it all seemed to work.  Four clear nights.  Until this morning.  At ten past six a small shadow slipped into the room and between the covers. 

 

"Mummyyyy...?"  (kiss)

 

"Grugh!"

 

"Mummy, its important.  I can't sleep and I need to talk to you." (kiss, kiss)

 

"Grugh!"

 

"Mummy!  Why aren't hearts heart shaped?" (kiss)

 

"WHAT?!"

 

"Mummy." (kiss) "Just google it for me and then you can sleep."

 

Fail!

And That's Why I'm Not Batman...

So, to happier thoughts.  This week has been, to quote Little Prince "Splattastic!"  Prince Daddy, as usual, has been the primary source, although Queen Mummy may have caused a splat of her own due to a combination of her famous (notorious) driving and a pheasant with suicidal intentions.

 

On Wednesday, Prince Daddy woke full of the joys and the delusions.  "I'm Batman" were his first, second, third etc. sentences of the day.  After the 37th declaration, I began to doubt the veracity of his claim.  Batman is known for being a little more discreet about being Batman.  Little Prince, also a non-believer began announcing the same.  Not wishing to be left out of the Spartacus situation which was brewing, after brushing my teeth, I leapt into the bedroom announcing "I'm Batman!"  Unfortunately, I fell over a towel, forgot to breathe and went Splat, toothbrush in hand. 

 

Batman AKA Prince Daddy, leapt into action, put me in the recovery position, and whispered lovingly into my ear "and that's why you're not Batman."  

 

So, the big question of Wednesday is how come I lose all muscle tone and cannot respond, yet wake STILL clutching my toothbrush like a life belt?

 

***

 

Saturday, again was very much Splat centric.  One thing people without Narcolepsy don't realise is how every aspect of your life can be affected.  As we don't yet have a shower, Prince Daddy has to be on hand to supervise me bathing as I tend to drift off to sleep and sink.  This is actually scarier than it sounds.  Earlier this year, a car backfiring gave me such a fright that I went Splat, sank and could actually feel myself breathing in water and starting to drown.  Unfortunately, the terror that goes with that experience caused me to be unable to respond and it's a vicious circle.  Had Prince Daddy not been on hand to fish me out and make me breathe, there would have been no more Blog!

 

Unfortunately, Prince Daddy's presence causes as many splats as it prevents.  Sitting on the toilet seat, next to the bath, I am a captive audience for his silly, offbeat and hilarious sense of humour.  And we all know what happens when I laugh.  The same thing as when I cry, scream, get overexcited or orgasm.  Yes, you read that right.  Orgasm.  Prince Daddy likes to joke that he's the only man in the world who sees it as a compliment when his wife falls asleep in the middle of sex!

 

So after a 3 splat bath (due to his humour gutter-brains) we walked into the town centre to take in the market.  Explaining Narcolepsy with Cataplexy to someone new is something I actually don't mind doing.  I'd rather people understood than passed judgement on me as "mental", "loopy", "drunk", "bipolar" etc.  All names I have been called, and all, obviously, little understood conditions.

 

Prince Daddy was on form however.  In a shop talking to C and R whom we have known in passing for some time, Prince Daddy thought the way to explain Narcolepsy was:

 

"And watch what happens when I do this-RAAARRRGGHHHH!!!!"

 

Guess what I did? Yup!  

 

In his defence, Prince Daddy says that there was a 2-beat-count in his head between "this" and the roar that followed. 

 

I have forgiven him though -after guilt tripping him into buying me chocolate.  If I took every Splat to heart, I'd spend far too much time in a mood and not nearly enough having fun.  Besides, he did make me a flask of tea (so I don't risk scalding myself) and set up the DVD with The King and I, one of my favourite hokey musicals of all time while he slept ready for his night shift.

 

Shaaaalll weee dance? tra-la-la?

Time to Share the Sh*t

I haven't blogged for a long time, reckoning that the point of this blog is to be frothy, light entertainment, not to dump all my woes onto the reading public. 

Well, having read the blog of the excellent Angela Clarke http://angelaclarke.co.uk/today-is-not-a-good-day/, and having said (as I do each time) "I wish I could write like that",  I have decided it's time I blogged more regularly.  Bad news as well as good.  So, to update you all to the reasons why I have been off-blog.

 

In October last year, Prince Daddy and I had some amazing news.  A new Little Prince or Princess was on the way.  We decided not to tell Little Prince as we still had around 7 months to go.  Losing one Little Prince to spontaneous combustion was not how we hoped to welcome our new Little Prince/ss.  We cuddled our secret close and thrilled to think every time we caught each other's eye.

 

In November, the worst thing that could happen did.  Spontaneous abortion.  Miscarriage.  Failed Pregnancy.  So many words that just don't describe the almost physical kick to the guts that we experienced, both at the initial news stage and every time after that we saw a baby, a pregnant woman, or even children's toys.  In many ways, our discretion was rewarded.  We didn't have to explain to anyone why my tummy was only growing to comfort eating.  There was no one comparing pregnancy symptoms who had to be upset with the news.  However, the fact that we had told no one of the pregnancy meant that we also had no one to tell about the miscarriage.  The doctor had no comforting words, only that "this is nature's way of telling you the pregnancy wasn't viable".  She assured us that one miscarriage did not mean that any future pregnancy is at risk. 
 

I felt that I couldn't tell Queen Mummy about what had happened.  She would have been so hurt that I hadn't told her when I found out that I was pregnant although it was purely that I didn't want to steal my sister's thunder as her own baby was due a month or so later. After the miscarriage, I couldn't bear to tell either of them, to force them to confront the extreme mortality of babies, both unborn and brand new.

 

So Prince Daddy and I bottled up our feelings, clinging only to each other and leaning heavily on each other for support.  We made sure to talk about what had happened and how we felt, what we wanted to do for the future and what we would do should it be impossible to get pregnant again.  (It took us 2 years to conceive Little Prince and nearly 3 to conceive the baby now known between us as November-named for the month we lost him or her from our lives)

 

It has taken until now, April, 5 months later, that we feel that emotionally we are ready to start trying again and to talk about what we've been through.  I have finally told Queen Mummy what happened - she is very hurt I didn't talk to her at the time, but, I think, understands that I was trying to save her from the heartache at the time.

As we were getting over this particular ordeal, we had all the joys that come with finding a "lump".  After ignoring it for a month, which was decidedly NOT an appropriate response, I took my lump to the GP.  She gave me an urgent referral to our local hospital Cancer Unit.  Their idea of urgent is a little different from mine-it took 4 weeks to be allocated an appointment.  On the spot they sent me to have my "lump" scanned and on the basis of that, a biopsy was taken the same day.

Did you know that a biopsy takes 2 weeks?  Neither did I.  After the longest 2 weeks of my life, I was finally called and asked to attend the unit for my results.  Which, fortunately, were negative.  My lump is something commonly referred to as a "breast mouse".  A benign, small, mobile lump that is easily moved around. 

Although my lump must be monitored, I am aware of how very lucky I am, and how lucky the whole Mummy Clan is in general to be so healthy.  I give thanks each and every day to God for blessing us as he has.

And on days like today, when I am so tired I can barely walk, when I fall asleep walking home after dropping Little Prince at school, and when the worst that happens is that I spend the day dozing on the couch while Prince Daddy picks up the slack, I thank God that I have Prince Daddy and some amazing friends who love me as I am, narcolepsy and all, who think nothing of coming to see me - and not being offended when I spend most of the visit either sleeping openly, or in a looks-awake-but-is-actually-asleep-and-talking-rubbish state.

The Wanderer Returns

Hi All,

Apologies for the looooong delay in blogging - I'm a cra- um, rubbish blogger and I deserve to be flogged!!! (ooh, how very 50 shades!!!) or "blogged" as Prince Daddy has just said, reading over my shoulder.

Soo, a brief explanation of where I've been and what's happened to the Mummy Clan in the last 12 months. I believe I last left you with news of my broken fingers and broken foot. Well! Prince Daddy went one better just a fortnight later and incurred an injury of his very own.  On the Wednesday, he headed off to rugby practice as usual and, just 30 minutes later, Princess Mummy received a very apologetic call from the captain saying "we're sorry but Prince Daddy is being loaded into an ambulance cos we, um, might have dislocated his ankle. A little bit."

Although I don't remember what I actually said, (something along the lines of "I lent you my hubby and you broke him?!") apparently, he came off the phone in tears and when sympathised with by the men talking about shouting women, he said I had not shouted, and, upon returning the phone to Prince Daddy, whispered that his wife was "a bit scary."

Without a LittlePrinceSitter, I was left stranded at the castle, waiting for news of my darling Prince Daddy, which did not arrive until silly o'clock the next day when a nurse phoned to tell me that Prince Daddy was not the hardy Welshman I was promised on our wedding day, but a rather more fragile knock off version.  As advertised, he had dislocated the ankle, but in an effort to win the injury ratings game, he had also snapped the end of the bone and would be looking at weeks in hospital as well as multiple surgeries.

So that covers where I have been-fulfilling my marital duties and taking care of Prince Daddy in his hours (or months) of need.

Strangely, having Prince Daddy incapacitated has done wonders for the Mummy clan-and not because I am some Kathy Bates in Misery kind of micromanager. (Although that may be part of it all). Having Prince Daddy laid up for the greater part of 6 months has meant that I have been forced to confront my narcolepsy and its limitations in a new way. As well as accepting the things that I cannot do, I have also learned that there are a number of things that I CAN do-with the right help. 

For example, although I cannot just get a bus or take a long journey on a whim, I have discovered that I CAN however take Little Prince to school on my own.  Something I would never have dreamed of doing before Prince Daddy's "little accident". I also learned the value of good friends. People who looked out for me on the way to and from school, who picked me up when I went splat, who phoned to see if I needed shopping and who simply came to sit with me when I had a bad day. 

To these people, who I will thank by name, breaking my own rules of anonymity, I must say thank you- for teaching me that admitting I need help and asking for it, are not signs of weakness, but of a great strength. To S, who gave me the gift of seeing her own weaknesses, hidden inside one of the strongest women I know. To M who ran innumerable errands, making out he was going shopping when he wouldn't have been if I hadn't needed that milk and cat food at eleven  o'clock at night. To my beautiful R who realised that I needed a wife, a friend, and someone to keep me on track, as well as being an emergency contact at school for when I was sleeping.  And to N who shared her pregnancy and all it's joys and trials, letting me give advice when it wasn't really needed but I needed to feel useful.

Prince Daddy has long referred to my friends and sisters as The Coven, but now, I feel that we are truly a sisterhood.  Yes M, even you.  This post has become a touch sappy, but without these amazing people, I would never have got through the last year. I would not have coped with single parenthood-however brief. Then I would not have written my children's stories.  Without them, and the encouragement of Prince Daddy, I would never have had the courage to submit them for publication, or felt the joy of seeing them in print.  And wouldn't be sitting here now, propped up against a surprisingly healthy Prince Daddy, typing away whilst Little Prince sleeps the sleep of the justly cheeky in his Thomas the Tank duvet.

Thank you all.  Princess Mummy, brought to you by The Coven haha.