This morning I was awoken at 5.30am by a cat vigorously plucking away at the loose bit of landing carpet which has come away from the bar underneath our bedroom door. The landing carpet in Barton Place was laid in a similarly shambolic manner (because I laid it) so they used to do that back there too. Fortunately, I was reasonably well rested, having fallen asleep rather early on the living room rug after half-a-bottle of wine (thank you, Andrew), a nice Chinese (thank you, Canton takeaway) and half a large bar of Galaxy (thank you, alcohol-induced lowered self-will), with Paul watching all the episodes of 'Airport Live' he missed during the week we've had no TV (thank you Rev'd Training Incumbent, for drawing husband's attention to this).
At 7am, or thereabouts, a tiny voice will appear over the baby monitor, and earnestly say something like "ro-ro-ro", "da-da-da", "ayyy" or "geh-geh", any of which may be loosely interpreted as "oy, I'm awake you know, bring me my milk!" But I'll use the hour or so before this happens to write what will probably be my last post, at least on this blog.
So, I'm getting ordained in precisely 1 week.
For the last little while I've been thinking a lot about deservedness. As I reflect on these last couple of years the only thing I can think is that I haven't deserved any of it. Going right back to the process of discernment and the BAP, there was no way I deserved to get that letter from the Bishop saying that - yes - the BAP were recommending me for training. Looking around me at St David's, I was always aware that the vast majority of people were older than me, had been Christians for longer, and had more experience in a whole host of the skills and qualities which you're asked to evidence during the discernment process - so why on earth should I be the one with the cheek to say I think God is calling me to a role of leadership and service in the church, to break bread and minister to his people as Priest?
Reflecting on my experience at college, again, I've not deserved any of what I've received in material terms. Mr A and I rocked up at Cuddesdon just shy of two years ago. We were given a lovely flat with no bills to pay, plus a student grant enough to live on, and invited in gracious hospitality to three meals a day. I was enrolled on a Masters at one of the top Universities in the world and given the priviledge of learning from, and alongside, some very fine people. Why invest so much in me? Not because I'd done anything to deserve it, but because the Church believed that God was calling me to serve as Priest. In the secular world, you'd have to had done a lot of climbing the ladder before a company invested so much in your continued training. Either that or signed a contract saying you'd pay it all back if you changed your mind or didn't complete the course. I was asked to sign no such contract.
And here I am in a large house with nice furniture (resettlement grant), with no rent or mortgage to pay. Materially speaking, I have been given all I need. A stipend is not a huge amount of money, but it's supposed to be enough to take away financial worry and allow you to concentrate on ministry. So I'll never own a sports car, but if all I want in life is food on the table (and probably to be able to visit the Canton Chinese takeaway on a weekly basis) and occasionally go on holiday somewhere reasonably nice, that will be ok. But I haven't deserved it.
We didn't really deserve Arthur. People say that children are a gift and that really is the case. I don't want to get all soppy and go on for paragraphs about his lovely little face, but I could. In a few minutes I'll go upstairs and open the curtains and he'll greet me with a big smile and an excited wave of the arms. As parents, babies put their trust in us to look after them. It's a huge responsibility, and as they grow up there's any number of things we can do to break that trust. But their initial, primal instinct is to trust Mum and Dad to give them all they need. They haven't seen our CVs, haven't asked whether we have any prior experience in bottle-making-up or nappy-changing or making decisions about administration of Calpol. So we haven't deserved their trust. But from the first day they put themselves fully into our care.
I won't deserve to wear clericals or to be called 'Reverend' or any of that stuff. And I won't deserve occupation of the place of trust that any of that brings. This non-deservedness is a hard thing to accept, but one which I feel is important to maintain. The moment anyone, clergy or not, decides that the gifts God has given them are a result of their own deservedness, something is lost. 'Grace' is the greatest term in the Christian vocabulary, it is what everything in the Christian faith comes down to. A gift freely given, and undeserved.
Anyway, I've written this Blog post having been unsure of how it will end. But standing in awe of God's Grace would seem to be the ultimate place. So I will sign off with that thought, and ordination looming, into a future which will be marked by as-yet-unknown things, to go to places I do not deserve to go, to meet people I do not deserve to meet, and do things I do not deserve to do, but to embrace it all because of God's grace.
"For the Mighty One has done great things for me,
and holy is his name."
Sunday, 23 June 2013
Thursday, 13 June 2013
Journeys End, Journeys Begin #2
This time last week I was at my last ever Cuddesdon Bright Hour, somewhat intoxicated on the house white, having been at the very reflective Leavers' retreat all day. Kate and I did a sketch about surviving college with a baby and good fun was had by all.
Tonight I am sitting in a large and eerily quiet house (no TV aerial!) in the centre of Bridgwater, having just eaten my own bodyweight of beef with green pepper and egg fried rice from the local Chinese (which I must say, was excellent).
What's happened in the last week?
Well, Friday was the Leavers' service. I donned my brand new cassock, my brand new stole (with sheep and hills and a river on it!) was blessed, and all of a sudden, through the West Door of All Saints, as so many have before, I left college! Hugs and handshakes and "good lucks" were had by all. We pottered home.
Having set aside Saturday to do 'practical things' we discovered there was nothing still to do, so generally faffed about. Sunday was good. We went to a barbecue with my lovely cell group, the Prayer Bears (yep, I know...) and in the evening Kate and I polished off a bottle of bubbly.
On Monday, at 9.30am, as they had promised, a MASSIVE lorry backed up to Runcie. Seriously, you have never seen a lorry so big. Within 3-and-a-half hours our flat was empty and the lorry was 1/4 full (honestly... the lorry was far too big!) Craig and Steve from Pickfords had picked and packed and carried everything we own down 4 flights of stairs, and off they went. We took a turn around the empty flat with Arthur waving "bye bye kitchen", "bye bye bedroom" etc. etc., dropped the keys back and headed that old familiar route down the M4 and M5 for the last time in a while. We picked up the keys to our Curate's House from a secret location where they had been left by Rev Will. 8 years after leaving, we were residents of the TA postcode again!
We stayed overnight at Mum and Dad's, and on Tuesday Craig and Steve rocked up at the Curate's House. It took them an impressive hour to move everything in, and they even offered to unpack for us (I declined... they'd already seen my underwear once!)
Tuesday was mainly spent wandering around in a daze. The Curate's House really is huge. Everything about it feels big. When people build houses nowadays, they usually build them quite economically, but not the Victorians! The ceilings are around 10ft high! I'm exhausted just climbing the stairs! It took all the brain power I had to contemplate how to unpack the contents of the 1 kitchen drawer we had in our Runcie kitchen into the 16 drawers of our new kitchen, and our two small two-seater sofas look pretty sad in the living room.
Wednesday was a far more productive day. Mum and Dad came over to help. Mum entertained Arthur so we could get the boxes unpacked quicker, and Dad strimmed the jungle of a garden, revealing a rather neat lawn beneath!
Today, we've mainly been hanging curtains, and now that they're up we're intending to spend our first night sleeping here tonight.
Bridgwater's a pretty nice place. I've no idea where it gets its sometimes dubious reputation - everyone we've met has been so friendly, especially our new neighbours who have all popped past to say welcome. I think we're going to get on very well.
I'll miss Cuddesdon a lot. But having got here I'm sure this is where I need to be. The right time and the right place.
Tonight I am sitting in a large and eerily quiet house (no TV aerial!) in the centre of Bridgwater, having just eaten my own bodyweight of beef with green pepper and egg fried rice from the local Chinese (which I must say, was excellent).
What's happened in the last week?
Well, Friday was the Leavers' service. I donned my brand new cassock, my brand new stole (with sheep and hills and a river on it!) was blessed, and all of a sudden, through the West Door of All Saints, as so many have before, I left college! Hugs and handshakes and "good lucks" were had by all. We pottered home.
Having set aside Saturday to do 'practical things' we discovered there was nothing still to do, so generally faffed about. Sunday was good. We went to a barbecue with my lovely cell group, the Prayer Bears (yep, I know...) and in the evening Kate and I polished off a bottle of bubbly.
On Monday, at 9.30am, as they had promised, a MASSIVE lorry backed up to Runcie. Seriously, you have never seen a lorry so big. Within 3-and-a-half hours our flat was empty and the lorry was 1/4 full (honestly... the lorry was far too big!) Craig and Steve from Pickfords had picked and packed and carried everything we own down 4 flights of stairs, and off they went. We took a turn around the empty flat with Arthur waving "bye bye kitchen", "bye bye bedroom" etc. etc., dropped the keys back and headed that old familiar route down the M4 and M5 for the last time in a while. We picked up the keys to our Curate's House from a secret location where they had been left by Rev Will. 8 years after leaving, we were residents of the TA postcode again!
We stayed overnight at Mum and Dad's, and on Tuesday Craig and Steve rocked up at the Curate's House. It took them an impressive hour to move everything in, and they even offered to unpack for us (I declined... they'd already seen my underwear once!)
Tuesday was mainly spent wandering around in a daze. The Curate's House really is huge. Everything about it feels big. When people build houses nowadays, they usually build them quite economically, but not the Victorians! The ceilings are around 10ft high! I'm exhausted just climbing the stairs! It took all the brain power I had to contemplate how to unpack the contents of the 1 kitchen drawer we had in our Runcie kitchen into the 16 drawers of our new kitchen, and our two small two-seater sofas look pretty sad in the living room.
Wednesday was a far more productive day. Mum and Dad came over to help. Mum entertained Arthur so we could get the boxes unpacked quicker, and Dad strimmed the jungle of a garden, revealing a rather neat lawn beneath!
Today, we've mainly been hanging curtains, and now that they're up we're intending to spend our first night sleeping here tonight.
Bridgwater's a pretty nice place. I've no idea where it gets its sometimes dubious reputation - everyone we've met has been so friendly, especially our new neighbours who have all popped past to say welcome. I think we're going to get on very well.
I'll miss Cuddesdon a lot. But having got here I'm sure this is where I need to be. The right time and the right place.
Saturday, 1 June 2013
Baby Boomers
This morning was Joseph's baptism. It was a very moving service, and the first baptism to be held in the new Edward King chapel. Joseph's Dad, Andrew, spoke beautifully about God's love as being a bit like a boat. Tim, who performed the baptism, linked this image to a baby cradled in arms.
Looking around the chapel, I reflected on how the community has grown in the last 2 years. Specifically, the number of babies we've had since I started. If my memory serves me right, in the time I have been here there have been 10 babies born. And there are plenty more on the way!
Why are so many babies born at Cuddesdon?
On the face of it, it is, for many, not an inconvenient time to have a baby. Many people entering college fit into that demographic of 20 or 30-somethings married in the last few years and ready to start a family, or with one or two young children and wanting more. Spouses have often had to leave employment to move to Cuddesdon, so it can form a natural career break. For female ordinands, training can be tailored around pregnancy a little easier than can the first couple of years of a Curacy.
But is there more to it than that?
I wonder whether living in this sort of community and having babies goes together so well because, when you're going through pregnancy and the first few months of parenthood, you really, really need community. You'll remember me saying that, when Arthur was born, lasagnes would spontaneously turn up on our doorstep every evening. That simply wouldn't happen anywhere else. Arthur's wardrobe also consists of about 80% borrowed clothes and hand-me-downs. Having other babies around me has been important for Arthur's development, and knowing there are other parents of young children around to ask for advice has been, quite literally, a Godsend.
I guess this is why other people go to parent and baby/toddler groups. I just happen to live in one!
Babies surely need community then. But I'm also convinced that community needs babies. There's something important about a community living in the reality of new life coming into the world. And not just the quaint, cute side of it, but the real side of it. My own pregnancy and Arthur's birth and what has happened since were made particularly difficult due to his medical problems, but since being at Cuddesdon I've learnt that no parent has an easy ride, and some people can go through an incredibly hard time in the process of conception, pregnancy, birth and caring for a baby for a number of reasons. Somehow, the extremes of life - suffering and joy - come together in babies, and it seems somehow right that this is a feature of this community.
Looking wider, since I've been at Cuddesdon we've also seen serious illness and more recently, sadly, the death of our dear Bursar, David. And the presence of the Sisters has brought people of an older age to our community. The Holy Hill isn't some University campus where 20-somethings sit exams and philosophise for the sake of it. It's a real, living breathing place which sees every aspect of life. Babies are just one element of that.
Well, there's my tuppance for the day. It's also come to my attention that today is 1st June and so for the first time I can say I'm going to be ordained this month. Now that's a bit terrifying. Still more terrifying, by this time next week I'll have technically left college (although we'll be staying in our flat until Monday 10th!)
And, even more pressingly, Arthur seems to have worked out, as of yesterday, that particular skill of walking his hands forward and stretching one leg out behind him in order to reach a far away object. Which means it's only a matter of days until he figures that by bringing the other leg round too he will be able to achieve the forward propulsion he's been desiring for so many weeks!
Better get some rest now. I'm going to need the energy!
Looking around the chapel, I reflected on how the community has grown in the last 2 years. Specifically, the number of babies we've had since I started. If my memory serves me right, in the time I have been here there have been 10 babies born. And there are plenty more on the way!
Why are so many babies born at Cuddesdon?
On the face of it, it is, for many, not an inconvenient time to have a baby. Many people entering college fit into that demographic of 20 or 30-somethings married in the last few years and ready to start a family, or with one or two young children and wanting more. Spouses have often had to leave employment to move to Cuddesdon, so it can form a natural career break. For female ordinands, training can be tailored around pregnancy a little easier than can the first couple of years of a Curacy.
But is there more to it than that?
I wonder whether living in this sort of community and having babies goes together so well because, when you're going through pregnancy and the first few months of parenthood, you really, really need community. You'll remember me saying that, when Arthur was born, lasagnes would spontaneously turn up on our doorstep every evening. That simply wouldn't happen anywhere else. Arthur's wardrobe also consists of about 80% borrowed clothes and hand-me-downs. Having other babies around me has been important for Arthur's development, and knowing there are other parents of young children around to ask for advice has been, quite literally, a Godsend.
I guess this is why other people go to parent and baby/toddler groups. I just happen to live in one!
Babies surely need community then. But I'm also convinced that community needs babies. There's something important about a community living in the reality of new life coming into the world. And not just the quaint, cute side of it, but the real side of it. My own pregnancy and Arthur's birth and what has happened since were made particularly difficult due to his medical problems, but since being at Cuddesdon I've learnt that no parent has an easy ride, and some people can go through an incredibly hard time in the process of conception, pregnancy, birth and caring for a baby for a number of reasons. Somehow, the extremes of life - suffering and joy - come together in babies, and it seems somehow right that this is a feature of this community.
Looking wider, since I've been at Cuddesdon we've also seen serious illness and more recently, sadly, the death of our dear Bursar, David. And the presence of the Sisters has brought people of an older age to our community. The Holy Hill isn't some University campus where 20-somethings sit exams and philosophise for the sake of it. It's a real, living breathing place which sees every aspect of life. Babies are just one element of that.
Well, there's my tuppance for the day. It's also come to my attention that today is 1st June and so for the first time I can say I'm going to be ordained this month. Now that's a bit terrifying. Still more terrifying, by this time next week I'll have technically left college (although we'll be staying in our flat until Monday 10th!)
And, even more pressingly, Arthur seems to have worked out, as of yesterday, that particular skill of walking his hands forward and stretching one leg out behind him in order to reach a far away object. Which means it's only a matter of days until he figures that by bringing the other leg round too he will be able to achieve the forward propulsion he's been desiring for so many weeks!
Better get some rest now. I'm going to need the energy!
Saturday, 18 May 2013
On Mission, Ministry and CBeebies
Mr A and I have recently discovered a new thing. It is called CBeebies.
Before you shake your heads in disapproval at our plopping poor young Arthur in front of the goggle-box which is sure to have turned his brain to mush before he reaches his first birthday, I mitigate this statement by saying we only put it on for a very set amount of time every day and it is really rather a useful thing in allowing Mr A and I to go about our morning routine while keeping Arthur suitably entertained. Arthur is still at the age where essentially any TV programme with movement, colour and familiar theme tunes will provoke an enthusiastic reaction (as is seen by his reaction to 'Pointless' - the only other TV programme he watches on a daily basis!) but somehow putting him in front of children's TV seems more wholesome parenting!
I must say, I'm finding the simple moral messages of pre-school TV quite refreshing. It's also amazingly weird how efficient it is at structuring our mornings.
I always know whether Morning Prayer has overrun or not by whether I catch the end-credits of train-based series Chuggington (7.50am-8am). The morning then proceeds as follows -
8am-8.05am - Woolly and Tig - Dull and a bit too sickly-sweet for my taste. Featuring a cuddly-toy spider and a little girl. Normally make a cup of tea for the 5 minutes while this is on.
8.05am-8.20am - Mike the Knight - Very much forms the heart of my daily CBeebies experience. More on this later.
8.20am-8.30am - Timmy Time - Aardman's offering to Pre-Schoolers. Smaller version of Shaun the Sheep. I'm often not entirely sure of the storyline because there isn't any dialogue but the characters are very cute and cuddly.
Very often we head out to College Breakfast at this point, but if we stay at home we move on to -
8.30am-8.40am - Pingu - A blast from the past. Doesn't seem to have changed much since I watched it. Again, because my attention isn't always fully on the TV I often miss the plot.
8.40am - 9am - Me Too - If I haven't headed into college by this point it's worth holding on for this rare treat. The endlessly enthusiastic Nanny Murray provides a childminding service while we follow the parents of children about their daily business.
If we reach The Koala Brothers we have gone too far and should really be doing something more productive.
Anyway, back to Mike. Perhaps I identify with him because he's "a trainee Knight" (as I am a trainee priest) and "every day is an adventure" (as I imagine Curacy will be). For those of you unfamiliar with his work (most of you) here's a summary...
Essentially, Mike, who lives in some form of olden-days settlement complete with a King, Queen, Dragons, Wizards, Vikings, Trolls etc. comes up with a 'mission' every episode. This mission is always very well-intentioned and is normally related to helping people (link to Community-based mission?) Once he has identified his mission, normally about 1/3 way through the episode he declares "I'm Mike the Knight and my mission is to..." in such an enthusiastic voice that you're already anticipating it going wrong. The thing is, Mike, while naturally well-intentioned, has numerous character-flaws He's quite arrogant and tends to take on tasks that are simply too big for him. He's also, let's face it, very often simply a bit dim. His mission, therefore, very quickly goes wrong. By 2/3 through the episode, poor Mike is usually left standing there in his armour with a very downturned mouth lamenting that everything has gone wrong. He will then talk things through with one of his friends (theological reflection?) and identify where things have gone wrong, which necessarily leads to Mike punching the air and declaring "it's time to be a Knight and do it right!" After which, of course, all things are made well. The whole episode is then summarised by a Minstrel and we the viewer are left singing along with the dangerously funky closing theme "be a Knight, do it right, you can be a hero too..."
So, I'm less than 3 weeks from leaving Ripon College Cuddesdon. There's been times when I've been desperate for this time to hurry up and come, but I'm now feeling really quite sad it's almost time to say goodbye, while also excited about what happens next. Ordination is still an event I can only sum up with a non-cheesy understanding of the word 'awesome' (i.e. sort of terrifying and amazing!) I can't quite believe it's all going to happen, but it is, and soon. I'm keen to 'end well' here and enjoy every moment of the next 20 days. And then it's out into the big wide world of ministry, knowing, much like Mike, that I have set myself up to fail miserably but have wonderful moments too. Nothing will go quite to plan, but it's time to trust in God and hopefully things will be just about alright.
It's time to be a Curate and do it right!
Before you shake your heads in disapproval at our plopping poor young Arthur in front of the goggle-box which is sure to have turned his brain to mush before he reaches his first birthday, I mitigate this statement by saying we only put it on for a very set amount of time every day and it is really rather a useful thing in allowing Mr A and I to go about our morning routine while keeping Arthur suitably entertained. Arthur is still at the age where essentially any TV programme with movement, colour and familiar theme tunes will provoke an enthusiastic reaction (as is seen by his reaction to 'Pointless' - the only other TV programme he watches on a daily basis!) but somehow putting him in front of children's TV seems more wholesome parenting!
I must say, I'm finding the simple moral messages of pre-school TV quite refreshing. It's also amazingly weird how efficient it is at structuring our mornings.
I always know whether Morning Prayer has overrun or not by whether I catch the end-credits of train-based series Chuggington (7.50am-8am). The morning then proceeds as follows -
8am-8.05am - Woolly and Tig - Dull and a bit too sickly-sweet for my taste. Featuring a cuddly-toy spider and a little girl. Normally make a cup of tea for the 5 minutes while this is on.
8.05am-8.20am - Mike the Knight - Very much forms the heart of my daily CBeebies experience. More on this later.
8.20am-8.30am - Timmy Time - Aardman's offering to Pre-Schoolers. Smaller version of Shaun the Sheep. I'm often not entirely sure of the storyline because there isn't any dialogue but the characters are very cute and cuddly.
Very often we head out to College Breakfast at this point, but if we stay at home we move on to -
8.30am-8.40am - Pingu - A blast from the past. Doesn't seem to have changed much since I watched it. Again, because my attention isn't always fully on the TV I often miss the plot.
8.40am - 9am - Me Too - If I haven't headed into college by this point it's worth holding on for this rare treat. The endlessly enthusiastic Nanny Murray provides a childminding service while we follow the parents of children about their daily business.
If we reach The Koala Brothers we have gone too far and should really be doing something more productive.
Anyway, back to Mike. Perhaps I identify with him because he's "a trainee Knight" (as I am a trainee priest) and "every day is an adventure" (as I imagine Curacy will be). For those of you unfamiliar with his work (most of you) here's a summary...
Essentially, Mike, who lives in some form of olden-days settlement complete with a King, Queen, Dragons, Wizards, Vikings, Trolls etc. comes up with a 'mission' every episode. This mission is always very well-intentioned and is normally related to helping people (link to Community-based mission?) Once he has identified his mission, normally about 1/3 way through the episode he declares "I'm Mike the Knight and my mission is to..." in such an enthusiastic voice that you're already anticipating it going wrong. The thing is, Mike, while naturally well-intentioned, has numerous character-flaws He's quite arrogant and tends to take on tasks that are simply too big for him. He's also, let's face it, very often simply a bit dim. His mission, therefore, very quickly goes wrong. By 2/3 through the episode, poor Mike is usually left standing there in his armour with a very downturned mouth lamenting that everything has gone wrong. He will then talk things through with one of his friends (theological reflection?) and identify where things have gone wrong, which necessarily leads to Mike punching the air and declaring "it's time to be a Knight and do it right!" After which, of course, all things are made well. The whole episode is then summarised by a Minstrel and we the viewer are left singing along with the dangerously funky closing theme "be a Knight, do it right, you can be a hero too..."
So, I'm less than 3 weeks from leaving Ripon College Cuddesdon. There's been times when I've been desperate for this time to hurry up and come, but I'm now feeling really quite sad it's almost time to say goodbye, while also excited about what happens next. Ordination is still an event I can only sum up with a non-cheesy understanding of the word 'awesome' (i.e. sort of terrifying and amazing!) I can't quite believe it's all going to happen, but it is, and soon. I'm keen to 'end well' here and enjoy every moment of the next 20 days. And then it's out into the big wide world of ministry, knowing, much like Mike, that I have set myself up to fail miserably but have wonderful moments too. Nothing will go quite to plan, but it's time to trust in God and hopefully things will be just about alright.
It's time to be a Curate and do it right!
Monday, 22 April 2013
Back to School
When I was a youngster I was an avid Enid Blyton fan. My favourite series of all was, I think, Malory Towers. There was something very exciting about the idea of boarding school and all the hijinx that could be got up to. Not that I was the sort of child who would have actually got up to much hijinx, but it was certainly fun to read about.
As we drove to past the village sign to Cuddesdon the July before last and caught the first glimpse of college, I remember trying to summon a quote from the first chapter of the first book of Malory Towers. It goes something like - "Darrell craned her neck to catch a glimpse of the school she would call home for the next five years..." Anyone who has driven into Cuddesdon will know the view I mean - looking across the field towards the back of the Runcie buildings and the college beyond. The roofs and chimneys and bell. The view has altered a bit in the last few years, but the principal is still the same. Did I say principal? - I mean, principle. I mean, the view is still very nice.
Cuddesdon has that sort of boarding school feel about it, and that first term had the feel of starting school. All those worries around making friends and keeping up with the work and figuring out how on earth you manage to be in the correct place at the correct time. Soon they gave way to familiarity and routine - why, of course evening prayer is at 5.15pm on some nights and 5.45pm on others! And of course we enter dinner through a different door on a Wednesday night! And of course you get kippers for breakfast on a Tuesday!
And now it's back to school for the last time. As I walked into chapel this morning and looked around the familiar faces in the slightly less-familiar building it felt like the-beginning-of-the-end-of-the-beginning. And as we had our annual 'school photograph' taken this afternoon, I realised it would not be long before this photo - Leavers, 2013 - hanging somewhere in a corridor in College House would be all that would be left of me at Cuddesdon. Removals are booked for precisely 7 weeks time. We're nearly there.
But it's not time to be sentimental. 2 years isn't actually a huge amount of time and, in a sense, it's only ever felt 'transitional'. There have been times this year when Arthur's situation has forced me to detach myself from college almost entirely, and it's a great pity that I feel I still don't know some of the first year as well as I should.
But I need to move on from any regrets now and look to the future. For the next 7 weeks I will be mainly getting as much of my dissertation done as is possible, eating as much free food as is possible and swotting up on all those things I think I really ought to know pre-ordination.
Time to polish those shoes and sharpen those pencils for one final time. Term 6 of 6 is upon us. Over and out!
As we drove to past the village sign to Cuddesdon the July before last and caught the first glimpse of college, I remember trying to summon a quote from the first chapter of the first book of Malory Towers. It goes something like - "Darrell craned her neck to catch a glimpse of the school she would call home for the next five years..." Anyone who has driven into Cuddesdon will know the view I mean - looking across the field towards the back of the Runcie buildings and the college beyond. The roofs and chimneys and bell. The view has altered a bit in the last few years, but the principal is still the same. Did I say principal? - I mean, principle. I mean, the view is still very nice.
Cuddesdon has that sort of boarding school feel about it, and that first term had the feel of starting school. All those worries around making friends and keeping up with the work and figuring out how on earth you manage to be in the correct place at the correct time. Soon they gave way to familiarity and routine - why, of course evening prayer is at 5.15pm on some nights and 5.45pm on others! And of course we enter dinner through a different door on a Wednesday night! And of course you get kippers for breakfast on a Tuesday!
And now it's back to school for the last time. As I walked into chapel this morning and looked around the familiar faces in the slightly less-familiar building it felt like the-beginning-of-the-end-of-the-beginning. And as we had our annual 'school photograph' taken this afternoon, I realised it would not be long before this photo - Leavers, 2013 - hanging somewhere in a corridor in College House would be all that would be left of me at Cuddesdon. Removals are booked for precisely 7 weeks time. We're nearly there.
But it's not time to be sentimental. 2 years isn't actually a huge amount of time and, in a sense, it's only ever felt 'transitional'. There have been times this year when Arthur's situation has forced me to detach myself from college almost entirely, and it's a great pity that I feel I still don't know some of the first year as well as I should.
But I need to move on from any regrets now and look to the future. For the next 7 weeks I will be mainly getting as much of my dissertation done as is possible, eating as much free food as is possible and swotting up on all those things I think I really ought to know pre-ordination.
Time to polish those shoes and sharpen those pencils for one final time. Term 6 of 6 is upon us. Over and out!
Saturday, 6 April 2013
Two Years of Blogging
It's two years since I started this Blog. Well, two years and four days, but I was probably a bit busy on Tuesday so let's for the sake of things say it's two years since I started this Blog.
I've checked, and apparently I started it because, and I quote, "I find there's something satisfying about writing down thoughts and feelings during transitional stages of life and this is one of them."
Who was I writing down thoughts and feelings for? Myself mainly, I think. So why put them online when paper and pen would do just as well? I'm not sure, it just seems like the thing to do, and it's been lovely when people have told me they read this Blog, especially people going through the discernment process and those who have shown an interest in Arthur and his story.
The post about the BAP has now had almost 1,000 views. If I'd known that I'd probably have done a spell check.
It's certainly been a "transitional stage." Paul and I have done lots of things for the first time: sold a house, lived out of the Westcountry, had a baby. My personal firsts: I've been to a BAP, bought a cassock, attended a youth group!
It's certainly been a transitional time.
In the last few weeks I've had quite a sense of ending. College ending, of course. There are now less than 9 weeks to go until college is over, and little more than 12 until I'm ordained.
But things are changing with Arthur too. At 8 months old he's developing his own personality. He responds to things more readily. He shows likes and dislikes. Now, more than ever, he's showing that spina bifida doesn't define him. Spina bifida really dominated the pregnancy and Arthur's first few weeks of life, but over the last couple of months I've felt less need to go on about it. When we meet new people, I tend to try not to tell them about his disability unless it's really relevant. Partly, it's about moving on myself. And it's partly becoming aware that I don't want him growing up believing that disability defines him. It's important he acknowledges it, and that it's a right pain, but the fact is it's there, and he needs to have dreams and ambitions that go beyond it. The last thing I'd want is for him to think about himself, as a child, "I'm Arthur, and I've got spina bifida."
And, of course, my life will be changing as I move into Curacy. For starters, I'll need to be less public about the things that are on my mind, which make Blogging after June less doable. The last thing I'd want would be to write in a way which wasn't able to be entirely honest about how I'm feeling.
So I'll probably draw the Blog to a close at ordination. It's better to do that then just let it fizzle out, that's my thinking. The fact that my posts have got less and less frequent suggest that I need it less these days. And, let's face it, from June I'll have less time for meandering reflections on my own life. Time to look upwards, and outwards, and onwards.
I've checked, and apparently I started it because, and I quote, "I find there's something satisfying about writing down thoughts and feelings during transitional stages of life and this is one of them."
Who was I writing down thoughts and feelings for? Myself mainly, I think. So why put them online when paper and pen would do just as well? I'm not sure, it just seems like the thing to do, and it's been lovely when people have told me they read this Blog, especially people going through the discernment process and those who have shown an interest in Arthur and his story.
The post about the BAP has now had almost 1,000 views. If I'd known that I'd probably have done a spell check.
It's certainly been a "transitional stage." Paul and I have done lots of things for the first time: sold a house, lived out of the Westcountry, had a baby. My personal firsts: I've been to a BAP, bought a cassock, attended a youth group!
It's certainly been a transitional time.
In the last few weeks I've had quite a sense of ending. College ending, of course. There are now less than 9 weeks to go until college is over, and little more than 12 until I'm ordained.
But things are changing with Arthur too. At 8 months old he's developing his own personality. He responds to things more readily. He shows likes and dislikes. Now, more than ever, he's showing that spina bifida doesn't define him. Spina bifida really dominated the pregnancy and Arthur's first few weeks of life, but over the last couple of months I've felt less need to go on about it. When we meet new people, I tend to try not to tell them about his disability unless it's really relevant. Partly, it's about moving on myself. And it's partly becoming aware that I don't want him growing up believing that disability defines him. It's important he acknowledges it, and that it's a right pain, but the fact is it's there, and he needs to have dreams and ambitions that go beyond it. The last thing I'd want is for him to think about himself, as a child, "I'm Arthur, and I've got spina bifida."
And, of course, my life will be changing as I move into Curacy. For starters, I'll need to be less public about the things that are on my mind, which make Blogging after June less doable. The last thing I'd want would be to write in a way which wasn't able to be entirely honest about how I'm feeling.
So I'll probably draw the Blog to a close at ordination. It's better to do that then just let it fizzle out, that's my thinking. The fact that my posts have got less and less frequent suggest that I need it less these days. And, let's face it, from June I'll have less time for meandering reflections on my own life. Time to look upwards, and outwards, and onwards.
Sunday, 17 March 2013
Curacy!!!
Right, as promised in Thursday's post, here is a post about my Title Post. Also known as my Curacy. Or 'the mad Parish who wanted to take on me as an Apprentice Vicar - the fools!'
It is the Benefice of Holy Trinity, Bridgwater with St Hugh's, Durleigh. More info here...
http://www.achurchnearyou.com/bridgwater-holy-trinity
The conversations started in November when Paul and I realised that moving to the Diocese of Bath and Wells would be a practical, sensible and grown-up thing to do both in terms of being near family and being slightly nearer to Bristol Children's Hospital than we would have been in South Devon (at 10 weeks old Arthur made it clear he was in charge, so this move is all his fault!)
We visited in November and were immediately impressed by the potential Training Incumbant and his ministry.
We visited a service in metaphorical hat-and-dark-glasses, which was actually slightly easier than previous 'covert' visits to potential curacies. When people asked where I lived I just told them where I grew up, which is a mere 8 miles away! So it involved almost no lying at all!
It seems ideal. There's a sense of being outward looking and prioritising the wider community, which is absolutely essential to me. The actual liturgy is just about what I'm used to (what 'A Church Near You' calls 'Low End of Catholic') which is great.
We'll be living in central Bridgwater, outside the Parish but within easy walking distance. It'll feel very different to Cuddesdon. One fellow ordinand said to me last week "the thing about Cuddesdon is you can't even go and buy a pen without using your car." My pen buying opportunities will now be abundant. In fact, I'll have Morrisons, Wilkinson, the Works and WHSmith all within a 10 minute walk of the house, which stock a range of pens of all textures, colours and qualities. Also within the specified radius, a terrifying number of restaurants, cafes and takeaways which may pose a problem.
Anyhow, I just cannot wait. In the spirit of prayerful reverence - "bring it on!!!"
It is the Benefice of Holy Trinity, Bridgwater with St Hugh's, Durleigh. More info here...
http://www.achurchnearyou.com/bridgwater-holy-trinity
The conversations started in November when Paul and I realised that moving to the Diocese of Bath and Wells would be a practical, sensible and grown-up thing to do both in terms of being near family and being slightly nearer to Bristol Children's Hospital than we would have been in South Devon (at 10 weeks old Arthur made it clear he was in charge, so this move is all his fault!)
We visited in November and were immediately impressed by the potential Training Incumbant and his ministry.
We visited a service in metaphorical hat-and-dark-glasses, which was actually slightly easier than previous 'covert' visits to potential curacies. When people asked where I lived I just told them where I grew up, which is a mere 8 miles away! So it involved almost no lying at all!
It seems ideal. There's a sense of being outward looking and prioritising the wider community, which is absolutely essential to me. The actual liturgy is just about what I'm used to (what 'A Church Near You' calls 'Low End of Catholic') which is great.
We'll be living in central Bridgwater, outside the Parish but within easy walking distance. It'll feel very different to Cuddesdon. One fellow ordinand said to me last week "the thing about Cuddesdon is you can't even go and buy a pen without using your car." My pen buying opportunities will now be abundant. In fact, I'll have Morrisons, Wilkinson, the Works and WHSmith all within a 10 minute walk of the house, which stock a range of pens of all textures, colours and qualities. Also within the specified radius, a terrifying number of restaurants, cafes and takeaways which may pose a problem.
Anyhow, I just cannot wait. In the spirit of prayerful reverence - "bring it on!!!"
Thursday, 14 March 2013
One Year On
Well, the end of term 'Bright Hour' is done and oh what fun we had. But I'm in rather a contemplative mood as Hilary term Bright Hour marks one year on from that day which must have been the oddest of my life.
If we go by calendar date, the actual anniversary is tomorrow, but I'm not sure I'll have time to write a Blog post tomorrow so I'm doing one now.
Our appointment was 1pm and we went in ten minutes late. Which means it must have been about 1.45pm on the 15th March 2012 when those immortal words "there's just one thing..." were uttered by the sonographer.
In the last year, life has changed a lot.
Mr A and I could now give you a full and thorough definition for all of the following terms: mylomeningocele, hydrocephalus, ventricular-peritoneal shunt, Arnold Chiari, laryngomalacia, vocal chord palsy and many many more.
"Did you drain the baby?" is also a common question in our household and I think nothing of walking into the Doctor's surgery and requesting "a tube of KY jelly, on repeat prescription, for my son who is 7 months old." We also know exactly which car parks at the JR are the least clogged up at which time of day, and have tried most of the products on offer at all of the cafes. We have spent 30 days in Critical Care and lived to tell the tale.
One year ago, I stood outside Bright Hour sobbing, unable to go in and participate in the jollity. Nothing seemed worth it any more.
If only I could have glimpsed today. I got up and went to morning prayer. I came home and Mr A was feeding him Weetabix and mashed banana in his high chair. He smiled through the banana which was both disgusting and charming. We all went to college breakfast, then I went off to preaching class. Then I took Arthur to baby & toddler group. After a delicious lunch of sweet potato and pear (Arthur, not me) I went to prayer group, and came back to find Arthur and Mr A napping on the bed. Arthur and I went to tea at 4. Then we came home and Arthur sat in his Bumbo and watched Pointless, then had his dinner and went to bed. And I went to Bright Hour and only sobbed with laughter.
Life is entirely normal. Catheterisation 5 times a day. More medication than your average baby. But that's really about it.
Here he is tonight getting ready to go to sleep. I wish I could have seen this when I was sobbing outside Bright Hour last year.
I'm able to officially announce my Curacy now, and I'll post about that in a few days. But for now I'd like to take the time to bask in the joy of an entirely normal day.
I feel so blessed.
If we go by calendar date, the actual anniversary is tomorrow, but I'm not sure I'll have time to write a Blog post tomorrow so I'm doing one now.
Our appointment was 1pm and we went in ten minutes late. Which means it must have been about 1.45pm on the 15th March 2012 when those immortal words "there's just one thing..." were uttered by the sonographer.
In the last year, life has changed a lot.
Mr A and I could now give you a full and thorough definition for all of the following terms: mylomeningocele, hydrocephalus, ventricular-peritoneal shunt, Arnold Chiari, laryngomalacia, vocal chord palsy and many many more.
"Did you drain the baby?" is also a common question in our household and I think nothing of walking into the Doctor's surgery and requesting "a tube of KY jelly, on repeat prescription, for my son who is 7 months old." We also know exactly which car parks at the JR are the least clogged up at which time of day, and have tried most of the products on offer at all of the cafes. We have spent 30 days in Critical Care and lived to tell the tale.
One year ago, I stood outside Bright Hour sobbing, unable to go in and participate in the jollity. Nothing seemed worth it any more.
If only I could have glimpsed today. I got up and went to morning prayer. I came home and Mr A was feeding him Weetabix and mashed banana in his high chair. He smiled through the banana which was both disgusting and charming. We all went to college breakfast, then I went off to preaching class. Then I took Arthur to baby & toddler group. After a delicious lunch of sweet potato and pear (Arthur, not me) I went to prayer group, and came back to find Arthur and Mr A napping on the bed. Arthur and I went to tea at 4. Then we came home and Arthur sat in his Bumbo and watched Pointless, then had his dinner and went to bed. And I went to Bright Hour and only sobbed with laughter. Life is entirely normal. Catheterisation 5 times a day. More medication than your average baby. But that's really about it.
Here he is tonight getting ready to go to sleep. I wish I could have seen this when I was sobbing outside Bright Hour last year.
I'm able to officially announce my Curacy now, and I'll post about that in a few days. But for now I'd like to take the time to bask in the joy of an entirely normal day.
I feel so blessed.
Wednesday, 20 February 2013
What am I doing?
At the moment I am mostly wandering around asking myself what I am doing.
In my last blog post I bemoaned the confusing situation whereby I am guilty that I cannot be both 'maternity leave Mummy going to baby groups, providing thoughtful development activities and cooking wholesome organic purees' and 'final year ordinand working hard on MTh and preparing earnestly for ordination' at the same time.
But enough of that already. This week I am looking to the future and wondering exactly what it is I am letting myself in for. What is full-time ordained ministry? What will I be doing? What exactly has skilled me for this job? What will life look like?
I can list what I know ordained ministry is not. A 9-to-5 job. Some may say it is not even a 'job'. It is not salaried in the strictest sense - a stipend is, by definition, an amount of money you are given to free you from financial worries and allow you to do church work full-time. Ordained ministry is not exclusive from personal life - whether you like it or not, there is overlap - you are in a sense 'on duty' as you go about your daily business.
A Priest is required to teach, but I am not a teacher. To listen, but I am not a counsellor. To tend to the sick, but I am not a nurse or a doctor. To co-ordinate, but I am not a manager. To have an awareness of finances, but I am not an accountant. As I contemplate every aspect of church work, I feel completely de-skilled. I'm glad I get 4 years of Curacy to continue my learning, but even then I won't be a teacher or a doctor or an accountant.
Perhaps the Priest's special 'skill' is that they have no implicit skills at all. Faith in God and time to spend doing His work. Prayer is so important, and I'm all to aware that prayer ends up being the thing to slip down the clergy 'to do' list, but without it the Priest has no foundation. The Priest brings what he/she is. Mother. Occasional Blog writer. Average maker of purees.
Anyway, the big update this week is that the Curacy seems to be making steady progress. Yes, I know, I have been saying this since June, but there is actual progress now. Things have been signed. Letters have been sent. I think there are a few more things to sign and letters to send and a Bishop to meet and an announcement to be made at the Churches and then it's official.
We had a good weekend visiting Mum and Dad this weekend just gone, and managed to take the time to look around a nursery for Arthur. We have come to the conclusion that Paul, Arthur and I spending our days under the same roof is not constructive to getting anything done. I just can't leave Arthur alone, as much as Paul assures me he's very happy to look after him for as long as I need every day to get on with some work. Work and homelife feel very mish-mashed together, with Arthur's constant care always winning, and while he is top priority I will be no good to a Parish if I let this situation go on next year. The plan is he will be in nursery part-time with Paul working part-time and caring for him part-time. My training incumbant seems very understanding of our situation, and the priority that family takes. My plan is that, unless there is something specific I have to go to, the time between Arthur getting home from nursery and going to bed (4.30pm to 7pm) will be mostly spent with him. And I'll be very strict about my day off every week. Feels good.
We also might have a house! The Diocese were talking about buying or renting one in the Parish, but they have now identified a vacant property they already own about a 15 minute walk from the outskirts of the Parish. We went and wandered around the outside and it looks pretty good. If we're able to have this one, it at least takes the stress of not knowing where we will live off our minds.
Coming up next week we have Arthur's assessment with Orthopaedics. A lot of people have asked us about his prospects in terms of mobility and it's a question we've never been able to answer properly other than to say that, to us, his legs seem strong and he can certainly move them very well! But we're no experts. So I guess we'll go in with open minds and hope. While we've always hoped they'll say he's just fine, we know that leg braces might have to be an option. There's worse things in the world than leg-braces.
And for the moment all Arthur cares about it that he's in his baby walker and there's a lovely bowl of pureed butternut squash for tea.
In my last blog post I bemoaned the confusing situation whereby I am guilty that I cannot be both 'maternity leave Mummy going to baby groups, providing thoughtful development activities and cooking wholesome organic purees' and 'final year ordinand working hard on MTh and preparing earnestly for ordination' at the same time.
But enough of that already. This week I am looking to the future and wondering exactly what it is I am letting myself in for. What is full-time ordained ministry? What will I be doing? What exactly has skilled me for this job? What will life look like?
I can list what I know ordained ministry is not. A 9-to-5 job. Some may say it is not even a 'job'. It is not salaried in the strictest sense - a stipend is, by definition, an amount of money you are given to free you from financial worries and allow you to do church work full-time. Ordained ministry is not exclusive from personal life - whether you like it or not, there is overlap - you are in a sense 'on duty' as you go about your daily business.
A Priest is required to teach, but I am not a teacher. To listen, but I am not a counsellor. To tend to the sick, but I am not a nurse or a doctor. To co-ordinate, but I am not a manager. To have an awareness of finances, but I am not an accountant. As I contemplate every aspect of church work, I feel completely de-skilled. I'm glad I get 4 years of Curacy to continue my learning, but even then I won't be a teacher or a doctor or an accountant.
Perhaps the Priest's special 'skill' is that they have no implicit skills at all. Faith in God and time to spend doing His work. Prayer is so important, and I'm all to aware that prayer ends up being the thing to slip down the clergy 'to do' list, but without it the Priest has no foundation. The Priest brings what he/she is. Mother. Occasional Blog writer. Average maker of purees.
Anyway, the big update this week is that the Curacy seems to be making steady progress. Yes, I know, I have been saying this since June, but there is actual progress now. Things have been signed. Letters have been sent. I think there are a few more things to sign and letters to send and a Bishop to meet and an announcement to be made at the Churches and then it's official.
We had a good weekend visiting Mum and Dad this weekend just gone, and managed to take the time to look around a nursery for Arthur. We have come to the conclusion that Paul, Arthur and I spending our days under the same roof is not constructive to getting anything done. I just can't leave Arthur alone, as much as Paul assures me he's very happy to look after him for as long as I need every day to get on with some work. Work and homelife feel very mish-mashed together, with Arthur's constant care always winning, and while he is top priority I will be no good to a Parish if I let this situation go on next year. The plan is he will be in nursery part-time with Paul working part-time and caring for him part-time. My training incumbant seems very understanding of our situation, and the priority that family takes. My plan is that, unless there is something specific I have to go to, the time between Arthur getting home from nursery and going to bed (4.30pm to 7pm) will be mostly spent with him. And I'll be very strict about my day off every week. Feels good.
We also might have a house! The Diocese were talking about buying or renting one in the Parish, but they have now identified a vacant property they already own about a 15 minute walk from the outskirts of the Parish. We went and wandered around the outside and it looks pretty good. If we're able to have this one, it at least takes the stress of not knowing where we will live off our minds.
Coming up next week we have Arthur's assessment with Orthopaedics. A lot of people have asked us about his prospects in terms of mobility and it's a question we've never been able to answer properly other than to say that, to us, his legs seem strong and he can certainly move them very well! But we're no experts. So I guess we'll go in with open minds and hope. While we've always hoped they'll say he's just fine, we know that leg braces might have to be an option. There's worse things in the world than leg-braces.
And for the moment all Arthur cares about it that he's in his baby walker and there's a lovely bowl of pureed butternut squash for tea.
Thursday, 7 February 2013
In-vestments
I have a small problem this term, it is this. I have quite a lot of lectures and college commitments. I also have a small baby who sleeps from 7pm to 7am, for which I am eternally grateful. I am also eternally grateful for hardworking husband who looks after small baby while I am in lectures and daily offices, as well as doing all the washing, cleaning, shopping, washing up and most of the cooking. So far, so good. Even so, I cannot seem to find time to settle down to work (by which I mean a sustained period of quiet work on essay, dissertation or sermons) until after dinner at around 8pm, by which time I am far too tired to work. To do any significant work in the day would be to sacrifice valuable never-to-be-gotten-back time with small baby, and my maternal instincts just won't let me do that. If he's in the flat and I'm in the flat, I want to be hanging out with him!
Hmm... The dissertation will suffer, but does that really matter? I want to be a Priest, not an academic. But I do also quite like getting a job done well. Nursery is surely the answer next year, when I have to do actual proper work, but until then...
Anyway, I digress, I was going to write about clerical wear.
So, we've got the so-called 'tack fayre' in a couple of weeks, and my mind returns to what, exactly, I think of the clerical uniform I am required by Canon Law to attire myself with from June.
I am approaching it with some trepidation. The first question is, when will I wear it? There are some clerics who wear their collar all the time, no matter what they are doing, some who will only wear it when they are doing 'official' church work, and some in particular traditions of the church who barely wear it at all. For me, it's a given that I'll wear it whenever I'm doing my actual, diarised church stuff. But what of the school run or the trip to Tesco? What about when I go and see friends? I've had a good old think and my broad opinion is that if I'm doing stuff around the parish, any stuff, I should aim to 'be seen' which means wearing the collar. I'm sure a trip to Tesco will be an interesting experience, but it's too good an opportunity to miss. A female 20-something vicar battling with a toddler in a buggy in a public place is probably an image that will stick in people's minds, and hopefully in a sort-of good way. I won't, however, be wearing it on meals out with University friends or in the bath, you'll all be pleased to know.
The second question is - what? Google clerical wear for women and the choice is bleak. There are plenty of clerical shirts avaliable, and with some careful hunting I'm sure I'll find one which is nicely cut (i.e. not for a man!) but a friend and I spent a full hour last week trying to find something like a tunic with a clerical collar, which might be worn over leggings for a casual look, and only found a designer in Sweden at a cost of £100 per item.
It may sound vain to be concerned about 'casual looks' and 'shirts being cut well' - but ultimately it's a concern to preserve my own identity as well as entering into the sacrament of ordination and the changes it will bring to my life and the life of my family with the utmost seriousness.
Then there's stoles to buy, and other assorted garb. Fortunately I get a grant from the Diocese to cover most of this. Also, I'm so green to Anglicanism, having been not-an-Anglican for 83% of my life, that my lack of opinions might prove a bonus. I've no idea which traditions certain colours of shirt or styles of collar or stole are associated with, so I'll probably just choose what I like the look of!
That's probably all I've got to say on the matter. Oh now here's some good news - I got my official offer of a Title Post a couple of days ago, and have already written back to accept. So, all being good and well I'll be able to make it so-called 'Facebook official' in not too long. I am so, so excited about my Curacy. But I'm also excited about my final 4 months or so at college. 4 months to prepare for ordination!
Eeek!
Hmm... The dissertation will suffer, but does that really matter? I want to be a Priest, not an academic. But I do also quite like getting a job done well. Nursery is surely the answer next year, when I have to do actual proper work, but until then...
Anyway, I digress, I was going to write about clerical wear.
So, we've got the so-called 'tack fayre' in a couple of weeks, and my mind returns to what, exactly, I think of the clerical uniform I am required by Canon Law to attire myself with from June.
I am approaching it with some trepidation. The first question is, when will I wear it? There are some clerics who wear their collar all the time, no matter what they are doing, some who will only wear it when they are doing 'official' church work, and some in particular traditions of the church who barely wear it at all. For me, it's a given that I'll wear it whenever I'm doing my actual, diarised church stuff. But what of the school run or the trip to Tesco? What about when I go and see friends? I've had a good old think and my broad opinion is that if I'm doing stuff around the parish, any stuff, I should aim to 'be seen' which means wearing the collar. I'm sure a trip to Tesco will be an interesting experience, but it's too good an opportunity to miss. A female 20-something vicar battling with a toddler in a buggy in a public place is probably an image that will stick in people's minds, and hopefully in a sort-of good way. I won't, however, be wearing it on meals out with University friends or in the bath, you'll all be pleased to know.
The second question is - what? Google clerical wear for women and the choice is bleak. There are plenty of clerical shirts avaliable, and with some careful hunting I'm sure I'll find one which is nicely cut (i.e. not for a man!) but a friend and I spent a full hour last week trying to find something like a tunic with a clerical collar, which might be worn over leggings for a casual look, and only found a designer in Sweden at a cost of £100 per item.
It may sound vain to be concerned about 'casual looks' and 'shirts being cut well' - but ultimately it's a concern to preserve my own identity as well as entering into the sacrament of ordination and the changes it will bring to my life and the life of my family with the utmost seriousness.
Then there's stoles to buy, and other assorted garb. Fortunately I get a grant from the Diocese to cover most of this. Also, I'm so green to Anglicanism, having been not-an-Anglican for 83% of my life, that my lack of opinions might prove a bonus. I've no idea which traditions certain colours of shirt or styles of collar or stole are associated with, so I'll probably just choose what I like the look of!
That's probably all I've got to say on the matter. Oh now here's some good news - I got my official offer of a Title Post a couple of days ago, and have already written back to accept. So, all being good and well I'll be able to make it so-called 'Facebook official' in not too long. I am so, so excited about my Curacy. But I'm also excited about my final 4 months or so at college. 4 months to prepare for ordination!
Eeek!
Thursday, 17 January 2013
Milk and Solid Food
"I fed you with milk, not solid food, for you were not
ready for solid food. Even now you are still not ready". 1 Corinthians 3:2
Oh St Paul you do crack me up. This week, what is occupying my brain can be broken down as follows:1.24% - I wonder if overt evangelism is necessary for mission?
2.77% - I wonder what the Body of Christ would look like if it truly acknowledged itself as broken?
10.48% - What shall I have for tea tonight?
85.51% - What should Arthur have for tea tonight?
As I sit in Morning Prayer I try and push all these thoughts out of my mind and focus on what I'm meant to be focusing on. And then the Lectionary comes up with this little gem.
Given his opinion on marriage, I'm assuming St Paul never actually weaned a baby. He is therefore to be applauded for getting so succinctly to the root of the weaning problem - WHAT oh WHAT are you ready for?
You see, the question 'What should Arthur have for tea tonight?' is simply the headline. There are a vast, vast number of secondary questions including, but not restricted to...
Should I make my own puree or should I buy it? Was spending £12 on an electric blender a sensible purchase? How many spoonfuls of food can I feed him? Does flapping arms/crying between each mouthful/saying "ah-boo!" in a loud and enthusiastic tone mean he likes it or not? When do I start to give him less milk, and how much less? Can a baby live by butternut squash alone? What of meat and dairy products? Would he like a drink of water with his meal? Am I a bad parent if small child is not offered a range of imaginative, homemade, organic meals? How long does asparagus keep? Is his nappy meant to be that colour? Does it matter if lunch and dinner are at a different time every day? How on earth does a baby learn to use a sippy cup? Can I puree a Tesco value horseburger?
These and many other questions spin round my head as I'm trying to concentrate on what I'm meant to be concentrating on. Dissertations and experiential projects and the whole thorny issue of my ordination in just over five months.
Oh, to go back to just feeding him milk! Those were the days weren't they? Ok, me and Mr A were obsessing over fluid intake and catheter frequency/volumes but once I'd got past the sad fact that the neuropathic bladder meant unlimited breast milk was off the agenda, at least there was no choice of meal. "A bottle of milk, sir?" "Don't mind if I do..."
Possibly I've unwittingly stumbled into a theological reflection, or possibly not (I'm still not entirely sure what theological reflection is). Probably what St Paul is trying to say is that introducing solid food to a 5-month-old is flippin' impossible. Well, what he's actually saying is that grasping the message of the gospel when you're engrossed in worldly things is flippin' impossible, but I decided to take the former reading this morning.
But we press on, Mr A and I. And while, to use the language of St Paul, the 'worldly' thing to do might be to slip quietly back to milk (or give him butternut squash for every solid meal. He loves butternut squash) we will press boldly on, with a spoon in one hand and, in the other, a world of exciting liquified flavours just waiting to be discovered. Arthur, we're in this for the long run. And even though you insist on weeping through mouthfuls of lovingly-home-pureed carrot and swede two days running, we will not be disheartened, oh no. The remaining swede has been frozen, to reappear at a time of our choosing. A time which you do not know. A time which not even Mr A knows. Only Mummy knows. But the swede will come back. Oh yes, Arthur, it will come back.
Swede. Carrot. Ordination. The future's bright. The future's orange.
Monday, 31 December 2012
Dear Arthur
Dear Arthur,
If I'm honest, I'm a bit jealous you were born in 2012. I mean, since when has a year been so eagerly anticipated? And what year is going to go down in history like this one? Even when you're an old man, mention "twenty twelve" to anyone, and they'll know what happened then. At least I like to think they will.
And, what's more, being born during those Summer weeks. It's really quite special.
2012. The year of the London Olympics and Paralmpics. But as the next generation lit those 204 petals on the night of Friday 27th July, we were awaiting a quite different next generation.
By the time of Team GB's first medal on July 29th, although we did not know it, you were on your way (and Daddy was on his way to London!) It was a time for pride, for patriotism, for sheer celebration of life.
But Monday 30th July 2012 at 3.10am stands out for me, although all Olympians would surely have been tucked up in bed.
2012. The Queen's Diamond Jubilee. And next year that family will celebrate a whole new generation. Around the time of year you were born, it would seem.
2012. The year the world lost some great people: Neil Armstrong. Clive Dunn. Patrick Moore. But were many great people born in 2012? We're yet to see. Will you be one of them? That's up to you.
It hasn't been an easy year. A year which started with me, 8 weeks pregnant, in bed and asleep on the stroke of Big Ben. I knew it would be a year of great highs. But I couldn't imagine the lows. March 15th and June 29th were to be the deepest of these. Not to mention the sea of uncertainty between October 13th and November 12th.
But I couldn't have imagined the highs either. No new parent can. That amazing journey of learning and loving in a relationship with a new person. Those first smiles. Seeing that personality develop.
What does 2013 hold? Funnily enough, those dark dates of March 15th and June 29th are already filled in on the calender. On March 15th we will be heading off to a weekend to spend time with other families of babies and toddlers with spina bifida at a Shine Charity weekend away. I've no doubt it will be a weekend of fun and laughter. It shows how far we've come. On June 29th I have the privilege of being bridesmaid at the wedding of Jen, a dear friend, your godmother. It will also be the eve of my ordination, taking all our lives in a whole new direction.
Anyway, sorry for the sickliness and the cliches. At least I didn't mention that 2012 was the year the Snowman and the Snowdog came out, otherwise I'd be whimpering. Oh, I just mentioned it.
Well, Happy New Year Arthur. Wishing you a happy and healthy 2013.
Mummy xxx
If I'm honest, I'm a bit jealous you were born in 2012. I mean, since when has a year been so eagerly anticipated? And what year is going to go down in history like this one? Even when you're an old man, mention "twenty twelve" to anyone, and they'll know what happened then. At least I like to think they will.And, what's more, being born during those Summer weeks. It's really quite special.
2012. The year of the London Olympics and Paralmpics. But as the next generation lit those 204 petals on the night of Friday 27th July, we were awaiting a quite different next generation.
By the time of Team GB's first medal on July 29th, although we did not know it, you were on your way (and Daddy was on his way to London!) It was a time for pride, for patriotism, for sheer celebration of life.But Monday 30th July 2012 at 3.10am stands out for me, although all Olympians would surely have been tucked up in bed.
2012. The Queen's Diamond Jubilee. And next year that family will celebrate a whole new generation. Around the time of year you were born, it would seem.2012. The year the world lost some great people: Neil Armstrong. Clive Dunn. Patrick Moore. But were many great people born in 2012? We're yet to see. Will you be one of them? That's up to you.
It hasn't been an easy year. A year which started with me, 8 weeks pregnant, in bed and asleep on the stroke of Big Ben. I knew it would be a year of great highs. But I couldn't imagine the lows. March 15th and June 29th were to be the deepest of these. Not to mention the sea of uncertainty between October 13th and November 12th. 
But I couldn't have imagined the highs either. No new parent can. That amazing journey of learning and loving in a relationship with a new person. Those first smiles. Seeing that personality develop.
What does 2013 hold? Funnily enough, those dark dates of March 15th and June 29th are already filled in on the calender. On March 15th we will be heading off to a weekend to spend time with other families of babies and toddlers with spina bifida at a Shine Charity weekend away. I've no doubt it will be a weekend of fun and laughter. It shows how far we've come. On June 29th I have the privilege of being bridesmaid at the wedding of Jen, a dear friend, your godmother. It will also be the eve of my ordination, taking all our lives in a whole new direction.Anyway, sorry for the sickliness and the cliches. At least I didn't mention that 2012 was the year the Snowman and the Snowdog came out, otherwise I'd be whimpering. Oh, I just mentioned it.
Well, Happy New Year Arthur. Wishing you a happy and healthy 2013.
Mummy xxx
Friday, 21 December 2012
10 Reasons why I am not the Archbishop of Canterbury
I haven't blogged for absolutely ages. Not since THAT VOTE actually. It seems silly to dedicate an entire blog post to it, with nearly a month gone by. I've got various things I ought to write about, but rather than make them a collection of unrelated paragraphs I think I'll structure them around a tenuous framework.
10 reasons why I am not the Archbishop of Canterbury
1) I am of the female gender. Fortunately, I have no career aspirations in this direction (and I'm not just saying that in the "I couldn't possibly ever be a Bishop, but if God ever wanted me to how could I argue with God?" mock-humble way. See the final episode of series two of Rev!) That level of management and politics would bore me, and I couldn't imagine not being directly involved with a specific worshipping community. So when I approach the Woman Bishop issue, I approach it as would anyone, male or female, clergy or lay, who wants to see equality in their church. If we lack people of both genders, as well as all races, ages and sexualities, throughout our church, we lose some reflection of the Kingdom. That's my opinion. Nothing more, nothing less.
2) I only pretend to be an Academic. I was jolly pleased a couple of weeks ago to get a higher-than-expected mark in my most recent MTh essay, but I'm well aware that I'm a master of jumping-through-hoops rather than a master of theology! I'm also entirely realistic that my next essay marks won't be nearly so high because...
3) I don't seem to have any time! Archbishop Rowan manages to be an Archbishop, an academic and write quite good poetry. It's all I can do to look after a baby 50% of the time while keeping myself and Mr A fed. Not to mention the never-ending battle to leave the house in mostly clean clothes that mostly do not have traces of baby bodily fluids on them.
4) Actually, having said that, my eyebrow care is better than the average Archbishop.
5) I'm still working out what I think about, well, everything. Two weekends ago we had Arthur baptised. This came at the end of a themed study week on Liturgy, including most of a day on Baptism. As I mulled over, academically, what I was to put my small son through at the end of the week, especially the sacramental aspects, I realised that many of the reasons I was doing it might easily be termed 'folk religion'. A major reason was to make a public commitment to bring Arthur up in the knowledge and love of God. So far, so good. But a huge aspect was simply because, well, we're over the moon he's here with us - I don't think this can be found anywhere in baptism theology!
6) Talking of, Arthur had a really superb Paediatrician's appointment a couple of weeks ago. Of particular interest, she could see nothing wrong with the reflexes in his legs and feet. A little brisk, perhaps, which could mean stiff legs, but to me this sounds better than floppy legs. She also recommended he goes onto solids, which he's been really enjoying. She complimented his alertness and good tracking eye movements. This came off the back of a perfect kidney scan, and a urodynamic assessment which Arthur became the first baby in the memory of our very experienced urology nurse to sleep through! With all that has happened this year, it's lovely to come to the end of the year on such a high. (I'm aware this has nothing to do with me not being the Archbishop, so it looks like the framework is crumbling already...)
7) I'm about to be appointed to a Title Post, but it isn't the Archbishop. That's Julian Welby. Still having to be schtum about where I'm going.
8) I've never been to Canterbury. Looks nice though.
9) I am just toooo excited by Christmas I would hardly be able to maintain the decorum required of an Archbishop! Honestly, first Christmas with a baby is going to be GREAT!
10) Insert reason 10 here. Happy Christmas!
10 reasons why I am not the Archbishop of Canterbury
1) I am of the female gender. Fortunately, I have no career aspirations in this direction (and I'm not just saying that in the "I couldn't possibly ever be a Bishop, but if God ever wanted me to how could I argue with God?" mock-humble way. See the final episode of series two of Rev!) That level of management and politics would bore me, and I couldn't imagine not being directly involved with a specific worshipping community. So when I approach the Woman Bishop issue, I approach it as would anyone, male or female, clergy or lay, who wants to see equality in their church. If we lack people of both genders, as well as all races, ages and sexualities, throughout our church, we lose some reflection of the Kingdom. That's my opinion. Nothing more, nothing less.
2) I only pretend to be an Academic. I was jolly pleased a couple of weeks ago to get a higher-than-expected mark in my most recent MTh essay, but I'm well aware that I'm a master of jumping-through-hoops rather than a master of theology! I'm also entirely realistic that my next essay marks won't be nearly so high because...
3) I don't seem to have any time! Archbishop Rowan manages to be an Archbishop, an academic and write quite good poetry. It's all I can do to look after a baby 50% of the time while keeping myself and Mr A fed. Not to mention the never-ending battle to leave the house in mostly clean clothes that mostly do not have traces of baby bodily fluids on them.
4) Actually, having said that, my eyebrow care is better than the average Archbishop.
5) I'm still working out what I think about, well, everything. Two weekends ago we had Arthur baptised. This came at the end of a themed study week on Liturgy, including most of a day on Baptism. As I mulled over, academically, what I was to put my small son through at the end of the week, especially the sacramental aspects, I realised that many of the reasons I was doing it might easily be termed 'folk religion'. A major reason was to make a public commitment to bring Arthur up in the knowledge and love of God. So far, so good. But a huge aspect was simply because, well, we're over the moon he's here with us - I don't think this can be found anywhere in baptism theology!
6) Talking of, Arthur had a really superb Paediatrician's appointment a couple of weeks ago. Of particular interest, she could see nothing wrong with the reflexes in his legs and feet. A little brisk, perhaps, which could mean stiff legs, but to me this sounds better than floppy legs. She also recommended he goes onto solids, which he's been really enjoying. She complimented his alertness and good tracking eye movements. This came off the back of a perfect kidney scan, and a urodynamic assessment which Arthur became the first baby in the memory of our very experienced urology nurse to sleep through! With all that has happened this year, it's lovely to come to the end of the year on such a high. (I'm aware this has nothing to do with me not being the Archbishop, so it looks like the framework is crumbling already...)
7) I'm about to be appointed to a Title Post, but it isn't the Archbishop. That's Julian Welby. Still having to be schtum about where I'm going.
8) I've never been to Canterbury. Looks nice though.
9) I am just toooo excited by Christmas I would hardly be able to maintain the decorum required of an Archbishop! Honestly, first Christmas with a baby is going to be GREAT!
10) Insert reason 10 here. Happy Christmas!
Sunday, 18 November 2012
Tales of the Unexpected
Arthur is out of hospital and does not have a trachy!
This is something I simply wouldn't have believed possible as I wrote my last blog post. As planned, the breathing tube was taken out on Monday 5th November and, as expected, he started wheezing again. The trachy was immediately scheduled for Thursday 8th November, and the medical staff told us their priority was just keeping him going without a tube until the trachy took place. And then... he just started getting better.
What do I think about miracles? I'm not sure. I think I've mentioned before that I've often felt awkward about the idea that healing happens for some people and not others, or happens more for people who are being prayed for. But, to me, Arthur's whole journey throughout hospital and out the other end has been a miracle. All the decisions that have been made, the treatment he has received, the treatment that has been withheld. It's been a complex tangle of strands which have somehow led to Arthur coming out of hospital on Monday with a fully operating shunt which has healed so quickly, no trachy, and a wheeze which is a tenth of what it was and improving every day. Arthur's feeding and catheter regime, which Paul and I have been concerned about since his birth, have also been reviewed since he went in, and we're now on a much less demanding regime (catheters every 2-and-a-half, rather than 1-and-a-half hours) which is wonderful.
It has been so, so unexpected. In the time he has been in hospital we have seen glimpses of God in other places too. We've found he has been added to prayer lists at churches and theological colleges far and wide, by people we do not know. Friends old and new have been praying. People have been generous in helping us out. We received some anonymous money through the door which paid for a tank of much needed fuel, and another donation from my childhood church. I've messages mounted up in my Facebook inbox which have brought tears to my eyes (and I really must reply to...) Times like these bring out the very best in people, and we are so fortunate to be in the place we are with the friends we have. I've mentioned previously what a profound influence our time in hospital has had on both Paul and I, and that will stay with us our whole lives.
It has been so, so unexpected.
From one unexpected thing to another. Arthur's illness has brought about a rather interesting quandary: is the curacy which we have been exploring, and provisionally accepted (but not yet signed on the dotted line) going to be practical for us? If a similar situation happened this time next year, and we were in Devon, what would happen? Well, I'd have made that phone call that Saturday morning, the ambulance would have taken us to either Derriford or the Royal Devon and Exeter hospital, and as soon as it emerged that he needed to be in a Paediatric Critical Care unit, with Neurosurgeons on hand, he would have been transferred to Bristol Children's Hospital, over 2 hours from our proposed Curacy.
I mentioned this to one of my tutors a couple of weeks ago, as well as the fact that our families are nearer to Bristol, and she said "well, why not explore other options?" Within 3 days I had been released by the Exeter Diocese and transferred to Bath and Wells. Exeter kindly agreed to keep the seaside Curacy I wrote about open, should there be nothing suitable in Bath and Wells. It all felt so good. And then Bath and Wells sent me a Parish Profile for a Curacy.
Geographically, it was great. But it wasn't the ministry I was expecting - it was an Urban Prioriy Area, and an area has a reputation for having high crime and multiple deprivation. It looked exciting, missionally, but not a good place to live. I asked Bath and Wells if they had anything else, but they said I had to go and look at this one first. So we went yesterday, just to show willing, just to jump through a hoop that might get us to the right curacy.
And, unexpectedly, it was perfect. A lovely incumbent, a warm congregation, a community who really didn't seem to be entirely what their reputation stated, exciting things happening missionally, some very nice countryside nearby. Paul and I agreed that this was the first curacy we have looked at (and, of course, it is the third place we have visited) where we have felt a very genuine and profound sense of calling.
Completely unexpectedly.
This is something I simply wouldn't have believed possible as I wrote my last blog post. As planned, the breathing tube was taken out on Monday 5th November and, as expected, he started wheezing again. The trachy was immediately scheduled for Thursday 8th November, and the medical staff told us their priority was just keeping him going without a tube until the trachy took place. And then... he just started getting better.
What do I think about miracles? I'm not sure. I think I've mentioned before that I've often felt awkward about the idea that healing happens for some people and not others, or happens more for people who are being prayed for. But, to me, Arthur's whole journey throughout hospital and out the other end has been a miracle. All the decisions that have been made, the treatment he has received, the treatment that has been withheld. It's been a complex tangle of strands which have somehow led to Arthur coming out of hospital on Monday with a fully operating shunt which has healed so quickly, no trachy, and a wheeze which is a tenth of what it was and improving every day. Arthur's feeding and catheter regime, which Paul and I have been concerned about since his birth, have also been reviewed since he went in, and we're now on a much less demanding regime (catheters every 2-and-a-half, rather than 1-and-a-half hours) which is wonderful.
It has been so, so unexpected. In the time he has been in hospital we have seen glimpses of God in other places too. We've found he has been added to prayer lists at churches and theological colleges far and wide, by people we do not know. Friends old and new have been praying. People have been generous in helping us out. We received some anonymous money through the door which paid for a tank of much needed fuel, and another donation from my childhood church. I've messages mounted up in my Facebook inbox which have brought tears to my eyes (and I really must reply to...) Times like these bring out the very best in people, and we are so fortunate to be in the place we are with the friends we have. I've mentioned previously what a profound influence our time in hospital has had on both Paul and I, and that will stay with us our whole lives.
It has been so, so unexpected.
From one unexpected thing to another. Arthur's illness has brought about a rather interesting quandary: is the curacy which we have been exploring, and provisionally accepted (but not yet signed on the dotted line) going to be practical for us? If a similar situation happened this time next year, and we were in Devon, what would happen? Well, I'd have made that phone call that Saturday morning, the ambulance would have taken us to either Derriford or the Royal Devon and Exeter hospital, and as soon as it emerged that he needed to be in a Paediatric Critical Care unit, with Neurosurgeons on hand, he would have been transferred to Bristol Children's Hospital, over 2 hours from our proposed Curacy.
I mentioned this to one of my tutors a couple of weeks ago, as well as the fact that our families are nearer to Bristol, and she said "well, why not explore other options?" Within 3 days I had been released by the Exeter Diocese and transferred to Bath and Wells. Exeter kindly agreed to keep the seaside Curacy I wrote about open, should there be nothing suitable in Bath and Wells. It all felt so good. And then Bath and Wells sent me a Parish Profile for a Curacy.
Geographically, it was great. But it wasn't the ministry I was expecting - it was an Urban Prioriy Area, and an area has a reputation for having high crime and multiple deprivation. It looked exciting, missionally, but not a good place to live. I asked Bath and Wells if they had anything else, but they said I had to go and look at this one first. So we went yesterday, just to show willing, just to jump through a hoop that might get us to the right curacy.
And, unexpectedly, it was perfect. A lovely incumbent, a warm congregation, a community who really didn't seem to be entirely what their reputation stated, exciting things happening missionally, some very nice countryside nearby. Paul and I agreed that this was the first curacy we have looked at (and, of course, it is the third place we have visited) where we have felt a very genuine and profound sense of calling.
Completely unexpectedly.
Wednesday, 31 October 2012
Intensive Care
Day 19 in the John Radcliffe hospital...
Well, here's a brief chronological summary of developments since my last post.
22/10 - Arthur's Consultant Neurosurgeon overrules his colleague's assessment that the vocal chord palsy is being caused by a kink in the brain stem and cancels the CT scan. He also doubts the Arnold Chiari malformation is anything to do with it. Neurology's conclusions are summed up - "it's probably neurological, but we're big enough to admit we don't know what's causing it." Intensive Care extubate (take the tube out of) Arthur and he just starts wheezing again so they put him back on the breathing machine.
23/10 - ENT schedule a tracheotomy for 25/10 and send down their respiratory nurse to talk us through it. We discover that managing a trachy involves changing the trachy straps daily, changing the tube itself weekly, and clearing the tube using a pump several times daily, often several times an hour. Intensive Care take Arthur off the breathing machine but keep the tube in to ensure his airway is clear and drop the sedation, and he manages perfectly. This is pretty much what a trachy will be like, apart from the tube is entering through his nose rather than his neck.
24/10 - With the Trachy scheduled for tomorrow, Neurology suddenly re-enter and announce that there's a small chance the problem may be caused by Arthur's borderline hydrocephalus, and ask us if we would like them to try putting in a shunt (a tube in his head which drains off excess fluid). We mull over this - a shunt is non-reversible but is a smaller operation than a trachy and should (in theory) just sit there without needing any day-to-day management. We know that shunts can get blocked or infected and fail, but we decide it is worth a go. Neurology announce they can do it today, so Arthur is prepared for theatre. An hour before the operation is scheduled it is discovered he has an infection, so surgery is postponed until 29/10.
25/10-28/10 - We wait. Arthur is no longer under sedation and is normal, apart from he has a tube in his nose. If anything, he is happier than normal, as he can breathe!
29/10 - Arthur has his shunt operation. He is in theatre for just over an hour and returns with an inch-long c-shape wound at the back-right of his head, and another wound on his stomach. There is a lump behind his right ear where the valve is sitting. He is drowsy, but awake.
30/10-31/10 - We wait again... Arthur is awake and slightly grumpy, possibly he is in a bit of pain from the surgery. He bestows smiles on the Urology team who are monitoring his catheters while he is in hospital. By 48 hours after the surgery his head is half a centimetre smaller and feels a different shape. His lazy eye is gone, and he can already track moving objects better. He is sleeping with his eyes fully closed for the first time in his life. He will be extubated again on 5/11 to see if the shunt has improved his breathing. We are hopeful, but realistic that the chances are that it won't and he will need a trachy.
So that's about it. Paul and I are exhausted and spending far too much money on diesel and hospital food, but are pretty relaxed about the whole thing. I'd always imagined intensive care units would be dark, tense places with earnest medical staff moving silently between patients hanging between life and death. Perhaps an adult unit is a bit more like this, but the paediatric unit at the JR is an absolutely smashing place. The nurses are incredible and exchange friendly banter all day. The other parents are generally fantastic and we've made a few friends, including a couple whose son is 2-and-a-half weeks older than Arthur and has been in hospital all his life. Despite having lived in the hospital for 16 weeks, they are unfeasibly chilled out - an inspiration.
I am so, so lucky to be here at Cuddesdon. Martyn (the Principal) has visited us several times since Arthur has been in hospital. Morning and Evening prayer have been a write-off, but no-one has put pressure on me to do anything I can't do. I've managed to attend most of my lectures - I'm lucky to have Paul around to take his share of the hospital duties. The people at my placement, Benson, have also been tremendous, especially my placement supervisor John.
A few people have asked us when Arthur's likely to come home. The truth is, we don't know. If, when he's extubated on Monday, they find that the shunt has somehow cured his vocal chord palsy (unlikely, but possible) they'll probably keep an eye on him for a few days, and if things are good he could be home at the end of next week. If (more likely) there is little or no change he will be scheduled for the trachy, probably next Thursday 8th November. If all goes well and there are no infections or complications he will stay in hospital for 2 weeks after the trachy, so will be coming home on 22nd November. But we've learnt not to hang on definites, so we're assuming he's in for the long haul, and if he's out earlier, that's great!
Well, here's a brief chronological summary of developments since my last post.
22/10 - Arthur's Consultant Neurosurgeon overrules his colleague's assessment that the vocal chord palsy is being caused by a kink in the brain stem and cancels the CT scan. He also doubts the Arnold Chiari malformation is anything to do with it. Neurology's conclusions are summed up - "it's probably neurological, but we're big enough to admit we don't know what's causing it." Intensive Care extubate (take the tube out of) Arthur and he just starts wheezing again so they put him back on the breathing machine.
23/10 - ENT schedule a tracheotomy for 25/10 and send down their respiratory nurse to talk us through it. We discover that managing a trachy involves changing the trachy straps daily, changing the tube itself weekly, and clearing the tube using a pump several times daily, often several times an hour. Intensive Care take Arthur off the breathing machine but keep the tube in to ensure his airway is clear and drop the sedation, and he manages perfectly. This is pretty much what a trachy will be like, apart from the tube is entering through his nose rather than his neck.
24/10 - With the Trachy scheduled for tomorrow, Neurology suddenly re-enter and announce that there's a small chance the problem may be caused by Arthur's borderline hydrocephalus, and ask us if we would like them to try putting in a shunt (a tube in his head which drains off excess fluid). We mull over this - a shunt is non-reversible but is a smaller operation than a trachy and should (in theory) just sit there without needing any day-to-day management. We know that shunts can get blocked or infected and fail, but we decide it is worth a go. Neurology announce they can do it today, so Arthur is prepared for theatre. An hour before the operation is scheduled it is discovered he has an infection, so surgery is postponed until 29/10.
25/10-28/10 - We wait. Arthur is no longer under sedation and is normal, apart from he has a tube in his nose. If anything, he is happier than normal, as he can breathe!
29/10 - Arthur has his shunt operation. He is in theatre for just over an hour and returns with an inch-long c-shape wound at the back-right of his head, and another wound on his stomach. There is a lump behind his right ear where the valve is sitting. He is drowsy, but awake.
30/10-31/10 - We wait again... Arthur is awake and slightly grumpy, possibly he is in a bit of pain from the surgery. He bestows smiles on the Urology team who are monitoring his catheters while he is in hospital. By 48 hours after the surgery his head is half a centimetre smaller and feels a different shape. His lazy eye is gone, and he can already track moving objects better. He is sleeping with his eyes fully closed for the first time in his life. He will be extubated again on 5/11 to see if the shunt has improved his breathing. We are hopeful, but realistic that the chances are that it won't and he will need a trachy.
So that's about it. Paul and I are exhausted and spending far too much money on diesel and hospital food, but are pretty relaxed about the whole thing. I'd always imagined intensive care units would be dark, tense places with earnest medical staff moving silently between patients hanging between life and death. Perhaps an adult unit is a bit more like this, but the paediatric unit at the JR is an absolutely smashing place. The nurses are incredible and exchange friendly banter all day. The other parents are generally fantastic and we've made a few friends, including a couple whose son is 2-and-a-half weeks older than Arthur and has been in hospital all his life. Despite having lived in the hospital for 16 weeks, they are unfeasibly chilled out - an inspiration.
I am so, so lucky to be here at Cuddesdon. Martyn (the Principal) has visited us several times since Arthur has been in hospital. Morning and Evening prayer have been a write-off, but no-one has put pressure on me to do anything I can't do. I've managed to attend most of my lectures - I'm lucky to have Paul around to take his share of the hospital duties. The people at my placement, Benson, have also been tremendous, especially my placement supervisor John.
A few people have asked us when Arthur's likely to come home. The truth is, we don't know. If, when he's extubated on Monday, they find that the shunt has somehow cured his vocal chord palsy (unlikely, but possible) they'll probably keep an eye on him for a few days, and if things are good he could be home at the end of next week. If (more likely) there is little or no change he will be scheduled for the trachy, probably next Thursday 8th November. If all goes well and there are no infections or complications he will stay in hospital for 2 weeks after the trachy, so will be coming home on 22nd November. But we've learnt not to hang on definites, so we're assuming he's in for the long haul, and if he's out earlier, that's great!
Saturday, 20 October 2012
Breathing
Well, it turns out that my description of laryngomalacia in the last Blog post was a herring of the red variety. It's all become a little more complicated...
Those of you who are au fait with my Facebook account will know that it's been a rather traumatic week for Arthur, Mr A and I. It all began last Friday night when Arthur's apparent laryngomalacia got a bit scary. He was doing this horrible stridor breathing even when he was at rest, and seemed to be quite distressed by it, sucking in his chest and arching his shoulders with every breath. Grainy video evidence here...
I slept him in our bed next to me on Friday night, just to keep an eye on him. On Saturday morning he still seemed pretty bad so I rung the regional out-of-hours service to see if I could get a GP's appointment.
Having answered all the questions fairly positively - "yes, he's conscious", "no, there isn't any blood", "no, he's never stopped breathing" - I thought they were going to remind me that laryngomalacia wasn't dangerous and tell me to stop worrying. However, they decided to send an ambulance, despite me protesting that it really wasn't necessary.
The Paramedics arrived and, after taking one look at Arthur lying on the bed in his nappy, crying and wheezing, instructed me to wrap him in a blanket and bring him down to the ambulance immediately, while Paul packed an overnight bag. We rushed round the ring road with the blue lights at 100mph (or so it felt) and soon arrived back at the good old John Radcliffe where Arthur was taken to the resuscitation room and surrounded by about 10 doctors and nurses while I sat on a chair in the corner muttering about laryngomalacia and how it isn't dangerous.
Having had a nebulizer and some steroids, he still wasn't calming down, so I suggested some milk might chill him out a bit, which of course it did. He was taken next door to the High Dependency unit to be kept an eye on. Some ENT doctors came down and agreed it was probably laryngomalacia which had been aggravated by a cold, a chest infection or croup, and he would just stay on High Dependency while he got over this episode.
But, of course, he didn't get over it. On Tuesday he suddenly took another turn for the worse and the High Dependency nurses called for ENT as an emergency. He was rushed into theatre to be intubated (a procedure where the patient is put under a general anaesthetic while a tube is put down their throat which will breathe for them. When they come round from the anaesthetic they are heavily sedated so they can tolerate the tube). He was transferred to Intensive Care.
While they were in the process of shoving things down the anaesthetised Arthur's throat they also stuck a camera down there to see what was going on. Surprisingly, he doesn't have laryngomalacia at all, but something called 'vocal chord palsy', where something in his brain is putting pressure on the vocal chords and squeezing them together. The surgeon suspected that the cause of this was his Arnold Chiari malformation of the brain and ordered an MRI to investigate.
After a few days of waiting, he had the MRI yesterday and we got the results today. Paul and I were confident that the MRI would show up the Arnold Chiari as the offender and we would be offered something called Chiari Decompression Surgery which is pretty effective in curing this.
However, we were disappointed that it doesn't seem to be the Chiari at all, but a kink in his brain stem which is related to the Chiari but isn't the Chiari itself. He is having a CT scan to confirm this on Monday. The on-call neurosurgeon explained that they would also have a multidisciplinary meeting on Monday to see what could be done, but the likelihood is that they will do nothing as the surgery is deemed too risky if the only effect of the kink is difficult breathing.
So, of course, the question is - if neurology do nothing about the kink, how is young Arthur to breathe? The answer came in the form of an ENT Registrar who explained to us today that, in the circumstance that neurology couldn't or wouldn't do anything, they would consider performing a traciostomy.
While the thought of the poor chap having to manage a tracheostomy as well as catheters and weak ankles doesn't fill me with joy, Paul and I have had a good think about it tonight and we've decided it's far more preferable than serious neurosurgery. Having looked it up online, kids who have tracheostomies for neurological problems often only have them for a few years, so it might only be a temporary thing.
He's been in hospital for a week now, and unconscious for 4 days. As far as we're concerned they can do whatever they want to solve the problem and get Arthur (metaphorically) back on his feet. We just want to get the little chap home really.
Those of you who are au fait with my Facebook account will know that it's been a rather traumatic week for Arthur, Mr A and I. It all began last Friday night when Arthur's apparent laryngomalacia got a bit scary. He was doing this horrible stridor breathing even when he was at rest, and seemed to be quite distressed by it, sucking in his chest and arching his shoulders with every breath. Grainy video evidence here...
I slept him in our bed next to me on Friday night, just to keep an eye on him. On Saturday morning he still seemed pretty bad so I rung the regional out-of-hours service to see if I could get a GP's appointment.
Having answered all the questions fairly positively - "yes, he's conscious", "no, there isn't any blood", "no, he's never stopped breathing" - I thought they were going to remind me that laryngomalacia wasn't dangerous and tell me to stop worrying. However, they decided to send an ambulance, despite me protesting that it really wasn't necessary.
The Paramedics arrived and, after taking one look at Arthur lying on the bed in his nappy, crying and wheezing, instructed me to wrap him in a blanket and bring him down to the ambulance immediately, while Paul packed an overnight bag. We rushed round the ring road with the blue lights at 100mph (or so it felt) and soon arrived back at the good old John Radcliffe where Arthur was taken to the resuscitation room and surrounded by about 10 doctors and nurses while I sat on a chair in the corner muttering about laryngomalacia and how it isn't dangerous.
Having had a nebulizer and some steroids, he still wasn't calming down, so I suggested some milk might chill him out a bit, which of course it did. He was taken next door to the High Dependency unit to be kept an eye on. Some ENT doctors came down and agreed it was probably laryngomalacia which had been aggravated by a cold, a chest infection or croup, and he would just stay on High Dependency while he got over this episode.
But, of course, he didn't get over it. On Tuesday he suddenly took another turn for the worse and the High Dependency nurses called for ENT as an emergency. He was rushed into theatre to be intubated (a procedure where the patient is put under a general anaesthetic while a tube is put down their throat which will breathe for them. When they come round from the anaesthetic they are heavily sedated so they can tolerate the tube). He was transferred to Intensive Care.
While they were in the process of shoving things down the anaesthetised Arthur's throat they also stuck a camera down there to see what was going on. Surprisingly, he doesn't have laryngomalacia at all, but something called 'vocal chord palsy', where something in his brain is putting pressure on the vocal chords and squeezing them together. The surgeon suspected that the cause of this was his Arnold Chiari malformation of the brain and ordered an MRI to investigate.
After a few days of waiting, he had the MRI yesterday and we got the results today. Paul and I were confident that the MRI would show up the Arnold Chiari as the offender and we would be offered something called Chiari Decompression Surgery which is pretty effective in curing this.
However, we were disappointed that it doesn't seem to be the Chiari at all, but a kink in his brain stem which is related to the Chiari but isn't the Chiari itself. He is having a CT scan to confirm this on Monday. The on-call neurosurgeon explained that they would also have a multidisciplinary meeting on Monday to see what could be done, but the likelihood is that they will do nothing as the surgery is deemed too risky if the only effect of the kink is difficult breathing.
So, of course, the question is - if neurology do nothing about the kink, how is young Arthur to breathe? The answer came in the form of an ENT Registrar who explained to us today that, in the circumstance that neurology couldn't or wouldn't do anything, they would consider performing a traciostomy.
While the thought of the poor chap having to manage a tracheostomy as well as catheters and weak ankles doesn't fill me with joy, Paul and I have had a good think about it tonight and we've decided it's far more preferable than serious neurosurgery. Having looked it up online, kids who have tracheostomies for neurological problems often only have them for a few years, so it might only be a temporary thing.
He's been in hospital for a week now, and unconscious for 4 days. As far as we're concerned they can do whatever they want to solve the problem and get Arthur (metaphorically) back on his feet. We just want to get the little chap home really.
Wednesday, 10 October 2012
On Sacrament and Sound Effects
Hello friends!
Arthur has developed a condition called Laryngomalacia, defined by Wikipedia thus -
Laryngomalacia (literally, "soft larynx") is the commonest cause of stridor in infancy, in which the soft, immature cartilage of the upper larynx collapses inward during inhalation, causing airway obstruction.
Essentially what it means is that Arthur now breathes with a very loud wheeze. He does this all the time, apart from when he's feeding, drowsy or asleep. Apparently it doesn't hurt him as it's just his larynx moving as he breathes, but it sounds very much like he's gasping for breath. It's not dangerous, and therefore doctors rarely offer any treatment. It comes on typically between 6 and 8 weeks (Arthur was 7 weeks when it started) and tends to go away by the time the child is 2 years old.
Let's face it, given that he's at high risk of developing both hydrocephalus and kidney damage, you wouldn't have thought harmless noisy breathing would be much of an issue. But it's really getting me down. Laryngomalacia isn't at all related to spina bifida, so I'm inclined to think "hang on, this isn't fair, haven't we got enough to deal with?" but that's just selfish and I know it.
The one nice thing (if there is a nice thing...) about spina bifida is that it isn't obvious. This sounds slightly odd coming from me, because I'm not ashamed of his disability, but hear me out... It's been wonderful to just be able to walk round town and for people in shops to say "oh what a lovely baby." And I get into a bit of a conversation with them and don't even have to mention that he's disabled. Now people tend to say "oh dear... is he ok?" and the conversation is completely different.
What we're really worried about is church.
Last Friday Arthur threw a huge wobbly in church (screaming, not wheezing) and Paul had to take him outside. Having to take a crying baby outside is just one of the realities of taking a baby to church, and it's fine. But Arthur now wheezes for much of the time he is awake and it's very loud - Paul and I sometimes struggle to have a conversation over it. Church is such a difficult one because, ideally, everyone should be able to go to church. After all, we wouldn't ban people with learning difficulties who make spontaneous noises.
But the reality is that people like silence in church. It's about finding peace, and we often like quiet to do that. A child who screams and is swiftly taken out by a parent is one thing. A child who wheezes loudly with every in-breath is another. And even if people say they don't mind, it stresses me out. that he's being so disruptive
I'm not sure if I'm going to take him to College Eucharist tonight or leave him here with Paul. Depends if he's asleep I suppose.
Arthur has developed a condition called Laryngomalacia, defined by Wikipedia thus -
Laryngomalacia (literally, "soft larynx") is the commonest cause of stridor in infancy, in which the soft, immature cartilage of the upper larynx collapses inward during inhalation, causing airway obstruction.
Essentially what it means is that Arthur now breathes with a very loud wheeze. He does this all the time, apart from when he's feeding, drowsy or asleep. Apparently it doesn't hurt him as it's just his larynx moving as he breathes, but it sounds very much like he's gasping for breath. It's not dangerous, and therefore doctors rarely offer any treatment. It comes on typically between 6 and 8 weeks (Arthur was 7 weeks when it started) and tends to go away by the time the child is 2 years old.
Let's face it, given that he's at high risk of developing both hydrocephalus and kidney damage, you wouldn't have thought harmless noisy breathing would be much of an issue. But it's really getting me down. Laryngomalacia isn't at all related to spina bifida, so I'm inclined to think "hang on, this isn't fair, haven't we got enough to deal with?" but that's just selfish and I know it.
The one nice thing (if there is a nice thing...) about spina bifida is that it isn't obvious. This sounds slightly odd coming from me, because I'm not ashamed of his disability, but hear me out... It's been wonderful to just be able to walk round town and for people in shops to say "oh what a lovely baby." And I get into a bit of a conversation with them and don't even have to mention that he's disabled. Now people tend to say "oh dear... is he ok?" and the conversation is completely different.
What we're really worried about is church.
Last Friday Arthur threw a huge wobbly in church (screaming, not wheezing) and Paul had to take him outside. Having to take a crying baby outside is just one of the realities of taking a baby to church, and it's fine. But Arthur now wheezes for much of the time he is awake and it's very loud - Paul and I sometimes struggle to have a conversation over it. Church is such a difficult one because, ideally, everyone should be able to go to church. After all, we wouldn't ban people with learning difficulties who make spontaneous noises.
But the reality is that people like silence in church. It's about finding peace, and we often like quiet to do that. A child who screams and is swiftly taken out by a parent is one thing. A child who wheezes loudly with every in-breath is another. And even if people say they don't mind, it stresses me out. that he's being so disruptive
I'm not sure if I'm going to take him to College Eucharist tonight or leave him here with Paul. Depends if he's asleep I suppose.
Tuesday, 2 October 2012
Morning has Broken
It's 6am and I'm blogging. Yup...
His Lordship has lately decided that 5.30am is the time he'd like his breakfast (Arthur, not Paul.) Admittedly it beats 3am or 4am, but at this time of morning there's really no point in going back to bed before morning prayer, so I'm having half-an-hour of computer time and am spending it writing a blog.
So, term has started again, although you'd never know it from my - ahem - busy schedule. I have decided not to do any optional lectures this year,as I think it's probably far more important I spend time with Arthur in these formative months than sit in lots of lectures. Therefore, my schedule consists of a half-hour preaching workshop on a Monday and an hour-and-a-half placement presentation on a Friday. Plus an hour of College Group on a Wednesday and morning/evening prayer.
Actually, it's really nice to have a little bit of a routine (morning/evening prayer and meals) but enough to be manageable. It feels like everything has fallen into routine of late, including Arthur's care.
The catheters have continued to be extremely stressful, and I admit I've had quite a few down days thinking about them. The thing is, getting them wrong and allowing large amounts to build up in the bladder is extremely dangerous - kidney failure is the biggest killer of spina bifida children, or so I'm told - so every time we have a big reading I throw a bit of a wobbly. But I think we've got it cracked now, as we've worked out that if we cath him immediately before a feed and again precisely 1 hour after the feed the volumes stay below 50ml. We'd prefer 40ml, but 50ml is ok.
We've also recently acquired some new overnight catheters which are hideously complicated and involve snapping a glass vial and injecting purified water into a balloon which expands in the bladder. Complicated, but at least they stay in overnight and don't fall out like the old ones did.
I'm feeling weirdly guilty about how much we're costing the NHS. His catheters alone cost £15 per day (£5,475 per year). Of course he's worth it, it just feels odd being so reliant. Paul reminds me that the British taxpayer is probably more worried about their money supporting chain-smokers with lung problems than they are with supporting a little baby with needs. I think I'll just try not to think about it.
Other concerns include feeding (have switched to formula due to catheter 'what goes in must come out' scenario, which is guilt-inducing but has made me more sane), a dramatic wheeze and a lazy eye. All in a day's work...
Still, on the good side, Arthur is now tracking objects with his eyes and smiling at Mummy, Daddy and his Red Cow (yay!) so developmentally he's spot on. It's so wonderful to see him responding to stuff.
Today I've really got to start reading for my dissertation. I handed in my African essay on Friday, so starting the dissertation proposal is top priority. I loved writing my undergrad dissertation - it's great to be able to really get into a subject - so I'm looking forward to starting this one. I also have to meet with my tutor and agree how many evening prayers a week I'll be able to attend. Late afternoon is Arthur's scrotty time, so hopefully I won't be expected to go to all of them. I'd feel a bit bad about letting Paul cope with the screaming every single day.
Well, it's probably time for me to get myself into some sort of presentable state for morning prayer. Having consumed his breakfast his Lordship is, of course, asleep again. Hard life being a baby...
His Lordship has lately decided that 5.30am is the time he'd like his breakfast (Arthur, not Paul.) Admittedly it beats 3am or 4am, but at this time of morning there's really no point in going back to bed before morning prayer, so I'm having half-an-hour of computer time and am spending it writing a blog.
So, term has started again, although you'd never know it from my - ahem - busy schedule. I have decided not to do any optional lectures this year,as I think it's probably far more important I spend time with Arthur in these formative months than sit in lots of lectures. Therefore, my schedule consists of a half-hour preaching workshop on a Monday and an hour-and-a-half placement presentation on a Friday. Plus an hour of College Group on a Wednesday and morning/evening prayer.
Actually, it's really nice to have a little bit of a routine (morning/evening prayer and meals) but enough to be manageable. It feels like everything has fallen into routine of late, including Arthur's care.
The catheters have continued to be extremely stressful, and I admit I've had quite a few down days thinking about them. The thing is, getting them wrong and allowing large amounts to build up in the bladder is extremely dangerous - kidney failure is the biggest killer of spina bifida children, or so I'm told - so every time we have a big reading I throw a bit of a wobbly. But I think we've got it cracked now, as we've worked out that if we cath him immediately before a feed and again precisely 1 hour after the feed the volumes stay below 50ml. We'd prefer 40ml, but 50ml is ok.
We've also recently acquired some new overnight catheters which are hideously complicated and involve snapping a glass vial and injecting purified water into a balloon which expands in the bladder. Complicated, but at least they stay in overnight and don't fall out like the old ones did.
I'm feeling weirdly guilty about how much we're costing the NHS. His catheters alone cost £15 per day (£5,475 per year). Of course he's worth it, it just feels odd being so reliant. Paul reminds me that the British taxpayer is probably more worried about their money supporting chain-smokers with lung problems than they are with supporting a little baby with needs. I think I'll just try not to think about it.
Other concerns include feeding (have switched to formula due to catheter 'what goes in must come out' scenario, which is guilt-inducing but has made me more sane), a dramatic wheeze and a lazy eye. All in a day's work...
Still, on the good side, Arthur is now tracking objects with his eyes and smiling at Mummy, Daddy and his Red Cow (yay!) so developmentally he's spot on. It's so wonderful to see him responding to stuff.
Today I've really got to start reading for my dissertation. I handed in my African essay on Friday, so starting the dissertation proposal is top priority. I loved writing my undergrad dissertation - it's great to be able to really get into a subject - so I'm looking forward to starting this one. I also have to meet with my tutor and agree how many evening prayers a week I'll be able to attend. Late afternoon is Arthur's scrotty time, so hopefully I won't be expected to go to all of them. I'd feel a bit bad about letting Paul cope with the screaming every single day.
Well, it's probably time for me to get myself into some sort of presentable state for morning prayer. Having consumed his breakfast his Lordship is, of course, asleep again. Hard life being a baby...
Sunday, 2 September 2012
A Seaside Parish
Good news folks! My Curacy is officially sorted. Actually, that's a lie, it's not 'officially' sorted until I sign something, so I still can't blog about where it is (lest an unwitting congregation member stumble across this blog... not that that's likely but there we go!) We've been on a second visit and met a variety of key members of the team ministry and congregations and everyone is happy, including us.
The one little clue, which I have revealed in the title of this post, is that it's a parish by the sea. I think this will be a lovely environment for Arthur to grow up in. I'm already imagining summer's evenings mucking around on the beach, sandcastles, ice creams, walking along the prom with the pushchair etc. etc. The churches look great, a real mix of traditions from catholic to evangelical, both town and rural. The training incumbent is absolutely super and I think we'll get on really well. All in all, a really positive prospect - can't wait!
But there's still a year of college to go, and the start of term is rapidly creeping up. One thing that's really on my mind is my dissertation. Cathy, the MTh tutor, suggested a while ago, in the middle of a conversation about the then pre-natal Arthur, that I might want to write about disability. This seemed like a sensible option. After all, it's meant to be a degree in Applied Theology, and what could be more 'real life' than the theological questions I was already asking? Back at that early stage I was asking: Why would God give someone the burden of a disability before they were even born? Why him, why not someone else? Should I want him to be healed?
Gradually, as I thought a bit more and read some disabled theology, my views began to change. I realised it was unhelpful to me to think about spina bifida as some sort of negative burden, and tried to think about it as something really positive, something God had given to the baby and to us for reasons which might one day become clear. I decided, therefore, that healing was inconsistent with God's plan in which he had predestined that our baby should have this condition, and therefore I wouldn't want the baby to be healed.
Now Arthur is here, my views have changed again. Now, I think about him as Arthur (who, alongside various quirks and personality traits, has spina bifida), rather than 'a spina bifida baby'. Whereas before I happily embraced spina bifida as part of his intrinsic identity, I'm now less inclined to believe that disability in any way defines him. Having done catheters every 3 hours for the last 5 weeks, I'm pretty convinced that, were there any way I could take the annoyance of doing catheters away from him, I would.
Anyway, I've gone off on a tangent. At least this shows I've been thinking about disability enough for it to be a decent dissertation topic. Rather than focusing on issues of why people are disabled, or issues of healing, I'm thinking about human flourishing - what God wants for humanity - and how disability fits into this. I've been watching the Paralympics and reading Tanni Grey-Thompson's autobiography recently, and these have given much food for thought on what 'potential' and 'achievement' might mean when it comes to disability.
Back to Arthur. Our trip to Urology a couple of weeks ago revealed that he has been overeating which would be fine for a baby who can naturally expel unneeded nutrients, but not so good for a baby who retains. Therefore, he is on a strict feeding regime where he is only fed as much as he needs for his weight. This has meant quite a lot of griping on his part, but we've been a lot less stressed as we've finally been able to get into a rhythm. I think Paul and I are splitting the tasks very well, so I'm not too worried about how we'll cope when term starts.
Hmm. Start of term. Three weeks away now!
The one little clue, which I have revealed in the title of this post, is that it's a parish by the sea. I think this will be a lovely environment for Arthur to grow up in. I'm already imagining summer's evenings mucking around on the beach, sandcastles, ice creams, walking along the prom with the pushchair etc. etc. The churches look great, a real mix of traditions from catholic to evangelical, both town and rural. The training incumbent is absolutely super and I think we'll get on really well. All in all, a really positive prospect - can't wait!
But there's still a year of college to go, and the start of term is rapidly creeping up. One thing that's really on my mind is my dissertation. Cathy, the MTh tutor, suggested a while ago, in the middle of a conversation about the then pre-natal Arthur, that I might want to write about disability. This seemed like a sensible option. After all, it's meant to be a degree in Applied Theology, and what could be more 'real life' than the theological questions I was already asking? Back at that early stage I was asking: Why would God give someone the burden of a disability before they were even born? Why him, why not someone else? Should I want him to be healed?
Gradually, as I thought a bit more and read some disabled theology, my views began to change. I realised it was unhelpful to me to think about spina bifida as some sort of negative burden, and tried to think about it as something really positive, something God had given to the baby and to us for reasons which might one day become clear. I decided, therefore, that healing was inconsistent with God's plan in which he had predestined that our baby should have this condition, and therefore I wouldn't want the baby to be healed.
Now Arthur is here, my views have changed again. Now, I think about him as Arthur (who, alongside various quirks and personality traits, has spina bifida), rather than 'a spina bifida baby'. Whereas before I happily embraced spina bifida as part of his intrinsic identity, I'm now less inclined to believe that disability in any way defines him. Having done catheters every 3 hours for the last 5 weeks, I'm pretty convinced that, were there any way I could take the annoyance of doing catheters away from him, I would.
Anyway, I've gone off on a tangent. At least this shows I've been thinking about disability enough for it to be a decent dissertation topic. Rather than focusing on issues of why people are disabled, or issues of healing, I'm thinking about human flourishing - what God wants for humanity - and how disability fits into this. I've been watching the Paralympics and reading Tanni Grey-Thompson's autobiography recently, and these have given much food for thought on what 'potential' and 'achievement' might mean when it comes to disability.
Back to Arthur. Our trip to Urology a couple of weeks ago revealed that he has been overeating which would be fine for a baby who can naturally expel unneeded nutrients, but not so good for a baby who retains. Therefore, he is on a strict feeding regime where he is only fed as much as he needs for his weight. This has meant quite a lot of griping on his part, but we've been a lot less stressed as we've finally been able to get into a rhythm. I think Paul and I are splitting the tasks very well, so I'm not too worried about how we'll cope when term starts.
Hmm. Start of term. Three weeks away now!
Thursday, 16 August 2012
Baby Plumbing
Wow! What a couple of weeks it's been. No one ever tells you what hard work babies are! Well, they do. They tell you about sleep deprivation and never being able to finish a cup of tea or complete a task, but you don't actually BELIEVE them do you?
However, I'm not moaning. I've a sneaky feeling that Arthur is a particularly placid baby. Last night he slept from 10.30pm to 4.30am and again from 5.45am to 9.30am meaning that Paul and I got a really good night's sleep. Admittedly, he moaned for most of yesterday afternoon and evening but I can deal with that!
Our big worry is still Arthur's plumbing. Since being home we've slowly come to realise that he can't wee at all. It hit me quite hard first of all because I had really hoped he'd be the exception rather than the rule when it comes to spina bifida meaning incontinence (I expect all parents think this!) When we were sent home from hospital we were instructed to catheterise him every 6-hours, but this led to huge build-ups in his bladder. His bladder is only meant to hold 30 or 40ml, but it was often stretching as far as 150ml. Obviously, he wouldn't explode, the wee would force its way out eventually in a trickle, but would also go up into his kidneys which could be damaging.
So we're up to 3-hourly catheterising which has its problems, especially given how much he sleeps at night. If he sleeps for 6 hours, Paul and I really don't want to be waking ourselves (and, more importantly, him!) up after 3 hours to drain his bladder. Urology are sending us some indwelling catheters for overnight, so that should solve this problem. Going out and about is also a problem with 3-hourly cathing. A nappy change while out at the shops is one thing, but the cath takes considerably longer and generally involves a degree of screaming (not because it's painful, but because he hates lying on his back with his nappy off!) Still, it's something we'll have to work out. We're not the first parents to have to catheterise a newborn, and we won't be the last.
Anyway, the plan is that urology will work out why Arthur is producing and retaining so much wee, so it can be sorted out and the cathing can be done less regularly. To this end, Arthur and I have another overnight stay in hospital on Monday and Tuesday. Basically, they'll monitor what he's eating and what he's producing for a 24 hour period, as well as using the opportunity to scan him again and do some blood tests. I'm feeling quite chilled out about this stay in hospital. I feel I understand Arthur better now, and I know how the hospital works a bit better too, so I'll take all the home comforts we both need for a good stay.
Talking of the hospital, we had a appointment there today, this time with neurology. Some of Arthur's wound has healed very well, but the stitches at the top had come undone. The junior doctor told us he would need to restitch him under a general anaesthetic and keep him in overnight, but then a consultant turned up and said that, given that Arthur probably doesn't have a lot of sensation in his lower back anyway, he may as well stitch him up with no anaesthetic at all. Arthur screamed a bit (therefore, I conclude, he probably does have a bit of sensation in his back!) but the whole procedure only took about 5 minutes and I feel it was a better decision than subjecting the poor mite to yet another GA. While we were there he had his head measured, and I'm pleased to report it remains bang on the 50% quartile (exactly average) so there's no worry about hydrocephalus yet.
Oh - and we took Arthur to be registered today. That was great fun! It feels odd to be registering him in Oxford, given he's going to be a Westcountry boy really, but - as I always say - he'll be back in Oxford in 18 years anyway...! (Pushy? Moi?)
In other news... Well there isn't actually any other news. It's amazing how much a baby takes over your life. But it's not a bad thing, it's fab. I've been watching a lot of Olympics and I'm gutted its over but really looking forward to the Paralympics, especially because so many of them have spina bifida so I can show Arthur what he can achieve if he works hard.
We've had lots of lovely visitors over the last few days, and we've been down to Somerset too to see some family. The wonderful wonderful people of Cuddesdon are continuing to drop food at our door and I count my blessings every time they do. Life is good.
However, I'm not moaning. I've a sneaky feeling that Arthur is a particularly placid baby. Last night he slept from 10.30pm to 4.30am and again from 5.45am to 9.30am meaning that Paul and I got a really good night's sleep. Admittedly, he moaned for most of yesterday afternoon and evening but I can deal with that!
Our big worry is still Arthur's plumbing. Since being home we've slowly come to realise that he can't wee at all. It hit me quite hard first of all because I had really hoped he'd be the exception rather than the rule when it comes to spina bifida meaning incontinence (I expect all parents think this!) When we were sent home from hospital we were instructed to catheterise him every 6-hours, but this led to huge build-ups in his bladder. His bladder is only meant to hold 30 or 40ml, but it was often stretching as far as 150ml. Obviously, he wouldn't explode, the wee would force its way out eventually in a trickle, but would also go up into his kidneys which could be damaging.
So we're up to 3-hourly catheterising which has its problems, especially given how much he sleeps at night. If he sleeps for 6 hours, Paul and I really don't want to be waking ourselves (and, more importantly, him!) up after 3 hours to drain his bladder. Urology are sending us some indwelling catheters for overnight, so that should solve this problem. Going out and about is also a problem with 3-hourly cathing. A nappy change while out at the shops is one thing, but the cath takes considerably longer and generally involves a degree of screaming (not because it's painful, but because he hates lying on his back with his nappy off!) Still, it's something we'll have to work out. We're not the first parents to have to catheterise a newborn, and we won't be the last.
Anyway, the plan is that urology will work out why Arthur is producing and retaining so much wee, so it can be sorted out and the cathing can be done less regularly. To this end, Arthur and I have another overnight stay in hospital on Monday and Tuesday. Basically, they'll monitor what he's eating and what he's producing for a 24 hour period, as well as using the opportunity to scan him again and do some blood tests. I'm feeling quite chilled out about this stay in hospital. I feel I understand Arthur better now, and I know how the hospital works a bit better too, so I'll take all the home comforts we both need for a good stay.
Talking of the hospital, we had a appointment there today, this time with neurology. Some of Arthur's wound has healed very well, but the stitches at the top had come undone. The junior doctor told us he would need to restitch him under a general anaesthetic and keep him in overnight, but then a consultant turned up and said that, given that Arthur probably doesn't have a lot of sensation in his lower back anyway, he may as well stitch him up with no anaesthetic at all. Arthur screamed a bit (therefore, I conclude, he probably does have a bit of sensation in his back!) but the whole procedure only took about 5 minutes and I feel it was a better decision than subjecting the poor mite to yet another GA. While we were there he had his head measured, and I'm pleased to report it remains bang on the 50% quartile (exactly average) so there's no worry about hydrocephalus yet.
Oh - and we took Arthur to be registered today. That was great fun! It feels odd to be registering him in Oxford, given he's going to be a Westcountry boy really, but - as I always say - he'll be back in Oxford in 18 years anyway...! (Pushy? Moi?)
In other news... Well there isn't actually any other news. It's amazing how much a baby takes over your life. But it's not a bad thing, it's fab. I've been watching a lot of Olympics and I'm gutted its over but really looking forward to the Paralympics, especially because so many of them have spina bifida so I can show Arthur what he can achieve if he works hard.
We've had lots of lovely visitors over the last few days, and we've been down to Somerset too to see some family. The wonderful wonderful people of Cuddesdon are continuing to drop food at our door and I count my blessings every time they do. Life is good.
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