Elizabeth's arrival in this world was interesting. Either pregnancy, or the awareness it provided, alerted us to Margaret's high blood pressure. She moved into hospital six weeks before the birth and I spent my days racing between work, moving into Sandra's house, and the hospital. Margaret was deprived of all the time she had thought she would have to get ready for our first child. I came away from the hospital with lists of equipment to buy, which we subsequently found surplus to requirement, such as a 'Top and Tail bowel'. One day I came in to the hospital and waited for Margaret by her empty bed. I asked a midwife where she might be. The midwife looked blank, then brightened up and said "Oh yes, she is on the delivery suit." I was shocked. Elizabeth was supposed to be 4 weeks away. I raced up the stairs, passing a father I knew from parentcraft classes. He was beaming and saying isn't it exciting. I grimaced and raced on past, hoping that I might not have missed the birth. Margaret was on the delivery suit only as a precaution as her blood pressure was raised. We were eventually able to choose Elizabeth's birth date and she was induced on the 6th September, safely placing her into the new school year making her the oldest, rather than the youngest in her year.
Elizabeth's birth was healthy, and Margaret was well cared for by Ann, her midwife. I did the traditional thing and cut the cord. For Margaret's sake, She and Elizabeth stayed in hospital, and for a few night, I too slept in a chair in her room. Then, as Elizabeth slept, we saw shaking in her arms and legs. These were strong twitches. What was more disconcerting was that the medics didn't seem to have an idea what was going on. Elizabeth was moved to the neonatal unit. It was so distressing to be separated from her so soon. I mused that on the neonatal unit, parents hand over their tiny bundles to the staff hoping that they might be saved. For us Elizabeth seemed perfect. She was so much bigger than the other children in the ward. We did not have this relationship with the staff. The a whole battery of test were undertaken. This was very distressing for me. Elizabeth had her wrist stretched back for blood tests, an evasive ultrasound which pushed down through the fontanela, and a lumber puncture to test fluid in her spinal cord. When all the tests, including EEG, came back negative, the doctors said they would do them all again. Much distressed, I pleaded with them not to. They agreed but I saw that they wrote 'father refuses second test'. I thought 'well that's on my head then.'
After we got home with Elizabeth, all went well until the jerks returned. This time we all moved into the children's hospital. I was impressed that although Elizabeth was less than a week old, she was given a Play Specialist. What's a new born baby going to play with? Elizabeth was given a musical box that projected light onto the ceiling. It was perfected. I really felt that the children's hospital understood about our needs as a family. We felt at the time together was precious, and strengthened our bonds. The nurses helped us do all of Elizabeth's care, including taking urine samples. The label we came up with was 'hepnic jerks'. Pretty soon these were gone, and we thought nothing of it.
The only other challenges Elizabeth has faced have been vitiligo, an autoimmune problem where the body attacks its own pigment. When Elizabeth was about 14 she did a cart wheel on the beach, and jarred her knee badly. Her knee swelled up and was very painful. She ended up wearing a leg brace and using crutches. At school she discovered that there was a small population of young people who have to use the lift to get around the building. She got a sense of what it is like to be disabled.
Over the last four year, a scar has developed on Elizabeth's head. This has grown gradually as a line of longitude traversing round her scalp in a line. Eventually Elizabeth was diagnosed with 'coup de sabre'. Again, this is an autoimmune abnormality where the body is attacking itself for no apparent reason.
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