commiserate

Last weekend I was heard to brag (not once, but several times) that our whole family had managed to escape the wrath of this years Winter germs and the plethora of associated illnesses that afflicted so many families on Norfolk. It was seriously Flu Central around here a few weeks ago, but then my Mum tells me it was the same in her neck of the woods too (the Central West, NSW). But honestly, what was I thinking to be grandstanding in such a manner? Don't worry, thunderbolts struck me down and I paid penance just a few days later, where I was to be found avoiding bright light, huddled under a blanket feeling rather sorry for myself. Till (my sick companion) and I felt lousy for several days. It was nothing life-threatening, we both just felt achy, feverish, nauseous and headachy. We both had, officially (and self-diagnosed, naturally), an all round solid case of The Miserables. Nothing a few days rest, naps and plenty of fluids didn't fix.

Historically speaking, I've been knocked down with an illness of some description somewhere between the seasons of Spring and early Summer every year for a while now. So yeah, I dodge the winter sicknesses (nah nah-nah, nah-nah nahhhh) but the germs find me eventually - sheesh, I'm not always perfect you know! Such is life when you work with small people who sneeze, snot and cough on you every minute of every day! One of the perks of the job. Really though, I should have kept my mouth shut! A family of super germ-avoiding health freaks indeed! Pfft, show-offs always get their dues! 

Lesson learned.

No I didn't visit the South Island this week. A photo-less blog post seemed like a terrible idea to me. This one was taken during our most recent trip to New Zealand (back in July). There's something about snow-capped mountains and pebbly beaches together in the same scene, that begs disbelief. Looking at this scene gives me the holiday feeling, and that's better than the sick feeling!

PS We did end up making a visit to the doctor for a real diagnosis. Turns out we both had your run-of-the-mill virus, which (according to the doctor) would take approx four days to run its' course, and that we'd feel worse as each day passed before eventually feeling better. It was exactly as he described. Doc knows his stuff!

moving on

On April 4 this year, we moved house! At the time, it felt like our world had been turned upside down. The rental property we'd been living in since our arrival on island over six years prior, was a place we considered home. The house sold beneath us and we were given thirty five days to vacate. We knew the house was on the market, but were in denial that anyone would actually buy it!!! A lack of suitable homes and increased rental prices left us a bit depressed for a while, but then someone came to our rescue, and we are very happy in our new residence. As they say, every cloud has a silver lining, and it turns out the forced move set in the motion the start of a crazy new plan for our future. It appears the upheaval gave us a chance to ask ourselves a few hard questions. I guess we'd been stuck in a rut without acknowledging it. Our new location has brought with it many benefits!

The piano didn't come with us by the way.

when Mother Nature is angry

Poor Vanuatu was hit hard last weekend by Cyclone Pam. Lucky for us, the cyclone stayed a long way offshore (hundreds of kilometres in fact). We didn't even have much of a breeze, just some heavy showers of rain. The only real sign of 'Pam's' presence was the violent sea, especially on the North side of our island. Cascade Pier copped a hammering, with huge waves thumping in with such force, I did wonder if the towering metal crane could withstand its power. In my five years living here, I don't ever remember seeing such wild angry waves before. It was tumultuous to say the least! 

Snorkelling in Emily this week, I saw evidence of damage from that punishing swell. To begin with the water was so cloudy it was impossible to navigate wearing a snorkel mask. Later in the week, after the sediment settled, I noticed sections of broken coral and tangled tufts of weedy (land) grass on the sea bed. 

Mother Nature is impressively commanding, it's both sobering and humbling to witness her extremes in temperament. I'm sure our coral reef will heal in time, just like Vanuatu! But I wonder, must Mother Nature be so harsh? Perhaps she is trying to tell us something! 

Some of us are listening.

a peek into the past

I've been exploring old Norfolk homes and museums of late. I don't know about you, but I adore old things. I wish 'old things' could talk, can you imagine the story they could tell us? I've always felt I was born into the wrong era. I'm certain life in a Jane Austen novel would have suited me well. But the reality is, for most from this era, life didn't revolve around tea parties, grand balls and time spent painting watercolours in pretty gardens!  It's easy to romanticize the past, isn't it! A hundred years ago (and less), life for the housewife was far from glamorous, in fact I'd say it was back breakingly hard! So as much as I admire the good ole days, I'm rather thankful for electric irons and automatic washing machines and despite the enticing smell and feel of the old Box Brownie, I'm rather enamored with my fancy modern camera!

a story of new life & letting go of guilt

Remember Guilt free in One Three...it's my mantra this year. I'm slowly working through a list of things I need to let go. But the biggest, most suffocating guilt I've carried for the last almost eleven years is that I failed to birth my babies naturally.

I'm four foot eleven and Ben is six foot one. Someone near and dear to us has always said (in good humour) that Nelwyns* shouldn't marry Daikini's*! But we can't help who we fall in love with, right!? I certainly wouldn't have it any other way. In any case, this was my chance to breed some height into our vertically challenged family.

You can't imagine how enormous I was in the later stages of pregnancy with my first born. I was so ridiculously massive that people winced when they saw me. Stepping into the supermarket I could clear the aisle in seconds....folks would see that tummy coming towards them and run! It was apparent to everyone (all except me and my doctor surprisingly) that the baby I was carrying was indeed BIG and most definitely a Daikini! To add insult to my pregnancy discomfort, baby decided to stay snug in his cocoon for ten days past the expected due date!

Like most first timers, I had high hopes for a tranquil natural labour. I was well informed, confident and determined. A good friend tried to prepare me for a scenario that ended with a C-section delivery, but as far as I was concerned, that was her experience and I was different and without a doubt far more tenacious. *Sigh*, hindsight is a wonderful thing.

Without giving you a minute by minute run down....the gist is....what began as a text book induction extended into 48 hours of labour, culminating with an extremely wrung-out mum-to-be, a baby suffering foetal distress, a severely potent (and miscalculated) epidural and an emergency caesarian delivery. I was exhausted, bruised and battered (literally), but thanks to the marvel of modern medicine, my darling boy Harry was brought safely into the world, weighing in at a whopping nine pound one and incredibly, fifty seven centimetres in length. He never entered the birth canal...and the midwives were, on reflection, relieved he hadn't. Although I'd dilated fully, I never experienced pushing sensations of any kind. 

I know a healthy mother and baby is all that matters - I know it could have been worse. But for me (and my shell-shocked husband) it was stressful and traumatic and not such a great start to parenthood. And it damaged my state of mind in more ways than you can imagine.

For a long time afterwards, well meaning people reminded me that it didn't matter how my baby arrived in the world - a healthy baby and mum is all that matters. The logical part of my brain knew what they said was true, but my heart didn't believe it for a second. My heart, in fact, has taunted me over this failure...for years. My heart it seems is really loud, in this case its' overpowering noise drowned out any logical thoughts that filtered through. Until now.

I still get teary thinking about Harry's birth. During the first 14 months of his life I was miserable - I loved and adored my little man of course, but many days were a struggle. I was plagued by weariness, anxiety, sadness, and while I didn't know at the time, was most definitely suffering post natal depression. It was hard to articulate how I felt and even those close to me had no clue of the extent of my suffering. The only way I could explain my feelings was to say I felt as though my body started something that it never got to finish. My body knew what to do in labour, but it didn't see it through. I carried an overwhelming and crushing sense of incompleteness.

Harry is a week away from turning eleven. He is a tall, strong, healthy and wonderfully intelligent boy. Whilst I'll always carry a sadness about childbirth, I'm no longer riddled with guilt. To be honest though, making a conscious decision to ditch the guilt has been harder than I ever anticipated - when you live with certain feelings for such a long time, you come to rely on them even if they are damaging. Writing about it has helped immensely, even though my emotions are once again raw and tears have been shed, even after all this time has passed. Words as therapy? I should have done this a long time ago, but I suppose I wasn't ready.

Harry is a gift, a part of me. I'm his mum no matter what and I doubt anyone will ever ask him how he came to arrive in this world!



* Remember the movie Willow?

sick days

Till was first (a light case...she's our little tough-nut), then Ben and now Harry (who has been hit the hardest). But not me folks, do you hear? I'm not getting sick. Uh uh. End of discussion!

Should I make a batch of George's Marvellous Medicine, just to be sure the lurgies stay away?