anxiety

The Reality of Kawasaki Disease

Posted on by Bluemama

When the phone rang at around 9:30pm last night and my mother-in-law was on the end of the line telling me to tune into ITV because an episode of Doc Martin was showing a case of Kawasaki Disease, my stomach did a little somersault.  A prime-time TV programme mentioning KD? I could hardly believe it. I switched over a little too late so set the programme to record on ITV+1.  As more and more comments and messages came into the various Kawasaki support group pages on Social Media sites, including Freya’s Story, the adrenalin was pumping.  You could almost feel a collective buzz as parents of children who have suffered at the hands of Kawasaki’s from all over the UK tuned in to witness KD getting a voice.

I couldn’t help but feel a sense of pride in being part of this campaign for raised awareness.  I cannot claim credit for the inclusion in this TV programme, or the coverage in The Daily Mirror last week, but I would like to think that somewhere along the way there will be a link with Freya’s Story and the small bit I have done to help raise Kawasaki’s profile.  I can claim credit of over 300 signatures on the Kawasaki Support Group UK petition (change.org/kawasaki), and I know that a lot of the 500+ people who now follow Freya’s Story on Facebook and Twitter will not have heard about Kawasaki Disease before;

“This evenings episode of Doc Martin includes a case of Kawasaki disease, wouldn’t have known what it was without this page and good coverage to help raise awareness.” (Posted by Facebook user on http://www.facebook.co/freyasstory)

“I saw the Mirror, I have read nearly all of Freya’s story, I have cried for you and smiled at the lovely pictures. It’s amazing though what you have done, I knew you were strong and raising the awareness is fantastic.” (Friend, and follower of Freya’s Story on Facebook)

But I’m not doing this for praise or thanks.  I’m doing it because I don’t want another parent to have to go through what we did, what so many parents have, because of a lack of knowledge and understanding of this disease.

So, what did I really think of last night’s episode of ITV’s Doc Martin?  Initially, I was excited and amazed that Kawasaki Disease had even managed to make in into the public eye in such a dramatic way.  One of the nation’s most prolific TV channels mentioning something much of the country has never even heard about! Fantastic!  And then I watched it.

What were the positives?  Well, you get to understand the symptoms of the disease.  The little girl has a temperature, a red tongue and a rash on her body.  They allude to the fact that she may have peeling skin on her hands when a little boy remonstrates about having to hold the sick child’s hand on a school outing.  The child eventually collapses, and the show’s ‘hero’ appears.  After one look at the child, he makes a rather pompous statement, which went something like “this child hasn’t been eating sweets, she has Kawasaki Disease”.  And just like that, after seconds of seeing the child, he makes his diagnosis and drives the child at high-speed (she may die within 30 minutes apparently) to get her the treatment she needs to avoid the risks of a coronary artery aneurysm.  Amazingly the medication is waiting for them on arrival at the hospital and the child receives the treatment.  In terms of the programme, this whole thing took 3 minutes.  Remarkable.

So why the long face? It didn’t take long for the celebratory feelings to wear off once I let what I had just watched sink in.  Part of me still wants to believe that no matter how the issue was covered, any coverage is good for raising awareness of a disease that most haven’t heard about.  But (you could see that but coming couldn’t you!) it was scripted in such a glib and blasé manner that I wouldn’t be surprised if the message was lost on most viewers.  I suspect many won’t even remember the name of it today, let alone the symptoms.  And if they did remember it, I do not believe that anyone who hasn’t experienced KD first hand will have one iota of an idea about how serious, or how scary this disease is.

I know that the ITV would argue that Doc Martin is a medical comedy drama series; it does not profess to deliver messages in a serious manner (that can be left for the likes of Panorama and Casualty who gave KD some airtime about 20 years ago, in the mid-90’s).  We can be grateful that such a rare disease has even made it on the ITV radar, I guess.  But when you’ve watched your child battle with this disease, you can’t help but be left with a sour taste in your mouth after watching the episode.  In fairness to the programme, however, I am not a regular viewer so am unfamiliar with the usual format and scripting, and I know that they are likely to come under attack from victims of all manner of illnesses that they cover; they’re never going to please everyone.

If you watched the programme, and you think that Kawasaki Disease is a funny sounding illness, maybe even fictitious, then please know that it is very real, and is the leading cause of acquired heart disease in children.  If you think that it is easy to diagnose on first look at a few symptoms, please know that is not the case and often the symptoms come and go, disappearing just when you needed them to be seen.  In fact in many cases, not all the symptoms are present.  If you agree with Doc Martin’s assessment of the child’s parent being negligent by not noticing the signs, then please know that most medical professionals in our country have never heard of Kawasaki Disease, and many mis-diagnose the illness, sometimes with catastrophic results.  If you think that the treatment is readily available, please know that intravenous immunoglobulin is in short supply, and it is expensive.  It’s a product derived from human blood; we’ve probably all seen the marketing campaigns from various blood donation schemes recently – there is not a bottomless pit full of blood that we can all tap into at any time.  And if you think that all cases of Kawasaki Disease have a happy ending, you’ve just got to be a part of the support groups on social media sites to know that isn’t the case.  There are children currently fighting for their lives, and many that have lost their fight altogether.

I am disappointed in the programme, not only for its flippant handling of the illness, and think they could have done more to make it clear that this is a sinister disease that needs some real focus.  Many programmes include messages in the credits to support people who may have been a victim to the contents of an episode.  I think the ITV could have at the very least put up a public message about Kawasaki Disease, making it clear that this is very real, and even just supplying a link to NHS Choices for further information.

In order to reach a diagnosis, I had to watch a 7-week old Freya battle constant temperatures above 39 degrees for over 2 weeks.  Her heart rate was dangerously high.  She was resuscitated in a high dependency unit after her body started to shut down.  She had cannulae in every site possible in her tiny body, delivering a cocktail of various potent antibiotics, ibuprofen and paracetamol, and she was being fed through a tube.   She had blood taken every day for a period of 6 weeks, sometimes twice a day.  She had an MRI scan, ultrasounds, x-rays, ECG’s and echocardiograms.  She had 2 lumbar punctures, one under general anaesthetic which they performed at the same time as performing a bone marrow aspiration to test for Leukaemia.  She received a blood transfusion when her haemoglobin levels dropped dangerously low.  And she has received intravenous immunoglobulin – a product that is derived from thousands of blood donors – as well as a drug that shuts off the protein that is instrumental in the body’s fight against cancerous cells.  She is not even 6 months old yet.

Sounds shocking to read it all like that, doesn’t it? See all the tests that she underwent, just to try and work out what this illness was.  Kawasaki Disease threatened to take her life.  If the Rheumatology Consultant that came so see her on Day 12 of her illness had not suggested performing another echo “just as a precaution” the damage to her heart would have remained undetected, and her coronary arteries would have continued to dilate further and further until perhaps they wouldn’t have been able to stretch any more.  That means rupture.  Rupture means sudden, unavoidable, unpreventable death.

Now think about what you just read about Freya, and imagine now that her case is not the worst by far.  Yes she had a severe presentation of the disease, and her life was in very grave danger.  But as I type there are parents fighting against doctors won’t entertain a KD diagnosis, parents whose precious children have been in hospital for weeks struggling to fight off the disease, parents who still co-sleep with their children for fear of losing them, and worst of all there are parents sitting at home wondering how they will ever recover from the death of their child.

I cry every day.  I cry when I hold Freya in my arms and am overwhelmed with how much I love her.  I cry because I can’t shake the images in my head of how close we came to losing her.  I cry when I see other people happy, without a care in the world and no appreciation of just how lucky they are.  I cry because I am still heartbroken that this happened to my baby girl, before we had even had a chance to get to know her properly as Freya, just Freya.  I cry because I am so scared about the future.  I cry because I daren’t take Freya to baby groups for fear of her contracting chicken pox or the flu (as they can develop into another rare and potentially fatal disease, Reyes’ Syndrome) and I cry from guilt that she is missing out on a massive part of her development as a result.  When I visit the children’s ward at the local hospital where this all started, I have panic attacks.  Even this week, when I thought I’d be ok and felt no anxiety approaching the hospital, I was suddenly struck by uncontrollable sobs, and I couldn’t breathe.  I cry because I am grieving for the loss of my child’s health – she was perfect when she was born; Kawasaki stole that from me far too soon.  I cry because I feel the pain of every parent who is going through this, or something similar.  And I cry with frustration that more isn’t being done to improve the advice and support that is currently being offered by the medical profession.  Chances are I cry a lot because I sleep for less than 4 hours a night; not because I have a young baby – she sleeps through the night – but because I am permanently researching the illness or related issues, or communicating with parents and doctors on the other side of the world.  I cry because I am devastated, because I am sad, because I am frightened, because I am exhausted, because I am frustrated.  I cry because I cannot forget the journey we have been on, and am haunted by the playback of the last few months, which is constantly on repeat.

Sunny with a chance of rain

Posted on by Bluemama

Today I took my daughter to Haworth, home of the Brontë sisters. I have always been a fan of classic literature, with Austen and the Brontë’s being right up there with my favourite writers. In fact all of my children are named because of my love of literature; Eliza (as in Bennett, Pride and Prejudice),  Finlay Austen (as in Jane) and now Freya Ellis Belle (for those of you that don’t know, Emily Brontë, author of one of the worlds most renowned classics Wuthering Heights, wrote under the name of Ellis Bell for a time).  Of course I was indulging myself with this trip, but I thought that while I am on a quest to make special memories with Freya, memories that will wipe out the ones I have so far, what better place to start than in the place that my inspiration called her home. It was going to be a wonderful day out, and Freya would surprisingly love it too; she was going to share my love of literature as a result of this early exposure. Oh how we kid ourselves!

In reality, the day didn’t start very well.  Having taken a look at the Brontë Parsonage Museum website last night I became aware that the quaint old village of Haworth wasn’t really built for my ultra-modern pram (or anything with wheels for that matter).  The streets are cobbled, and the house itself has a steep staircase that renders it impossible to manoeuvre with any kind of vehicle. I needed a baby carrier and would have to try and get one before I set off on our road trip.

After I dropped my son off at school this morning, I drove to our local Mothercare.  There were about 8 different types of baby carrier on the shelf and I set about making an informed and practical decision (otherwise known as picking the nicest colour). My eye was drawn to a sling type carrier in a fetching lilac.  Having asked if I could try them on, I removed it from the box and tried it on. Hmm. I have no idea how a baby is meant to be carried in one of those things. I even took Freya out of the pram for a dummy run but daren’t let go of her once I had her in it. The member of staff didn’t seem to know much about how it should fit so I decided to give it a miss. Bored of being in her pram, and now particularly peed off that I’d taken her out and put her back in again, Freya started whinging. And then crying. And then screaming.  I knew she was not in need of anything – she had not long had breakfast, and had a clean nappy on – so I continued to look at the other brands and styles on the shelf.

Now, I’ve never been very good with noise, particularly when I’m feeling a little anxious. And the more noise Freya made, the more anxious I became. I took another carrier out of the box but it looked like you would need a degree in engineering to work out how to get it on. I struggled for a bit, but the more I tried to read the instructions, the more Freya cried and my anxiety grew. I had such high hopes for our day and these minutes in Mothercare were minutes I couldn’t afford to lose with a 90 minute drive ahead of us. By the time a member of staff came to assist, I was in tears on the floor of the shop with open boxes around me, trying to make sense of the instructions.  The lady was really sweet, and did her best to help me into the one I had chosen. Freya was still screeching.  I was so embarrassed by my little meltdown that I just said I’d take it. I asked her to box it back up and take it to the counter while I took Freya to the baby room to change her and feed her. Cue stupid moment number 2 when I had to come out 2 minutes later having realised that I had left all our paraphernalia in the car not expecting to be in the shop for as long as I was.

Drama aside though, I don’t know how you are supposed to safely put a baby in a baby carrier by yourself, and I’m glad I didn’t just pick one up and walk out of the shop without trying it out first.

By 10:30 we were finally on our way, and although a little shaken by my emotional outburst in the baby shop, I began to look forward again to our little trip. I’d picked a nice day for it and the sun shining as we left.  As we got closer to Haworth though, the heavens opened, and I couldn’t help but smile at how fitting the weather was as I drove over the Yorkshire Moors, picturing Cathy and Heathcliff running for the shelter of a tree.

The sat nav kindly sent me around the block a couple of times before I found the car park, but I found it and I got easily parked. I decided to get the pram out of the boot as I had an idea that the village wasn’t far and I’d get the chance to scope it out with the pram and come back to the car if I needed to. The Tourist Information office advised me to ditch the pram, even offering to let me leave it in their shop. I took it back to the car, got Freya into the carrier with surprising ease and walked back into the village.

I’ve been feeling quite tearful and overwhelmed by things these days, and today was no exception. I had tears in my eyes as I walked through the village, chatting to Freya held close against my chest. We arrived at the Parsonage Museum (which has its own car park, doh!)  and went inside. The man on the door was lovely and chatted to us before we had a chance to move on. He thought that it was lovely that we had named Freya after Emily, and that I had taken her there specifically to make some memories.  I walked slowly and thoughtfully around the house, taking everything in. I was particularly taken by the artefacts, especially the portable writing desks belonging to Charlotte and Emily with all their trinkets. Makes you feel closer to them somehow, which is strange because they died so long ago. One of the curators came over to speak to Freya and remarked that she was about the same age that Anne Brontë was when the family moved to Haworth, and said how nice it was to hear a baby in the house.  She pointed to a room across the hall, labelled ‘Charlotte’s Room’ and said that Anne would have probably had that room when she was brought there and that it might be a nice place for me to look with Freya. It was in fact the room in which Charlotte Brontë passed away, and I felt an incredible sense of sadness as I stood looking at a painting of her above the fireplace. I stood there for while, Freya stared too. And as I rocked from side to side taking the picture in, Freya drifted off to sleep.

IMG_0826I finished off the tour, and bought a few things in the gift shop including a copy of Wuthering  Heights which I planned to write an inscription in for Freya. I don’t know why my heart felt so heavy as we left. Moments like these with Freya are more special to me than any other moments in my life. I know that might sound bad because I have a husband and two other children; they are special to me too. But time with them tends to be moments of madness, of getting ready for school, of bedtime routines. I have become quite accustomed to just being with Freya. We are like two halves of a whole who are only truly content when we are linked together in some tender moment. She stares, so intently sometimes that I wonder if she can see into my soul. And I’m reminded of an earlier post, “cleansing the soul” that I wrote before all this, before KD.

I am hoping that the dark cloud that follows us whenever we are trying to make new memories is something temporary, a symbol reminding me of the trauma we have been through together. Perhaps when I’ve started to get some support with how I’m feeling that grey cloud will start to dissipate and we will be allowed to have sunny days without the threat of rain.

Freya’s Story (18)

Posted on by Bluemama

I’ve just been sat posting pictures on http://www.facebook.com/freyasstory of our afternoon at Clumber Park with Freya.  I called the album ‘Happy Days’ with a tagline of ‘Making Memories’.  We look like any other family having fun times with a picnic and a selfie stick, and we were just that.  So why is it that I feel a huge sense of sadness looking back over our day?  And if I am truthful, even during the afternoon when we walked smiling through the grounds, I couldn’t help but be aware of the small dark cloud following us.  It seems that even good days are tinged with sorrow.  I wonder if we will ever feel completely normal?

Generally things are good.  I’ve told you that we’ve become accustomed to our new ‘normal’, and that actually we are just getting on with life as we would have done before all of this happened.  Well almost.  We would have been to more places, seen more sights, we would have definitely been abroad for a lovely holiday in the sunshine.  We would have made plans without limitations, had things to look forward to.

The thing with Kawasaki Disease is that it is a silent, deadly disease, often pretending to be something it is not.  It hides just beneath the surface, choosing to send symptoms to the fore one by one, just to keep the Doctors guessing.  Sometimes it chooses for a symptom not to materialise at all, throwing it in for good measure when it’s too late to make a difference.  You can think it is gone, and a after a couple of days of relief that the KD journey might be over you start to see the symptoms creeping back; a rash, a fever, something else.  And so you are always on high alert, watching closely to make sure Kawasaki has had it’s day.

I wonder though if I will ever just change Freya’s nappy, without checking over her body for any sign of a rash developing.  Whether I will stop feeling my heart jump into my throat when I see a spot that could be the start of something.  I wonder if I will always have to will myself not to fetch the thermometer every time her little cheeks flush.  I wonder if I will always catch my breath when she suddenly cries out, concerned she may be ailing for something that I cannot see.  I wonder if I will ever be able to quiet the voice that tells me to be cautious about loving her too much.  And I wonder if I will ever be able to watch her sleeping without the thought creeping into my head that she looks as peaceful as she would if she were dead.

I’m sorry if that sounds morbid, and if it’s not the kind of thing that you want to hear, but it is the reality and I promised myself and my followers (those few!) that I would always be candid. It’s how I feel today, and it is just one of the dips on the rollercoaster that is life with Kawasaki Disease.  You try to be positive, and focus on all the great things and reasons to be cheerful:

  1. The inflammation was stopped in its tracks and has not returned
  2. There have been no return of the most obvious symptoms
  3. Freya is a happy, contended baby who is thriving; feeding well, sleeping well – all signs of a healthy baby
  4. The coronary complications are improving at a surprisingly fast rate – right coronary artery has normalised, and the aneurysm in the left coronary artety has reduced from over 5mm during the acute stage to around 3mm at the last echo (1-2mm is the normal range)

You see, I’m not just being a ‘neghead’.  I am fully aware of all the things we should be grateful for, and we have much to cling onto that suggests that Freya will recover from this.  But (and it’s a big but) as much as the Kawasaki Support Groups on Social Media sites are generally helpful, every day I see posts from parents asking whether anyone has noticed this symptom or that, whether years after KD anyone’s child has had trouble with joint pain, behavioural problems, skin issues.  And every post sees replies from tons of other parents saying yes! yes they have seen those symptoms, and what’s more they’ve also seen rashes and temperatures and all manner of other symptoms since their child suffered with KD.  Most of the time it is useful to read, and it is a community from which I draw a huge amount of support.  I mean, no one can truly understand how this feels unless they’ve been through it.  But these kinds of posts are the ones that affect my positivity the most.  I try to be logical about it.  Mostly I think that we cannot ever know what future symptoms are related to Freya’s battle with KD or just symptoms that she might have had anyway.  My other children sometimes get ill, they get rashes, temperatures, aches and pains, eczema; neither has ever had KD.  So it stands to reason that at some point in Freya’s life she will get ill, but it is more than likely going to be unrelated to her condition now.  I remember one of the consultants making a similar case when we were re-admitted after Freya started bleeding.  He said that because of the rarity of Kawasaki Disease, the medical staff were on high alert for weird and wonderful things that could affect Freya, and that whilst they were making the assumption that all of her symptoms were connected to the disease, they were forgetting that she was a tiny baby going through many developmental changes.  Perhaps the gastrointestinal bleeding really was just a cow’s milk allergy and nothing else.  But even if I wanted to dismiss all of those comments and posts as illogical or poor assumptions, it doesn’t take away the fact that when you have been through this you will always be afraid.  The parents posting those statuses are crying out for help; for someone to tell them that they can stop worrying about KD making a reappearance.  I don’t think we ever will though.  Because we don’t ever want to experience the hell that is Kawasaki Disease again.

When I look back over the last few months, I still can’t quite believe how poorly Freya was.  It’s surreal.  Perhaps it was denial, a kind of self-defence mechanism?  Maybe its just because she is doing so well that it doesn’t seem real looking back now.  I look at the photograph of her when she was unrecognisable to me, she was so unwell, and I still can’t believe that it was her.  I remember the day the Doctor told us she was a 10 out of 10 on a scale of how critical her condition was.  I will never forget watching my baby girl go through test after test; daily blood samples, x-rays, lumbar punctures, ultrasounds, echocardiograms, bone marrow aspiration, MRI, a blood transfusion, a cocktail of drugs and blood products.  I just can’t comprehend it.  It was not supposed to happen to us, and although I know I should be thankful for where we are now I cannot be at peace with a disease that has stolen so much of my precious time with my daughter.  I am fundamentally altered.   I think I will be forever changed.

IMG_5353

The Seven Deadly Sounds

Posted on by Bluemama

So I am laid in bed wide awake at stupid o’clock and can’t get back to sleep because there is a snoreasaurus in the bed next to me. And as I lie here wanting to punch said snoring animal because it is driving me nuts, I get to thinking about the sensitivity and irritation that is caused by certain noises.  It must be one of the symptoms of my highly-strung personality, because I am sure most people do not feel the urge to kill rising upon hearing a certain noise!

  1. Snoring – obvious one I know, but this one has to be in the top spot.  I think it has something to do with timing – generally it is when I am trying to sleep, and when I am shattered but can’t sleep through the constant pig grunts that it fills me with despair!
  2. Chewing – the sound of anyone chewing drives me nuts. Doesn’t matter what they are chewing (some people have a particular aversion to people chewing gum), I feel my insides churning up and it is all I can do not to scream at the perpetrator! I think crunching fits into this category too.  Loud crunching of say, cereal, is enough to send me over the edge!
  3. Dripping tap – again another obvious one. We’ve got a leaky tap in the en suite that drip, drip, drips into the bath. If we go to bed and forget to close the bathroom door then I’m done for! If I wake up and that tap is dripping, there’s no going back to sleep for me. 
  4. Cold-related noises – I’m talking coughs, sneezes and sniffles. Wow, that’s a hot topic in this house at the minute with a husband and 2 children full of cold!! With every sniff I want to scream “blow your fekking nose will you!!!”.  Coughing annoys me if it is persistent, and I can’t help myself from barking “go get a drink for gods sake!!!” when it gets too much! Sneezes aren’t too bad, except that my husband has the most annoying attention-seeking-blow-your-head-off kind of sneeze that winds me up if I’m in the wrong kind of mood!!
  5. Buzzing. Not from creatures, but from electrical equipment mainly. We have a lamp that buzzes for some reason. My husband could never hear it, but even with the TV on I would be driven to distraction and have to switch the thing off. We have changed the bulb now, which seems to have rectified the problem.
  6. Whining. Kids. 2 of them. Hearing them whinge at each other and bicker (as siblings often do) drives me nuts!
  7. Clocks. The ticking kind. Again this is limited to the middle of the night when I’m trying to sleep. If I sleep anywhere other than home and there is a ticking clock in the room, I have to remove it or bury it in a drawer somewhere.

There are probably more, so I may add to this at a later stage. For now, there are just the seven deadly sounds that could be enough to incite violence! And I am not a violent person at all. I guess my response to these sounds varies dependant on how much sleep I’ve had, and my mood at any given time. I’m sure someone somewhere could give this anxiety a name (other than me just being plain neurotic!).   For now, I’ve gone into the spare room to try and get some noise-free sleep 😴😴😴

Scared

Posted on by Bluemama

I’m scared

So scared I’ll never hold you in my arms
Scared you are going to come to harm, if not before then after and you’ll be taken away.
I have never wished so hard for a day to come.
I just want this to be done, so I can have you here, hear your cry and feel your heartbeat against my chest.

I wish there was some way of knowing,
Confidence that you are in there growing strong enough to fight your way into the world.
I let my guard down, allowed myself to get carried away with pink bows and pretty things – 
Your room is beautiful; I sit in there nearly every day, rocking in the chair imagining you are there with me.
And then I imagine coming home without you and I don’t know what I would do if that were to happen.

This journey has been such a long one, and now we’re nearly done I need to know you are going to be alright.
With every ounce you have grown, I have grown to love you more than you will ever know. 
And so I need you to fight little one, fight against whatever my body throws your way, and make it into this world ok. 

Noise noise noise!

Posted on by Bluemama

I don’t know if I’m tired, or what, but my God have I been irritable tonight! Every sound has been like fingernails down a blackboard. I found myself wanting to gag my 5-year old son! He never shuts up! He’s a lovely, lovely boy, but jeez does he know how to talk. He doesn’t have an off switch and there just doesn’t seem to be a single moment when he isn’t making some noise or other. I was glad to get him into bed tonight, even though he continued to chatter to himself for at least an hour once he was there.

Lying on the sofa, my eldest was splashing about in the bath. Every move she made went through me like a knife. I had to call her to tell her to wrap it up because I couldn’t take any more of it! And then into the lounge she trundles with a cup of milk and a biscuit. The cup she chose was a chinky China mug that holds a similarly chinky spoon in the handle. A chinky spoon chinking against the chinky handle of the chinky mug that chinks on the chinky glass coaster every time she picks it up or puts it down. Are you feeling my pain?! Add to that the crunch, munch, crunch of what must have been the crunchiest biscuit in the tin. Oh, and just for good measure, why not chuck in a dry little cough here and there whilst wriggling about on the beaniest bean bag we have! Time for bed dear daughter!

Husband is relatively quiet, although he’s laid on the sofa next to his favourite lamp which for some reason doesn’t seem to ring in his ears!! After getting him to turn it off and on again a few times, he finally concedes that the lamp is indeed making an annoying ringing sound which rivals any tinnitus attack and turns it off for good. Unfortunately he seems to have caught that dry little cough from our daughter and that hacks out every now again. Oh, and he seems to have particularly itchy feet this evening so keeps rubbing his socked feet together to deal with that little issue.

Wow! Even writing it down I realise how completely nuts I am about noise! I don’t think I’m like it all the time, but I guess today I am a bit more tired than usual. At times like this I realise that I am quite highly strung at times. If my best friend was here we would have a little giggle as I say “I’m living on my nerves!” 😂. Every single noise has physically affected me like someone clawing at my skin and I’ve found it hard not to scream out at them to stop! Glad I got the chance to get it off my chest here though, lol! I do hope my noise hasn’t caused you too much pain 😉