Peppa Pig world, the stuff of dreams. Well to a three-year-old it is! Last summer we decided to take the…View Post
I have a thing about boxes. Not the cardboard kind.
When I was a child I was ‘boxed’. According to one teacher I was the following:
An only-child, therefore:
a spoiled brat.
Anti-social and unable to make friends.
Didn’t mix with other children.
I have to point out this assumption was made BEFORE I joined her class. Before she new me. Before she had a chance to talk to me. This teacher had the cheek to say this, or words to this effect, to my parents.
After all; it was a fair assumption, was it not?
I was an only-child and all only-children are the same. Exactly the same. No room for personality or individuality.
Here is what I am actually like:
Yes I am an only-child.
I was never spoiled, unless you count being spoiled with love and affection (I suspect this is not what the teacher meant).
I love to talk, A LOT.
I have always found it easy to make friends and I have been fortunate to be surrounded by great friends who have stuck with me for years.
I do like my own company, but I also love the company of others.
On some occasions I can be shy (public speaking, arghh!). BUT, I am in no way an introvert. To prove my point I am a reporter for a newspaper, you cant do that job if you are an introvert!
Here is what I have to say to that teacher. I was just a child. I had a world of opportunities awaiting me. I could have been anything. With the right guidance – the right teacher – I could be anything I wanted. Surely that was your job? But instead you put me in a box, labelled me and filled me away.
What makes people automatically put people into boxes anyway?
Why do we have to fit a stereotype or be categorised in a certain way?
Why should we assume that someone is a certain way because of the colour of their skin, where they were born, what their sexual preferences are or what they choose to wear?
Why cant we just be ourselves? Individual. Unique. Special.
I am not square, so what makes you think I would fit into a box anyway?
I hate boxes.
This blog has been verified by Rise: R1b56fa4962b920f6a224014216ad99f9
MAD About the Blog Awards !
The prestigious MAD Blog Awards closed its nomination doors last week. With the result I can now proudly wear this badge on my blog:
I was thrilled to find out via Twitter that I have been nominated for the following categories:
- Blog of the Year
- Best Pregnancy Blog
- Best Pre-school Blog
- Best New Blog
I am under no illusions that I will win, I know I am up against some amazing bloggers, I nominated them so I know how high the standards are.
As a newbie, who has only been going for 4 months, so I just feel privileged to wear the ‘nominated’ badge on my blog.
So a huge thank you to everyone that took the time out to nominate me.
As for the blogging community, good luck to those that were nominated. I am looking forward to seeing your names on the shortlist.
Lots of blogging love right back at you!
What about the Medical Notes?
For the last three years I have wondered about my medical notes.
I remember briefly reading through them just before I left the hospital. I was not in the right frame of mind to take anything in.
When I went to my follow up appointment after I was discharged from the hospital, I was told that the hospital could not find my notes. However, the doctor was ‘pretty sure’ that I developed HELLP syndrome directly after giving birth.
Those who have read my previous posts will know that I feel like I had HELLP syndrome way before this.
I suffered from visual problems, pain in my upper abdomen, swelling and high blood pressure for a few weeks before I was admitted to the hospital. Knowing what I know now, it makes me wonder. What happened? When did I develop it? Did they even monitor my platelets in pregnancy? When did the doctors officially diagnose it?
I need answers
I knew that there was only one way to get even close to finding out the truth. Get access to my medical notes.
I had come to a point in my blog where I had told the story up until the birth. The next stage a blurry mess in my foggy memories. I knew that in order to do the next chapter of my story justice, I had to find out more about what happened to me.
I have to admit I went through a range of emotions before I picked put the phone to put in the request.
Mostly, I was scared. I was scared these notes would bring back my flashbacks. Am I mentally strong enough for that?
I was worried I would read something that I didn’t know and it would completely throw me. As you will see from future blog posts about my hospital stay, communication was not exactly at its best and we were kept in the dark about my condition for most of my stay in high dependancy.
One day, a few months ago, I decided now or never!
So I just did it. I picked up the phone. I made that call. My heart was racing, I could feel the panic and anxiety rising. I thought: this is crazy, it is only a phone call.
A kind lady answered the phone and as I started to speak I was muddling my words up. Does anyone else get this when they are anxious? They struggle to string a sentence together?
As it turns out it is a really easy process to get access to hospital notes. The lady emailed me a form, which I completed and sent back with a copy of my ID. I was given an invoice and paid a small fee (25 pounds for those that are interested). I waited. They had 40 days to get the notes to me.
That was, approximately, 40 days ago and last Friday I was sent an email to say the notes had been sent out.
This morning when I checked my postbox, I saw a white envelope. I knew straight away what it was and I instantly felt nervous.
I have to point out here, I was expecting a photocopy of my notes to be sent out to me. Instead I received a PDF copy on CD. A bit more high tech than I imagined.
I was shaking as I popped the CD into our CD drive.
I entered the password and within seconds I was staring at my hospital notes. The ones I had carried around with me for nine months.
Will these hold the answers? Will they provide the closure that I so desperately need? Could they create more questions?
I cant tell you that now as I have not managed to get past the first few pages. Mainly due to little people being around. I want to be able to read these in peace. I don’t want to be disrupted. More importantly I may cry, I don’t really want the boys to see mummy all emotional and in tears. I may have to hold them close and never let go.
This weekend I will find the time. Then, I hope, I will be ready to start the next chapter of my story and properly do it justice.
Wish me luck.
Want to know more about Preeclampsia and HELLP? Visit the Preeclampsia Foundation Website.
The girl is leaving home. Just 17. Left school. With memories of sitting on the grass, listening to ‘Sittin on the Dock of the Bay’ fresh in her mind.
Wondering what the world has in store. She has only ever lived in this city. The girl doesn’t know anything different.
She has a place at University. In a city, not to far, that is bigger and altogether scarier.
Sitting on her childhood bed, she daydreams. What is next for this girl? Where is this new adventure going to take her? How will this girl cope? She has no experience of the world. Of course, right at that moment she doesn’t know she has no experience of the world. She knows it all, doesn’t she?
She starts to pack
Trying to figure out what on earth she needs to take, for survival on her own. No parents to guide her. It was harder than she could even imagine. Bit by bit she packs a few belongings.
The day comes when she sees her Dad pack the car. Her heart is in her mouth as she kisses her mum goodbye. Not just a mum, her best friend. She is leaving.
Her mum is being brave, holding back the tears as she sees her little girl, who still seems so young to her, start to make her way into the big bad world. She knows it has to be done. She is ignoring the words from her own father which rings through her: “You are making her too independent” he said, “I have to let her make her own way” she answers back.
Still, despite knowing this is a step her little girl needs to take, when the time comes it is harder than she expects. She waves goodbye. As the car turns the corner, she breaks down.
The girl is in the car, watching silently as buildings rush past in a blur.
Off to the big city she goes
They arrive all to soon. “I am not ready for this” she thinks. She says nothing to her Dad.
They park outside the halls of residence. Collect the keys. Unlock the door. A few other girls have arrived already. They say hello as they unload the car into her box room. She can see the bright lights of the big city outside her bedroom window. She feels a mix of excitement and nerves. Wonder and fear all rolled into one.
The time is here, she says goodbye to her Dad. She gulps the tears back. They hug and she watches him drive away. The tears come now, happy and sad. She is about to embark on one of the best years of her life. The girl is lucky. She is missed.
Her Dad drives away, sadness overwhelms him. His little girl, all grown up. What will her life be like? Who will she become? Will she be happy?
Time will tell.
Did you like this? Check out A Letter to My Teenage Self