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    Fired Up, Determined and a Rocket Up My Backside!

    2021 richard-guy Running Work
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    Last week was an interesting week and gave me some time to put a few things into perspective and also reflect on my own development this year.

    I've had a really busy week in work and had to juggle around my training slightly but still managed to nail every session, Saturday was a great example of this as I did a shorter run (10km) than normal of late but upped the intensity of the session, a great way of making it count. Although faster run sessions are not necessarily essential training for an ultra they are good in terms of mixing it up a bit and having entered the Great South Run for later in the year it will help towards the training for that when I want to be running at a much quicker pace.

    I had a meeting with the tutor from the training provider for my external study in work on Thursday. This was the first meeting I’d had (they’d forgotten to schedule one which should have happened weeks earlier). The quality of the work I’m providing is to a good standard, but I was told that in certain areas I was emphasising on what I was already doing, rather than how I would be using it in the context within the study areas.
    I was extremely annoyed and angry with myself as I should have done this properly.

    I sat down to reflect on this and gave myself a bit of a rocket up the backside. To me this wasn’t acceptable and didn’t meet the standards I expect from myself. I felt that the quality was good, the effort I put in was what I would expect, but the outcomes didn’t match. I decided that this needed to change and change immediately. Being good isn’t good enough, being exceptional is.

    In the past I would have beaten myself up about this, and it would have lasted for quite a few days at a minimum. I would have been dragging myself down a fair amount, and it would have focused on other areas of my life as well, therefore increasing the scope of self-blame.

    I was more focused on what needed to change, what I wanted the outcomes to be, what I needed to do to change that immediately, and what I needed to put into place to stop it from happening again. The focus wasn’t on what I felt I had done wrong and picking up a stick to beat myself with Instead I focused on what the solution was and putting it into place.

    I also reflected on the reasons I was doing the study in the first place, the differences it was making presently and the differences it would make in the future. I felt it was important to do that to realise the value, not just the value to myself personally but also the overall value to myself professionally and others as well. I don’t expect excellence to happen automatically, I expect excellence to happen through hard work, determination, learning from mistakes, and never quitting. I also know that if I want excellence to happen I need to raise the bar. That requires putting in more effort, that requires pushing limits even more, that means knowing that if 80% is required to reach the standard than 90% should be the minimum target.

    I looked at the targets and goals I’ve set for myself this year. Some of those I’m smashing, others are going well. I looked at how I might improve on each and every one of them – what would happen if I put in that extra bit of effort, how much difference would that make. I also reflected on how much I’ve developed and changed in the last month, since the start of the year, and since a year ago. The answer to all of those is a lot. I’ve not been this determined for years, I’ve not been this focused for years, I’ve not been this self-disciplined for years.

    Instead of sitting there and feeling a certain amount of self-pity and focusing on self-blame and feeling bad about myself I felt fired up to make the changes I needed to put into place and action them straight away and to get back on track. I was able to put a glitch into perspective and focus on the outcomes I wanted and move forwards more determined to succeed than before.
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    Calling Card!

    OXSCAM verruca-almond Verruca's World
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    Nearly two years had passed since I last heard from her. It had been so long, I had almost put her out of my mind. Verruca had always been a bad dream, popping up when you least expect her to, but her erratic behaviour, since her unceremonious departure from OXSCAM House, had become so outlandish and idiosyncratic, that there had been times I was actually afraid for my life. I knew she would always be in the shadows to an extent, but by just how much, I was never quite sure. The hold she has over people is indescribable; she is not someone you underestimate, she is the arch nemesis, all of us fear. Verruca would always surprise you at the most inopportune moments, but the longer she stayed away between visits, the more I hoped she had finally given up!

    The bath was steaming, nice and hot, just how I liked it. Wiping my hand across the bathroom mirror, I could finally see my face, the morning expression I was so used to – a frightened rabbit in the beam of a headlamp, slightly pained and that grimacing look, that doesn’t do wonders for my ageing complexion. A handful of cold water splashed liberally on my boat race and I nudged gently into the day.

    Shaving is the bane of my life, I hate it; having a five o’clock shadow at 11am is never a good look, so I am always meticulous about making sure I look presentable for the day ahead. Manoeuvring a sharp blade across ones profile early in the morning, navigating fifty years worth of cracks and crevices, steering towards a perfect crescendo, was never my forte and today was no exception. On the last stroke, I punctured the top of my lip. In a rage, I through the razor into the sink, it spun around multiple times, dislodging the head; broken, it was the last one in the pack. As blood dripped into the porcelain bowl, scowling, I got into the bath and tried to relax before my temper reached boiling point; not a great start, but it was about to get far worse.

    Two minutes in and there was a knock at the door; I decided to stay put; maybe they would just go away. A few seconds later a louder more determined banging, so I decided reluctantly to get up. Soaking wet, I put on my dressing gown and angrily headed downstairs. The third pummel on the glass panel, was enough to shake the house. ‘Alright, ALRIGHT, I’m coming’ I shouted, as I adjusted myself, making sure nothing was hanging out and frustratingly swung open the door. In front of me was a bush, an overgrown plethora of foliage, accented by the occasional red carnation. In truth, it looked a mess, although organic and natural would probably be the preferred words I'm sure.

    I wrinkled my nose upwards and squinted my eyes, looking puzzled and confused, I shook my head. It was no one's birthday, family occasion or funeral? Had I actually missed something? ‘Delivery for Mr Martin?’ cried a faint voice behind the monstrosity before me.
    ‘Who, Mr who,’ I exclaimed?
    ‘Mr Martin; Mr Luke Jones,’ came the reply.
    ‘Oh Luke Martin-Jones,’ I asked?
    ‘Yes Sir, Mr Luke Sir,’ came the reply, as a heavily masked florist poked his head around the forest burgeoning in the porch!
    ‘Yes that’s me, I’m Mr whoever you said!’ I affirmed, less than impressed, by the service I had received so far! Biting the side of his lip, he looked towards my dripping wet face and blood, now pouring down my cheek.
    ‘You are bleeding Mr Jones,’ he retorted, gesturing with his finger, animating my distress.
    ‘I know, I know, because I’m stood here talking to you, when I should be in the bath!’ I growled angrily; grabbing a mask from the console table in the hall, I awkwardly attached it to my face.
    ‘These are for you, Sir,’ he said thrusting the Amazon rain forest into my face.
    ‘Thanks, thanks for nothing!’ I shouted as he scurried up the road, leaving me to close the door loudly behind!

    Who on Earth is sending me flowers, especially the unseemly disarrangement, not so proudly on display. Strangely the muddled mishmash of flora and fauna looked familiar, but I just could place where from. As I wiped away the last of the blood from my face, using the mask now dangling from my ear, I saw an envelope attached on a spike, set precariously in the middle of the bush. Parting the evergreen, I delved in and retrieved the dog-eared attachment; instantly my heart sank. Familiar handwriting, the scent of woodbines on rum and the usual blood stained scrawly writing. Standing back, I could immediately see the unruly mess for what it was. The floral composition, red flowers, matted greenery was Verruca in all but name, this was her calling card, she was back after two years away.

    Immediately I grabbed the industrial strength sanitizer, next to the bowl of medical masks on the bookcase near the door, an unfortunate necessity when living through a pandemic. I liberally soaked my hands, rubbing vigorously, in case she had left anything behind. It sounds almost mad doesn’t it, but this woman has infected so many people, you just want to remove any trace of her from your person.

    After several minutes, trying to compose myself, I opened the card and read the short note inside:

    ‘Hello Lovvie, it’s V, but I guess you already knew that, didn’t you? I’ll see you tonight down by the beach, the bench opposite the Co Op, facing the pier. I'll be there, red hair, Hannibal Lecter mask, drinking a bottle of Captain Morgan's, from a brown paper bag. Bring the envelope! Love V!’

    It was blustery down by the promenade, as I walked down from the funfair towards South Parade Pier. Holding my cap tightly with one hand and the envelope firmly with the other, I had butterflies in my stomach, as I cautiously strolled along. There were plenty of people about – dog walkers, overweight joggers, offloading their COVID germs on you as they raced past, breathing heavily, sweating profusely. Friends sitting two meters apart were perched perilously on either side of the promenade wall. Wearing masks, they shouted conversations at one another, in order to be heard in the force nine gales. I felt safe in public, nothing could possibly go wrong!

    Then I saw her, taking a swig out of the bottle of rum, stretching her arms outwards and cracking her fingers, just like she always did. I hated that, I couldn’t stand the cracking fingers, it sent shivers down my spine. It was Verruca alright, looking as indignant as ever, red locks blowing demonically in the ferocious sea air. Head down, I walked up to the bench…
    ‘Hello V, fancy seeing you here, oh what a surprise,’ I joked.
    ‘Whatever, don’t try and be funny, just give me the envelope and p*ss off,’ she demanded. This seemed very strange, usually she likes playing games, messing with your head for a bit, then leaves you wondering what just happened. Today she was different; still her usual obnoxious self, but more battle worn and tired.

    I walked to the other side of the bench; socially distanced, I put on my mask and sat down, against my better judgement. I could have just given her the package and left, but the empath in me told me to sit for a while and find out what was going on. She looked broken, more than I had ever seen. Her trademark red hair was greying in traditional lockdown style, longer than I’d ever seen it, and she had aged beyond her years. The pandemic had taken its toll on all of us, but for a sociopath like Verruca who thrived on other peoples misfortune, without little or no contact with the World, she was a shadow of her former self.

    I handed her the envelope, which she snatched begrudgingly from my hand. Her face was emotionless, her eyes glazed. She turned her head ever so slightly, facing me, mask to mask. Her red hair, constantly blowing across her brow, kept getting entwined with her thick bottle top spectacles. You could just see her eyes peering over the Hannibal Lecter mask. Raising an eyebrow, she then turned her head and looked down towards the envelope, nails, jagged and chipped as usual, she caressed the fastening, quickly looking up once more.
    ‘I never wanted to do this boyo, this is what they have done to me,’ She mumbled from behind her face covering!
    ‘What are you talking about V, who, who are they,’ I asked?
    ‘Them, the ones at the top, the ones who will come tumbling down, the ones I will crush and the ones who made me who I am,’ she continued. Verruca was almost demonstrative, for the first time in her life. If it wasn’t for the pandemic. I could have even placed a hand on her cold shoulder.

    Suddenly she turned and flipped back to her usual self. The emotional facade, turned icy once again. Standing bolt upright, she took one last look into my eyes, lowered her mask ever so slightly and smiled, that sinister grin she always had when she was up to something.
    ‘You’ll be seeing me in the future, the time to tell our story is near, so make sure you get it straight, until then, keep looking over your shoulder; one day I’ll be stood there, for the last and final time. Until then, adios amigos…. Oh and remember, I was never who you thought I was!'

    Perplexed, I was left with more questions than answers. Who exactly was she talking about? Who are they? And would it really be the last time I see her?

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    First Vaccination Done!

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    On Thursday I finally had my first vaccine administered at St James' Hospital in Portsmouth. I can't begin to describe the emotions I felt, as I drove up to the facility in the taxi. This was no ordinary vaccination hub; it was big, there were stewards everywhere directing us towards the long line of traffic taking people to the entrance. I can't actually believe how well-organised and smooth the process was; when I got out of the car, I was genuinely excited to be receiving my jab, a year on after we entered our first nationwide lockdown.

    I joined the queue of people heading through a marquee towards the hospital. After showing my booking reference and National Health number, I was allowed into the ward, where I was shown to a seat and a nurse made some final checks. Jacket removed, sleeve rolled up I was given the AstraZeneca vaccine into my left arm. I have had a lot of injections over the years, most recently the Pneumonia jab, but this one felt like it went deeper and if I am honest hurt more than usual. The whole process was over in just a few minutes, and I was happy to be finally vaccinated.

    There have been so many scare stories coming out of Europe in recent days, about the dangers of having the AstraZeneca vaccine. Citing blood clots as a major concern, I was initially in two minds about having it in the first place. I did however do some research of my own and discovered most of the information coming from the Continent wasn't quite as it seemed. After analysing the data, it looked like there were less blood clots recorded after the vaccine was given, than there otherwise would be. Any set of figures can be manipulated to suit an agenda; it is highly likely there was a political motive behind Europe suspending the use of the AstraZeneca vaccine.

    My biggest fear was the side effects from the vaccination; everyone I knew who had it, were suffering effects to different degrees. Headaches, chills and fever were commonplace, so I was expecting something very similar. After getting home, I took a couple of paracetamol and waited for the worst to happen. To my surprise however, nothing manifested; after six hours, I was feeling the same I had all day and with an early start tomorrow I went to bed, expecting to wake up in a sweaty mess at some point during the night.

    My alarm went off at 4 am, I had slept right through, not waking up once and felt good. There was still no side effects and I got ready to go to work as normal. I did have a slight ache at the front of my right thigh but nothing more. As the day went on at work, I still felt OK, maybe a little tired but otherwise alright. By the time I woke up this morning, my arm was throbbing and felt bruised all over, but everything else was perfect; no headaches, no fatigue and yet another good nights sleep. I guess I won't be suffering like some people, which is great for me. Nevertheless, my lack of symptoms has got me worried about whether my immune system is working as it should be, since this vaccine is supposed to produce some form of immune response.

    Once again I did some reading, and it appears you don't have to feel ill or suffer adverse effects for the vaccine to work. It looks like I am just one of the lucky ones, who didn't get a bad reaction. It may well have something to do with my age and immune system not working as good as it once did, but then I have never had any form of after effects from any vaccine I've had; it just, just might be part of my genetic make up. Whatever the reasons, I am just glad I have had the jab and can feel confident that in a few weeks, I will be party protected from COVID-19 and by June 9th, after my second inoculation, I will be as safe as I possibly can.

    It looks like we are finally reaching the beginning of the end of the pandemic. Over six hundred thousand people had the vaccine on the same day I did and for that reason, we must all celebrate. As days turn to weeks and months, I am sure we will all finally get back to normal and start once again where we left off. The vaccine roll out is such a triumph here in the UK because of the NHS and their hard work, it has nothing to do with our Government; their record is a disgrace. When future generations look back on this period in fifty, one hundred years time, they will be the ones to make the final judgement on our success or otherwise, until then we are the one's who need to continue doing what we can, to ensure all of us are protected and kept safe. The day is coming, when all of us can  breathe a sigh of relief, throw our masks to the wind and call time on Coronavirus and the devastation it has wreaked!
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    Anticipating the Future in the COVID age!

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    Later on today I finally get my AstraZeneca vaccine at St James' Hospital in Portsmouth, after booking it a week ago. Even with all the scare stories circulating, about blood clots being caused by this jab and European countries stopping using this particular vaccine, I am finally looking forward to having it. Unlike the rest of the EU, I am not frightened or apprehensive about having this particular inoculation. I understand the importance of getting back to normal, which all of us need to do as soon as possible.

    Darrell and I have been talking more than usual over the last few weeks, as we try and get to grips with our own situation. I should be fully protected by 9 June, when I receive my second dose of AstraZeneca, but Darrell, living in Australia, has no idea when his vaccine will be administered. Australia is understandably moving a lot slower than the UK. To be honest, it really has no reason to rush its vaccine roll out, since it has little or no cases, but that doesn't help us and our relationship.

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    Darrell has to return to the United Kingdom by November, in order to keep within the terms of his visa. Despite the Worldwide pandemic, the British government is refusing to waver the 'two year' rule, stating, if he remains out of the country over this time limit, he can just apply for a 'Returning Resident Visa.' This is easier said than done; the amount of paper work involved in reapplying for resident status is huge, much more complicated than either of us would have anticipated, especially after we have been together for nearly twenty-six years. Therefore, we are determined to be reunited in November as planned; this will however be no mean task.

    Britain's vaccine roll out is going remarkably well, unlike Australia. I think the last time I looked at the official figures they had only immunized 0.4 percent of the population, compared to 50 percent here in the UK. There is a marked difference in the approach both countries are following, so with time moving ever forwards, both Darrell and I are mindful of our personal time constraints.

    Darrell is in category 1b of the Australian vaccine programme. As the carer of an extremely vulnerable elderly person, it is important he is vaccinated at the same time as his Mum. According to his Doctor, this second phase should begin in the middle of April. Of course, it isn't quite that simple. The authorities are three weeks behind and with Europe blocking supplies of vaccine entering Australia, it is anyone's guess when he will actually receive his first dose, let alone get his second jab. Both of us are justifiably anxious as to how this will all pan out and are busy making contingency plans should the worse happen.

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    Darrell needs both doses of vaccine before his flies to London. Getting a second dose would be difficult once in Britain, due to the administrative differences. Alternatively he may receive a vaccine with less than a three-month wait in-between doses, as in the case of Pfizer. Or he could wait to receive both jabs when he eventually arrives in the UK, but this would not be our preferred option. I don't want Darrell travelling on a plane, especially for twenty-four hours, without the protection he needs. Also, it is likely most airlines and governments will have 'vaccine passport' schemes in place before he is due to fly and without the inoculations, he wouldn't be able to leave Australia anyway. You can imagine our frustration at the moment; If I thought my life was fraught before marrying a foreign citizen, just think how much worse it is today, in the middle of a pandemic.

    From day 1 our relationship has never been easy; it has always been an uphill struggle dealing with officials, trying to remain together in an unforgiving World. Coronavirus has tested us both in ways we could have never envisaged. Darrell and I have always found a way around the constraints our life together has brought, but living apart during COVID-19 has been the worst of all nightmares, that just continues giving.

    We do remain hopeful, that circumstances will finally turn in our favour, but we are also realistic, that the progress made during this pandemic could so easily change for the worse. Not until Darrell finally sets foot on British soil once again, safe and well, will we both be happy and at peace again. No one could have foreseen this situation a few years ago, and we can only remain positive in the face of this virus. All of us have our Corona stories to tell, but in contrast to most of you, my life remains on hold, long after the relief you feel after receiving your vaccines. I hope 2021 will finally be our year and Darrell and I can get back to normal and put this dreadful time behind us. Unlike so many others, we are both alive and well and have our future ahead of us, for that we remain grateful; let the hard work begin!
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  • Published on

    Making It Count!

    2021 richard-guy Running
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    Having taken part in quite a few long distance endurance events over the years I know the importance of consistent training – there are no hiding places if you haven’t done the training, there is no easy option if you haven’t done the training, and there are no shortcuts either.

    I really like that about endurance events. You have to earn the right to start them. You have to earn the right to finish them. I’ve only ever failed to finish one race and that was due to hypothermia setting in. All the others I have crossed the finish line. In those events my target might have been just to cross the finish line, or I might have been racing to complete it in a certain time. Not all of those races were easy, far from it, actually some of them were tough – both mentally and physically. There have been times when I’ve taken part in events where my race plan has suddenly been torn up in front of me, either due to the physical aspect or the mental aspect and sometimes both. The things that got me through were my determination not to quit, knowing that if I could kept moving forwards I was getting closer to the finish line, and that I had put in the effort to do the training to get me across the finish line.

    Putting the training in requires effort and sacrifice but the satisfaction of crossing the finish line far outweighs that effort and sacrifice. To me that means getting out of the door whether I feel like it or not. It means getting out of the door no matter what the weather is doing. It means planning the time in each day to complete those training sessions and yes, that means making sacrifices at times. It also means making every training session count.

    When I train I make some of the sessions tougher because I want to know that on race day I am able to dig deeper, both mentally and physically when things get tougher. There should be certain elements of training that are uncomfortable – to me, if it feels too easy then I’m not gaining anything from it, it feels like I’m just going through the motions. The longer runs I do should be at a slightly quicker pace to what I’m planning to run at the ultra in July. The shorter runs should be a lot quicker. I try to vary the pace a lot on my runs – sometimes that feels great and other times I am in a world of pain.

    I know the importance of making each and every training session count. Consistency will get me to the start line in July. What will get me across the finish line is knowing I’ve made every session count. Knowing that physically I’m able to endure the demands required to finish the ultra. Knowing mentally I’m able to endure the demands required to finish the ultra, knowing on the day I am mentally unbreakable, that I can overcome the challenges that I will face.

    I’m under no illusion whatsoever that it is going to be a tough event, so I need to do everything I can to prepare for it – I need to have done every session I’ve planned, to have the right kit to wear on the day, get my nutrition plan right, and be mentally prepared for it.

    I know that on the day there will be times when I will probably want to throw the towel in, but I won’t, I know I won’t, I know that is not an option. There is only one option I have – keep moving forwards, keep pushing towards the finish line. I know I am going to have to shut out the pain when my legs are aching, I know I am going to have to shut out some of the negative self-talk and maintain that self-belief that I will get across that finish line. I will have the answers to all that faces me on the day because I’ve been there already, I’ve faced it already when I’ve made every session count. I’m doing all I can to earn the right to be on that start line and all I can to earn that right to get across that finish line.

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    I could not fathom for the life of me, why he seemed so uninterested in our child!

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    Today is Mothering Sunday. I'm feeling very emotional as it is my first one where I can't see my little girl. She's not actually a little girl anymore, she is a beautiful strong 22 year old woman, but to me she will always be my little girl. I received a bouquet of Roses and Lilies, my favourite flowers, from my daughter and her partner and my present is still to come from my boy. He is really upset it hasn't arrived in time, I have told him it doesn't matter and his thoughtfulness means more.

    Today I have thought alot about being a parent. I have been a mum for exactly half my life. I always wanted children but had never put a time frame or age on when. When I met my husband he knew before we got together it was what I wanted. He on the other hand said it was not something he had ever considered and wasn't bothered if he ever had children. 3 years into our relationship I discovered I was pregnant. A happy accident? I didn't see it that way at the time.

    My Grandfather had passed away and the following day my husband had gone to work. I was devastated and had taken the day off. A friend came to comfort me. She was heavily pregnant herself and when she arrived at my house took one look at me and told me I looked peaky and was pregnant. I told her I had been crying all night but she insisted on dragging me to Boots Chemists and ordered me to buy a pregnancy test. I was emotionally exhausted so went along with her mad idea for a quiet time of it. We got back to mine and I took the test. I didn't need to wait the 2 minutes as the instructions said, the blue line appeared instantly. I remember standing in my bathroom in utter shock. I walked out of the bathroom and just handed the test to my friend. She was so pleased and excited and hugged me. I stood like a piece of stone. Motionless and totally emotionless.

    Although I always wanted children, Andy and I had not ever discussed it fully and I was terrified he would leave. We had been saving hard for a house and used to enjoy the freedom of just us, doing what we wanted when we wanted. A baby was going to change that. I spent the rest of the day rehearsing how I was going to tell him when he got home. I had it all planned out in my head, make him his dinner and then whilst we were relaxing just tell him. I even prepared myself for the expected angry response. He was such a chilled out guy but I was convinced he would go mad.

    He came in from work and all my pre-planning went out of the window. The poor sod had barely stepped over the threshold and I just blurted it out. I'm pregnant. I can still see the look of confusion on his face as he said "do you want a cup of tea". I just nodded and sat down. He made the tea, sat down and started to tell me what had happened that day at work. Surely he could not have heard me so I said again I'm pregnant. He looked at me and said he knew and had heard me. I waited for an explosion but nothing. We sat in silence for what seemed an eternity then the phone rang. It was my mum checking to see if I was ok. At the end of the conversation she asked if I was pregnant. What a bizarre question to ask when her Dad had just died but she said she had a strange feeling the last time she had seen me and had actually told my Grandad I was pregnant the day he died. I told her I had taken the test and it was positive. She was so excited, her first grandchild and some happy news for the family at an awful time. I told her not to tell anyone as I had no idea how Andy felt about it.

    I got off the phone and in no uncertain terms informed Andy I was having this baby. He had never even suggested the opposite but had said nothing so I had no idea what was going through his head. The days that followed were extremely strange. He was so good at comforting me over the loss of my Grandad but seemed to avoid any conversation about the baby. This was the first time in our relationship that I felt unsure. I had no idea if he wanted the baby, whether he was planning on leaving or how he felt at all. My mum was keen for me to share the news with my entire family as in her eyes it was the best possible news. I asked Andy if he was happy for me to do so. It seemed he didn't have an opinion and told me to do what I wanted. I told my family. They were ecstatic. This baby was very much wanted by both sides of our families but I still had no idea what would happen to us.

    I had a serious car accident 2 weeks after my Grandad died. I was taken to hospital via ambulance and for the first time was terrified for my unborn baby's life. Andy was at the hospital when I arrived and was extremely concerned for me but again no mention of the baby. I had an internal scan and there for the first time I saw the little flicker of my child's heartbeat. I was only 12 weeks pregnant but there on the screen was visible proof of a life growing inside of me. Something as big as a plum was growing and developing rapidly. A baby made of Andy and I. That was the day I became a mum. That was the day I knew it was what I wanted more than anything before.

    I was not worried about my own injuries, I was only concerned for my baby. I was assured that the baby was very well protected and no reason for it not to continue to grow. At 16 weeks we went for a routine scan. I was amazed at how much my child had grown. I cried as we heard the heartbeat for the first time and although I had no bump I found myself stroking my tummy. Andy sat in silence. That night whilst in bed I woke feeling a little uncomfortable and noticed I was bleeding. I woke Andy and within minutes he was driving me to the hospital.

    Another scan showed my baby was ok, for now, but no explanation as to what was happening and also being told very bluntly it is common to miscarry and I should just go home and rest and what will be will be. I was so scared of losing this little life but knew I had no control over it. Andy fussed over me for the week I was told to bed rest but still no mention of our baby. I was in a constant state of worry that I would lose this little life.

    A couple of weeks later I was in work and felt the strangest of feelings. My baby was moving. It is a feeling you can not describe well. The best way I can explain it is like a number of real butterflies moving around inside of you. It is the oddest of feelings but for me reassured me that my baby was doing well. I would sit waiting for that feeling to happen again and again but would get frustrated when Andy couldn't feel it with his hand.

    My body was changing drastically. My once flat tummy had turned into a pod belly but I loved it. It was physical proof I was a mum. The movements were becoming more frequent and one night I was laying in bed, Andy had his arm around me and on top of my tummy. I felt my baby move. He leapt out of the bed. I asked him what was wrong and he just said "what on earth was that". I remember laughing at his shock and said it's our baby. He got back into bed and put his hand back on my tummy. He did jolt for the next few movements then he began to stroke my growing belly. It was beautiful.

    At 6 months pregnant I said we should start thinking of names. I had bought a book and would read out names I liked. He hated them all. At work one day I again became uncomfortable and again I was bleeding. A colleague drove me to hospital. Yet another scan showed my baby was ok but there was a concern I was going into early labour so I was admitted to hospital. Andy arrived and again was very concerned about me. I was kept in for a couple of days and with no explanation as to what was happening was sent home. Although it was visible to the outside world I was pregnant I was told the baby seemed very small. I was also told if I went into labour at this point, 24 weeks pregnant, that there was a slim chance of survival for my baby.

    I knew more than ever I had to have a name for my child. We went home and I read a list of names. Finally he agreed on 2. One boy and one girl's name. I said I wanted the baby to have his surname as we were not married. I was dismayed when he said he didn't mind. I could not fathom for the life of me why he seemed so uninterested in our child.

    The weeks went by and I was having regular scans and tests. Still no reason could be found for the bleeding. One midwife told me sometimes it happens and the baby is perfectly ok but I was in a constant state of worry. At 34 weeks pregnant I woke one day and looked in the mirror. My face had ballooned so had my wrists and ankles. I looked like the Michelin man. I phoned the midwife and was asked to go in immediately. My blood pressure was sky high and I was told I had first signs of pre-eclampsia. A condition that affects the arteries carrying blood to the placenta, my baby's lifeline. If left untreated it can be fatal to both mother and baby. I was advised to stop work and rest. I was again told my baby was very small.

    I followed the advice of the medical professionals and stopped work. I rested. I was so bored and had never been this inactive. I had a neat little bump and from behind didn't look pregnant but within 2 weeks I looked huge all over. I was constantly in hospital having blood tests, scans and mine and my baby's heart monitored. The swelling had reduced but I was still massive. My due date was getting closer and closer. To be honest I was so uncomfortable I just wanted the baby out. The pre-eclampsia seemed to have disappeared so when my due date did come there was no rush for them to get the baby out much to my dismay. I no longer walked, I waddled. I spent more time in the bathroom than any other room of the house. I looked and felt fat and uncomfortable but with each huge kick my baby gave I knew it was worth it.

    I was so excited for my baby's arrival, Andy seemed so uninterested. My mum had been staying with us since just before my due date as I wanted her at the birth with Andy. My hormones had gone haywire and I broke down and cried to my mum that I was worried Andy wouldn't love our baby. She tried to console me but there was little she could say as she had also noticed how detached he seemed. Finally after nearly 2 weeks overdue I was told I would be taken to hospital and my labour induced the following day. I had read so many birthing books and was fully prepared for a long slog of labour.

    The morning of my induction arrived I was terrified and excited. I looked around my house as we were leaving knowing that the next time I would be home would be with my little tiny baby. Us two would be a family of 3. We lived 26 miles from the hospital. My mum, Andy and I drove to Musgrove Park Hospital in Somerset in silence. Lots of tests were carried out, I was attached to a monitor and given a pessary to hopefully bring on labour. I was told it could take as many as 4 pessaries and if that didn't work I would be given a cesarean. We sat all day just waiting. Just before visiting hours ended I was given a second pessary. Andy and mum had to leave.

    At some time in the early hours I started to get some strong pains. I had read all the books so checked my watch. Within 2 minutes I had another. I pressed the buzzer and told the midwife what was happening. She wasn't a particularly warm lady and told me I had hours to go and to just sleep. I couldn't. My back was killing me. I have never suffered back pain and this was awful. I took myself off the monitor as I thought walking might help as I had been laying in the same position for hours. I think I took 3 steps and bang I had a contraction. It wasn't agony but certainly uncomfortable. It seemed to last for ages. It subsided. I took another step and bang it happened again. The woman in the bed opposite who had her baby the day before said I think you are in labour. I felt a pop as my waters burst and just remember staring with my mouth open as this fluid flowed down the ward. The contractions were coming quicker and I couldn't move. The lady opposite pressed her buzzer and again the midwife, who this time had a face like a slapped arse, appeared. She pretty much threw me on my bed, examined me and said I was only 3cm dilated and had hours to go as a first time birth. Whilst she was examining me I was contracting and I laugh at this now but she had her hand stuck in me. I felt like a glove puppet. Sorry a bit graphic but oh so true. Eventually and with much tutting and sighing she unattached herself from me and walked off saying loudly how I was making too much fuss.

    The unhelpful midwife returned a few minutes later and stuck a needle in my thigh. It was a sedative to make me relax. The lady in the bed opposite was disgusted and whilst I said nothing she was demanding that I was in labour. The midwife said to me as you are disrupting the ward I'm moving you to the labour suite. I was scared and just wanted Andy and my mum. This wasn't how it was supposed to be. I was unceremoniously dumped in a wheelchair and taken to another part of the hospital. I was handed over to another midwife. This one was a student midwife and was lovely. I asked her to ring Andy to get him to the hospital. It was 3am and the drive took 30 minutes on country roads. She said she would just give me a quick check over then call him. I said I was desperate for the loo so she wheeled me in.

    What happened next is like a scene from a comedy to me. Whilst sat on the toilet I started to make some strange noises the midwife asked if I was ok. I couldn't answer. She told me she wanted to take a quick peek and within seconds I was told my baby was coming. I was put back in the wheelchair but as my baby's head was in the way I could not sit properly and was wheeled through the hospital with my legs wide open and my baby's head making its way into the world. I was put on a bed pushed 5 times and at 03.22am delivered my child much to the shock of the poor student midwife who I later found out had never delivered a baby before.

    Due to the speed of labour my baby had become distressed and was not breathing. I remember laying on the bed on my own whilst people came running in and out of the room. I hadn't heard any crying from my baby and didn't even know what sex it was. I was starting to feel very lightheaded and sick due to the sedative but didn't want to cause any fuss as I knew they were trying to get my baby breathing. Finally after what seemed like an eternity I heard a cry. Then again but a little louder, then again but this time a full blown bellow. The student came over to tell me I had a little girl and that Andy and mum were on their way. I desperately wanted to hold my baby. I was told they were just going to weigh her then I was going to meet my tiny new daughter. The midwife went to the other end of the room and I caught a glimpse of a baby's leg flailing about as they tried to weigh her. The midwife walked back towards me smiling, holding a blanket in her arms. She then handed me my daughter. My beautiful precious baby but she wasn't tiny she was huge. 9lbs 9oz! I looked at my bundle and was dumb struck. She had masses of black hair, she was beautiful. I couldn't stop staring at her little wrinkled face thinking you are mine.

    I heard the door open and saw Andy and my mum walk in. My mum burst into tears. Andy stood motionless. I asked if he wanted to meet his daughter and he just nodded. The midwife got him to sit down and she took our baby and placed her in his arms. He just looked at her then at me then back to her. His mouth moved but no sound came out. He sat for about an hour just holding and looking at her until the twitching new Grandmother could wait no more to hold her first Grandchild.

    Later that day Andy drove me to the local maternity home. He had hardly spoken. He got me settled then left. He came back later with flowers and again just sat holding his daughter. After a couple of days I left the maternity hospital and bought our little girl home. Andy had been busy and the once bare empty spare room had been turned into the most beautiful nursery. He would have said it himself but he was pretty useless in those early weeks. He acted like she was made of porcelain. He seemed reluctant to pick her up and even more so to bath her. Nappy duties were not that often for him. For me I was in love. This perfect little human that had grown inside of me was now a part of my world. She was my world. Everything I had ever known up that point had changed. Something as simple as popping to the shop for a pint of milk was not the same but I was a mum. This little girl relied on me for everything.


    A couple of months after the birth I went for a bath one night. I sat in the bath and could hear singing. I strained my ears to listen. Andy was singing My Girl. I went downstairs and there he was holding our daughter singing away oblivious to me watching. The tears poured down my face as I could see how much he loved his little girl. I needn't have worried she was his world. Later that night we finally spoke about his lack of reaction or emotion to my pregnancy and the birth. He had never held a baby prior to his daughter and was terrified. He openly admitted he was worried about being a good dad and how it scared him he may let her down. He was shocked to learn I had felt exactly the same about becoming a mother. We talked so freely and frankly about our worries as a Mum and Dad.

    By the time I got pregnant again a few years later Andy was a confident and strong reliable father. When I told him the news he grinned and kissed me. He was the one who told our daughter she was going to have a brother or sister. He was the one who picked me up when we lost that little life, he was the one who just a week after I had surgery due to miscarriage, had taken a call from the hospital to tell me they thought I was still pregnant and I was needed to be seen immediately as it would be an ectopic pregnancy and my life was at risk. He was also the one who told me I was still pregnant with the twin of the baby we had lost and how the Drs were amazed this little one had survived the surgery I had. Every day as my pregnancy developed he would talk to my growing bump. When I was again induced for labour he didn't leave my side. When I was rushed into theatre for an emergency c-section after our baby's heart stopped, my parents found him sobbing in my hospital room, terrified our baby and I would not survive. He was the first person to hold our heavy weight 10lb 4oz son and rushed back to the hospital later that day with several baby outfits he had gone out and bought himself.

    For 18 years with Andy we co-parented. It drove us crazy sometimes, other times it was a joy. At times we got it horribly wrong. Our kids are 22 and 16 now. They are strong, opinionated, honest, kind and pretty amazing humans in my eyes. Being a parent can be the most rewarding, exciting, frustrating and terrifying thing in the world. There is no instruction manual on what to do. It really is a case of winging it and hoping for the best. I can no longer remember not feeling like a mum and I wouldn't change it for the world.

    Today is Mothers Day, a day that children are supposed to show appreciation for their mums. Today I appreciate my own parents probably more than I ever have before. I appreciate my children and can only hope that Andy would be pleased with how I have parented in his absence. The past 5 years have been some of the toughest and most challenging times I've had as a mother. My children and I don't always see eye to eye. They make me laugh. They make me cry but they have made me a mum. They are and will always be my biggest and proudest achievements.