Video

When I started this blog I chose to make it semi-anonymous, not using names or making our location clear. It felt important to keep the family’s privacy, particularly as T might not want things shared when he’s older.

Yet I also want to raise awareness of MPS of course, and sometimes those two aims collide.

A while back we were approached to take part in a documentary being filmed by a final year film student. I agreed, knowing that it would be pretty much impossible to not use names in something like this. But after all, if it looked rubbish and I hated listening to my voice I’d never have to share it.

It isn’t rubbish, and I’m not actually wincing when listening to myself. Hopefully it does a good job at capturing the highs and lows of living with a Pudding.

I’ll carry on with the pseudonyms because it’s habit now, but if you click on this link here we all are

(Thank you, Josh, for doing an amazing job. Hope you get good marks!)

Interview with an MPS sibling

Most people will know that #MyMPSHero is a chubby little boy with a big smile and an impressive head of curls. But of course there are many heroes in my MPS world and today I’m handing over to one of them. MPS siblings put up with a lot and my biggest boy, T, is no exception to that. We’ve always tried to be open and honest with him about Pudding’s condition but sometimes I do wonder what he makes of it all. T agreed to be interviewed by me for this blog post and I’ll leave his words to speak for him:

Boy wearing #MPSday t-shirt with a blue paper bow-tie and moustacheHow would you explain Mucopolysaccharidosis to someone who has never heard of it?

It’s a disease that not many people get so it’s very rare. It makes lots of the parts of your body not work very well.

How does it affect your brother?

It’s stopped him from talking and he doesn’t really understand very much of what we’re saying. He never actually goes by rules of games because he doesn’t understand. I don’t like thinking about the bad bits because it’s too upsetting.

What’s the best thing about living with Pudding?

Cos of MPS that’s made him look really cute, so that’s nice. He also gives really good cuddles and kisses.

And what’s the worst thing?

That’s easy to say – he always hits us and throws books at us. Other things as well as books.

What is he good at?

He’s good at throwing things! And as I already said he’s good at doing cuddles and kisses. He’s also really good at football.

What do you think he’ll be like in the future?

I don’t really know. I’ve got an idea that some time there might be an antidote to MPS. But I don’t want it to stop him being cute though.

Do you have any advice to give other children who have a brother or sister like Pudding?

You’d better get good at dodging things. But try not to get angry when they do throw things because then that encourages them to do it again.

I know you didn’t like it when he moved away from the school you go to. Why was that?

I liked him being at school because he would roam around a lot, and sometimes he would come and invade our classroom and give me a cuddle. But I’ve got used to him not being there now.

Can you imagine what it would be like to have a brother more like you?

Yup.

Do you think you’d prefer that?

Not really, because I like Pudding. He’s cute.

So do you think he’s the best brother you could possibly have? (incredibly leading question from the interviewer!)

Yes!!

Looathon

The theme for this year’s MPS Awareness Day on May 15th is ‘My MPS Hero’. I think most of you will be able to guess who that is for me!

But today my heroes are completely different.

I’ve mentioned the campaign to get more Changing Places toilets installed before. Although provision is growing, there are still however only 1104 in the whole country. To put that into context, research suggests that there are over a quarter a million people with severe disabilities who cannot use a standard accessible toilet and need the extra facilities that a Changing Places loo provides. A quarter of a million adults and children who have no choice but to either stay at home, sit in their own waste or be changed in inadequate conditions.

Today to highlight this issue there is a fantastic group of people sitting in a Bathstore shop window in Baker St, London with their pants down. Shocking? Not as shocking as lying your child on a toilet floor.

Some people have criticised this way of raising awareness, saying surely it’s better to put together a petition, speak to government and try to get the regulations changed. But do you know what, all those have been tried already. Maybe this way, people will actually sit up and take notice and wonder what it is really like to have no rights to dignity. After all, any one of us could end up with a life-changing disability and be in this situation too.

looathonAs Sarah Brisidon, the pants-tastic organiser of this event says, she’s doing it ‘because my little boy (& every disabled person) deserves more than a toilet floor’.

If you want to get involved and can’t get down to Baker St in person to gawp (um, I mean support), you can take your own #looselfie and share on social media using the hashtag #Pantsdown4equality

Here’s mine! It’s only a small contribution, but the real heroes are those who keep on campaigning for change and will go to almost any lengths to make it happen.looselfie

 

PS. Once you’ve finished celebrating these heroes, don’t forget to wear blue on 15th May for MPS!

Escaping the dark tunnel

The last few weeks I’ve felt a bit like I’ve walked out into a wide green meadow after a long dark tunnel. Whilst I was in the tunnel it didn’t seem too bad – I was coping with it – but it’s only once I’ve left it that I realised what I was missing.

As a SEND parent or carer it’s easy to neglect one’s own mental health. You spend so much time focusing on all the things that have to be done right now, and the worrying about the future, that you never realise that somewhere along the way you have lost yourself.

Pudding wearing a felt toy shopping basket on his head.Lately I’ve been trying to work out what’s changed to make me feel different. After all, Pudding is the same gorgeous trouble he always is. His diagnosis hasn’t changed. The future is still uncertain. It’s just my own attitude that has changed. Some of it has been down to things that I’ve been able to control, and some of it has been external factors.

I know I won’t always maintain this improvement so here’s my own personal ‘How To’ guide on how to escape that tunnel!

Sunshine: Obviously I’m not ominpotent and so this is a commodity that’s been in short supply lately! But there’s no denying that the weather makes a big difference to my mood. So when the sunshine appears make the most of it, even if it’s only to step outside the door for a moment, turn your face up to those magical rays, close your eyes and breathe.

Music: Music can have such power to move us, to trigger tears or uplift us. My new car has a working radio and CD player and I hadn’t realised how much I had missed this. Now I am rediscovering the joy of staying sat in the car once I reach my destination just because Ravel’s Bolero is too damn brilliant to turn off. (Obviously this only happens when I’m alone because otherwise…well…kids!). Whatever floats your boat – classical, show tunes, R ‘n’ B – indulge yourself.

Friends: A good laugh and chat with friends just can’t be beat.

Good food: Let’s face it, kid-friendly food is boring. A beetroot and mackerel salad, dark salted caramel chocolate, a special meal out – they can delight the senses and make me think life is worth living rather than just enduring.

Clearing out: Ticking things off the To Do list, clearing out a cupboard or divesting yourself of a responsibility that is stressing you out really can feel like a weight is lifted. Lately I’ve finally been getting round to doing some much-needed decluttering in order to eventually sell the house. The more I get done the better I feel.

Of course, the problem is that none of this really works when I’m in the depths of the tunnel. Music makes me cry, the thought of getting anything done sends me into a spiral of anxiety and I am so good at convincing myself that no-one could possibly want to spend time with me.

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERASo how to get past it? One thing at the MPS conference this weekend really helped to clarify my thinking about how things have been in the last few months. My favourite psychologist showed this diagram (and sorry, I don’t know who should be credited!). Essentially it shows that what you think about something affects how you feel which in turn informs behaviour, and so on. Round and round. Negative thoughts lead to negative feelings and behaviour that doesn’t help the situation. This was a bit of a lightbulb moment for me as it is so true: now something has happened to interrupt that cycle.

When Pudding starts throwing, instead of getting frustrated I have re-framed it in my mind, recognise it as communicating his need for attention, and can deal with it calmly. When we’re out and someone gives us ‘that look’, I can choose to think of it as the reaction of ignorance and prejudice rather than a comment on my parenting, not let it hurt me and continue enjoying our day. Of course, I ain’t going to be perfect at this all the time, but who is?!

But (and it is a big but) when you are stuck in that long dark tunnel none of this common sense advice actually makes a difference. If it’s so dark that you can’t even see your hands in front of you, it is unbelievably hard to step forwards.

In which case it is ok to ask for help. Whether that is medication, counselling, respite or even just a shoulder to cry on, anything that can help break that cycle of negativity will simply make you a better parent.

Life is hard enough, parenting is hard enough, let alone adding in all the extra complications of a SEND life. Asking for help is not an admission of failure.

So next time I hit a dip I will try to come back and read this. Perhaps it will help.

Inclusion

I’ve still got a rather warm, fuzzy feeling going on today. Why? Because of the weekend that Pudding and I have had.

Weekends when Hubby and T went up to visit the in-laws used to feel really LONG. But this time I think we had it sussed. Saturday was a respite morning and we’d cunningly planned good weather in the afternoon so Pudding alternated watching TV with coming out and helping me in the garden (by making me play football). After a miserable few months of rain and cold he is really enjoying the freedom of being able to bob in and out whenever he wants. And what is more I had such fun with him too – his enjoyment allowed us to have that lovely connection and appreciation of the moment.

But Sunday was even better because of the time spent with others. One of Pudding’s classmates from mainstream was having a science party and he was included in the best possible way, that is, on his own terms. The party started at 11am but as we were welcome to turn up for any or all of it (Pudding and chemical ingredients don’t mix all that well!) we arrived just in time for his favourite bit – food! The birthday girl and a friend immediately ran up to show him the slime that they had made, and another girl helped encourage him to finish his lunch and saved him a cake. When we went outside afterwards to set off rockets, Pudding loved joining the others to chase the lemonade bottles that had been launched into the air. Then he proudly showed the one he was carrying to all the adults inside.

Often encounters outside the house can be fraught with my worries of Pudding’s behaviour being judged and that makes it difficult to let go and relax. But yesterday so many of the children and adults engaged with him, treating him as just a normal part of their lives that I can safely say I’ve never enjoyed a children’s party more.

There was a slight low point in the day when Pudding escaped out the gate that I hadn’t closed properly and ran off down the road. But hey, even that has a silver lining – he actually stayed on the pavement and didn’t run straight into the road – so we’ll skim over that episode, eh?!

Pudding and me running along track through green spaceEarlier in the morning we didn’t have any particular plans but at the last minute I decided we’d go to the Parkrun. For those of you who haven’t heard of this (where have you been?) these are free weekly runs organised by volunteers. The adult one is 5km but locally we also have a junior version the next day which is only 2km. The fantastic thing about parkrun is that it truly is open to everyone, regardless of ability. Everyone is welcomed, supported and included. We’ve been a few times before and Pudding has never made it anywhere near the whole distance – true to form his instinct is to veer off in the opposite direction to everyone else and we use various tricks and encouragements to keep him on the right track. But that simply doesn’t matter at all; the volunteers celebrate each little inchstone with us, offering high-fives and cheers. This time we got further than ever before, probably still less than 1km, but it felt almost as much of an achievement as those running the London Marathon on the same day. (Almost!)

Pudding thrives on the company of others. He runs in his own peculiar gait with a massive grin on his face. And it puts a big grin on my face too. This really is inclusion at its best.

First week

I know there is some controversy over the term ‘special school’ and so far when referring to Pudding’s new school I’ve been careful to use the official term specialist provision instead. But do you know what? After his first week there I’d like to say it IS special.

To be fair, most schools are special places, full of amazing teachers and hope for the future. (When they are not being destroyed by funding cuts, the need to teach irrelevant grammar, endless curriculum changes, etc, etc, but I won’t go off on a rant about that. Promise!)

But this place feels even more special to me. As I’ve said many times before, I’ve been so happy with the way Pudding’s mainstream school has done their best for him, welcoming him and all his ways into the school community. Yet, now I feel he’s in a place where he truly fits in. At mainstream, he would always stand out as being different and be treated as … well… a special case. But now, he’s with other children who have the same or similar needs.

Pudding in white school topIt is hard to describe the relief I felt on getting the first letter home describing what his class was going to get up to this half term. I no longer have to deal with the heart-sink of reading ‘this week we’re going to be looking at number bonds to twenty’ when my son can’t even count to two. Instead I read about an emphasis on mark-making, sensory play and grouping objects. They work on self-care and regulating emotions, do dance and explore stories in amazing interactive ways. It’s exciting watching this new future unfold in front of him.

His first day was unsettling of course – waving him off in a taxi and knowing that I wouldn’t get to speak to his teacher directly at pick-up like I’m used to. But as the week went on, we got into routine. Pudding happily looked out for the taxi each morning, and climbed into it looking very proud of himself. And in the afternoon his welcoming committee (me, T, Niece and Nephew) waited impatiently at the window for the first glimpse of his smiling face. We have a home-school communication book to pass messages back and forth. And pictures are regularly added to an online account so that I can see what they’ve been up to in class.

school

One of the biggest changes for me is the school run. I’m used to looking out the window first thing to check the weather, decide if we need the buggy cover. I’m used to getting boiling hot with the effort of pushing the buggy and stripping off layers by the time we reach school. Yet now, T and I saunter along and I could even have the luxury of an umbrella if it’s pouring. But oddly, I miss it. I miss other kids saying hello to him as they head to the nearby secondary. And I miss Pudding – even though I only see him for about an hour less each day. But it makes his greeting when he does get home even more special.

Apart from that, I literally couldn’t be happier. And Pudding seems pretty happy too, so win-win all round.

 

Photos

I love looking through baby photos, don’t you?

Those sweet little expressions they used to pull, the chubby cheeks, the memories they bring back…

And there’s the rub. Because the memories can be bitter sweet.

Whilst I enjoy Facebook’s On This Day feature – laughing at the funny things T used to say, or reminders of days out we enjoyed – sometimes it punches me with what could have been.

I might see a photo of the panto we went to a few years ago and realise that Pudding never says anything as clearly now as when he asked ‘Where de moo?’

A photo will come up of a hospital bed, and I’ll be transported right back to those terrible first few months where the only thing that seemed real was the knowledge that I couldn’t escape this nightmare.

Pudding aged 3Sometimes though the hardest photos of all are those from before diagnosis. When I had never heard the initials MPS. Photos from more innocent days. I look at his so-obviously-Hunters face and think ‘How could I not have known? Why didn’t I fight harder to get his delays looked into? Why did I let the professionals’ dismissals over-ride my concerns over the way he looked and acted? How could I have missed what is so obvious to me now?’

Pudding aged 2

But of course I couldn’t have known. I’d never seen a boy with Hunter Syndrome before. I didn’t know what that baby face with its broad nose and big forehead meant. I didn’t know what all the niggling little symptoms added up to. How could I have done? That’s the problem with rare diseases like mucopolysaccharidosis. You rarely see them.

And that’s why I keep on blogging and sharing pictures of Pudding. In the hope that one day, somebody somewhere will recognise these features in their own child and press for a diagnosis.

I can’t stop them feeling all that pain, but hopefully in the future they won’t be the one looking at happy memories and wondering why they didn’t know.