Thursday 16 October 2014

Mind Yer Head

Being Well/ Well Being

There is a lot in the media lately about mental health. Last week was World Mental Health Day. It is timely then, that this weekend, as part of the Kildare Readers Festival, there will be a panel discussion about representations of mental health in film and literature. The panel consists of Prof Jim Lucey, medical director of St Patrick's Mental Health Services, author Carol Colley, actor Mary Mc Evoy and film maker Cathal Black.
http://kildare.ie/Library/ReadersFestival/Schedule/Schedule-SaturdayOctober18th/

At the same time, a cracking Irish feature film 'Patrick's Day' is doing the rounds of the American film festivals, having won Best Feature during the Galway Film Fleadh this summer.   According to IMDB, Patrick's Day looks at 'When a young man with mental health issues becomes intimate with a suicidal flight attendant, his obsessive mother enlists a dysfunctional cop to separate them'.

I seen the film recently, at an IFTA screening in Dublin. I thought of my own two seven year old children. I wondered how and when I will let them go as adults ?  I guess that they will decide this for themselves. It's the natural order of things.  But a child with mental health issues may not have this choice of when to move on and spread their wings.

At a Q & A session after the screening of Patrick's Day, the Writer/Director Terry Mc Mahon and Producer Tim Palmer spoke about the dilemma of getting distribution for the film, because of its 'difficult' content.  Yet Dr. Ivor Browne, Prof Emeritus of psychiatry at UCD and former Chief Psychiatrist of the Eastern Healthboard spoke passionately about the importance of this film. He said that people needed to see it. I agree.

The film shows treatments including electric shock treatment being administered.  Think One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest. Except it isn't a 1975 film. It's modern day Ireland.  It's Dublin and Kildare and probably other places too.

It explored (a lack of) intimacy, sexuality, choice and how that could impact on the wellbeing of a person, who is already considered 'unwell'. It made you rethink your own thoughts about mental health stuff. You judged the over protective mother, but you wondered what you would do in her shoes.  Hopefully the film will be on general release in Ireland very soon.  Moe Dunford's acting is superb. You need to go and see it.

I met some 'new' people with MS recently.  When us MSers get together, we often compare symptoms, medication, therapies and tips (before launching into gossip/craic/nonMS stuff, incase you think we are all boring gits). I was quite surprised with what I had heard from two women, around my age, who were recently diagnosed. They were both taking the same inter muscular drug as I take. They were also both taking anti-depressants, that seemed to be prescribed at the same time as the other drug, to counteract possible side effects like depression. I was surprised that 1. Medical Professionals had prescribed the anti-depressants so readily and 2. That the women hadn't tried other methods to protect their mental health before opting for anti depressants, which could become a life long habit, alongside the other meds.

It would be remiss of medical professionals to not talk about depression when someone is diagnosed with MS, as many people with MS have depression.  Some treatments can also cause, or exacerbate feelings of depression (a double whammy, huh ?).  In my own case, I don't think I have depression proper.  If I did, would I be brave enough to name it here ? If I did, would you look at me differently ?  What I do get though, is what I can best describe as feelings of 'being overwhelmed'.  It can come across me anytime, but usually if I have fatigue.  If I look back, I've probably had such feelings for most of adult life.  It was a relief when, after my diagnosis, that I could align these feelings to MS. With this new found self awareness, I could really tune in to how I was feeling.  These feelings have also become more frequent since I started taking the big-boy-drugs. I can almost visualise these feelings coming over me like a dark cloud.  By tuning into it though, I can also acknowledge that the dark cloud will pass. This may sound like a simple thing, but it really has helped me.  It seems to me that taking anti-depressants to counteract these feelings, could lead me on a 'there was an old lady who swallowed a fly' spiral, where I just keep taking drugs to counteract the other drugs and it could go on and on.  I don't think that my liver would thank me for it either.

Getting back to the medical professionals - I wonder how many of them prescribe exercise, or taking up a hobby to combat depression ? My own experience has been one where exercise in particular, was encouraged by my neurologist, GP and MS support team, key to living with MS.  I cannot emphasis the importance of my daily trot with my doggy (even if I banjaxed my knee running during the summer). I find gardening and writing (this blog) very beneficial too.

Through Kildare County Council's Arts and Wellbeing programme, we have established a Creative Well programme. This programme promotes well being and quality arts experiences to support mental health. Given our resources, the programmes can only be offered to small numbers of individuals.  The finely tuned programme is currently being delivered by visual artists Dominic Thorpe and Emma Finucane.  The HSE locally have been very supportive of this work and the benefits to individuals are starting to be recognised by the medical profession. http://www.kildare.ie/ArtsService/PressReleases/TheCreativeWell-Naas.html

Meanwhile, Kildare's library service have established a 'Shelf Help' service, also with the HSE and other partners.  The idea is that your GP, or other medical professional, can refer you to a series of books, available to borrow free of charge on a whole range of topics including bereavement, post natal depression and suicide. http://kildare.ie/Library/SpecialProjects/ShelfHelp/

I'm not that naive to think that serious mental health difficulties can always be treated by such initiatives.  It's fantastic though, that in Kildare alone, the medical profession are taking note of alternatives to, or as complimentary to, standard prescriptions for pills.  It's baby steps, but in the right direction.

Come along on Saturday afternoon to Riverbank Arts Centre to the discussion about mental health depictions in literature and film. It will be an open and frank discussion. It's good to talk.

Friday 10 October 2014

@BlogAwardsIE

Myself and the lovely Aoife Kirwan represented the 9 strong 'MS and Me' bloggers team at the Bloggers Awards Ireland last weekend.  Only in the first year of our blog, we were nominated for Best Group Blog and Best Overall Blog.

In the run up to the awards, I didn't have much time to think about it all.  But on the morning of the awards, I found myself getting a little teary. Okay, a lot teary. I felt honoured to be representing the team with Aoife.  I reflected on the strange journey that I have been on health wise in the last few years, that somehow led me to start blogging, for my own blog and for the MS Society. In my small way, I hope that my writings help someone and that I am giving something back to the MS Society that has been good to me. In return, I get a real buzz out of writing and love to read the words of others, that I can relate to and make me feel a little less crazy.

Roll on 6pm. I still hadn't decided what to wear, but decided that I wasn't doing the 80's themed dress. The odd time I go out, I want to wear a proper guna. Legging it out the door a half hour later, I wondered if my fake tan would appear any time soon and cursed myself for not letting my nail varnish dry.  I landed in the Westgrove Hotel, in Clane and I felt like I had arrived. The party was in full swing, with lots of 80's gear, but thankfully lots of people in regular guna deas's. Aoife hadn't yet arrived, so I stood on my own for a while, a little self conscious. Before long, I was chatting away to fellow bloggers, comparing notes and plugging our blogs. A diverse bunch of people, but all equally committed to writing about stuff and posting it on the WWW.

A funny thing happened then. I've always been pretty open about my MS and have written and spoken publically about it. I'm very proud to be part of the blogging team.  But that night, when I said that I wrote for 'MS and Me', I was revealing something that I'd rather not, to people that I had just met. You can see by the way that people react to you that they aren't sure what to think, perhaps thinking that 'she doesn't look sick'. That night, I just wanted to be a girl in a dress at an awards night who writes stuff. Of course, I gave my personal blog a plug wherever I could   (http://poppycottagediaries.blogspot.ie ) if you are interested).  My personal blog was also nominated in the Awards long list, which I was chuffed about.

Once we were settled at our table, I got over that feeling. We shared with the guys from http://www.isitabicycle.com and the rather fobulus gal from http://hautesofabulous.blogspot.ie . The organisers had gone to a lot of effort to dress the tables 80's esque and with really decent goodie bags (dontcha just love free bits and bobs !!).  There was something like 170 finalists, between all of the categories.

Our host Bunny, was a drag queen with a very enviable waistline and a spectacular 'do (which I wouldn't like to see near a naked flame).  A Nordie Presbyterian, he wasn't letting us blogging Southern Catholic types away with much. The craic was great. If I had one complaint, it would be that I was starving all night, waiting on the food, which was served between award presentations.  It was largely my own fault for not eating earlier, while battling with the wardrobe/nail-varnish/children/dog. Still, the Glenisk yoghurt dessert cocktail thingies were worth the wait and I horsed into them.

Throughout the night, we were encouraged to tweet and use social media. It was the type of thing that I usually tut at - people glued to their phone during a meal. But here, I was part of a bigger thing, kindred spirits committed to sharing their stuff, whatever it was on t'internet.

The MS and Me blog didn't win any awards on the night, but it really didn't matter. A cliche I know, but it really felt like we were winners already. Hopefully the nomination will raise awareness of this wonderful resource for people with MS and their families.  For me personally, the awards made me realise how big this blogging thing is.  It was an affirmation that 'yes, you can' - provided that you have access to basic technology and the confidence to press 'submit'.  I feel more comfortable about this new world that I have entered, quite by accident.  Me, just a girl in a dress, who writes stuff.

Wednesday 8 October 2014

SUGAR BABY

I've been accumulating a nice bit of the baggage throughout my life.  Part of this baggage includes a fear about sugar.  Yes, the white, granular stuff.  The divil's fare on earth. Two key happenings spring to mind.
                                                      
1.  Loosing way too many adult teeth at the hands of a pliers-happy dentist, before I even left primary school.  Generous Me thinks that it was a different time and that the dentists' rationale was 'pull 'em out now, save hassle later'.  Cynical Me wonders how much more the dentist got paid for an extraction than a filling ?   I don't remember radio features about the dangers of sugars then, like you hear about the evils of fructose in fruit juice now.  I was very partial to a sugar and butter sarnie when I was a kid.  It was best served at an impromptu picnic with a clatter of other children, on squidgy, fresh, white sliced pan.                                                             Nutritional value : Zero. Childhood  satisfaction : High                                                                                          
2. A few very unhappy years in late teens/early twenties when I was overweight.  I was lonely and felt like a fish out of water when I started college in Galway and I comfort ate.  Although I'm more of a savoury kinda gal, I ate sweet things that I didn't even like. It made me even more miserable.  My circle of girlfriends were skinny Minnie's.  I hid in shapeless, baggy clothes while others had discovered their figures and labels.  Older women commenting that I was a 'grand sturdy girl'.'Hefty'.
                                                       
As a result of these two experiences, I am concerned (obsessed ?) with my children's intake of sugar. Once their baby teeth appeared, night time drinks of milk were a no-no.  I could imagine the lactose, working away while they slept, rotting their brand new pearly whites.  More recently, I have been known to get resistant six year olds into a headlock just to give their molars a good scrub.

A recent TV advertisement for a well known chocolate spread shows a child eating a bowl of porridge, with a dollop of chocolate spread, sprinkled with strawberries, giving the illusion of healthiness.   A wholesome, smiling mother looks on in approval.  It drives me crazy.  What are you doing to children if we are normalising eating this way ?

I get a nervous twitch when shop assistants hand the children a lollipop, before smiling at me, saying 'you don't mind, do you ?'.  Occasionally if I was very brave, I would smile back and say that Now that you mention it - I'd prefer if you didn't, ta very much', before apologetically backing out of the shop.  I often produce food wrappers and lecture the children on the hidden sugar content of food. '33% sugar and you want honey on it ?!'.  Their eyes roll, yawns stifled and they sigh, as if to say 'she's off again !'.  The males in my house would a fierce sweet tooth.  They would devour a packet of biscuits in one sitting, and would give the Cookie Monster a run for his money.  So I think it's best to not have them in the house in the first place.  So, if you want to visit me unannounced 'tis best to BYO biscuits.    

Having said all of this, I really enjoy baking with the children.  The only problem with this is that once you bake it, you have to eat it.  I know I could freeze my baking, but then it would get lost in a sea of ice deposits.  And at the back of my mind, my Hefty Girl years are there, taunting me.

To my shame, most autumn times, I let a garden full of apples rot in the ground. I justify myself, knowing that the birds will eat some of them (and perhaps other fellas with four legs and long tails will too - eek !).  I was gathering some apples for our hens a few weeks ago and Mya, my little girl asked if we could use some apples to make an 'apple tart like we buy in the shops ?'  So much for my Farm to Fork ideals - my child thinking that apple tarts grow in shops ... Had it been that long since I made some ?

We started making pastry immediately.  'Wow Mam, that's a LOT of margarine !'.  Assembling the apple tart, the children had the job of arranging the apples and sprinkling the sugar. 'Wooooh Mam, that's a LOT of sugar', they both laughed. 'See, I TOLD you guys.  I'm not making this stuff up !', I said, feeling vindicated for my many ... many ... sugar lectures.


I was on a bit of a roll with the home baking malarkey and so we made jam, from the glut of blackberries in our garden.  Jam making with two seven year olds is not for the faint hearted.  All of that measuring, stirring, pouring.  I was terrified that the children would get a burn from hot jam, but yet I didn't want to stop their fun.  It was so satisfying to produce something lovely from a hours foraging in the ditches, even if it was a little runny.  It also was a real eye opener to the children that there was so much sugar, a full bag of the stuff, melted and hidden away.

Like most things in parenthood, my standards slip regularly and quite spectacularly.  Sometimes the children's teeth don't get brushed - usually on a night where they were at a party drinking fizzy drinks - the ultimate of all evils.

I often bring my children to work related events. They know it's open season for goodies, so that I can go about my business.  'You owe us, Mam', they seem to say as they smile over at me, while stuffing their faces.  I'm putty in their hands.

And then there is the Final Frontier.  Grand parents houses.  Places that have yoghurts with chocolate balls and buns with icing.  Exasperated, I recently said to my mother-in-law, 'May, you wouldn't have given your children a Cornetto for breakfast'. 'Oh, I would have ... if I could have afforded it at the time ...', she said almost with regret.  She smiled at me and said 'You don't mind, do you ?' as the children horsed into a 10am ice cream ...

Saturday 4 October 2014

Breast is Best

Breasts, boobs, chest, bosom, diddies, baps, puppies. And only if you must ...Tits.  There you go.  I've said it all. In this post, I am going to be writing about breasts.  Mine and other peoples.  Are you still there ? Good.                                                                                                                                          

 It's National Breastfeeding Week.  Too much time has passed for me to whip a boob out and feed my children to mark the occasion, so I thought that I would write about it instead.  Ireland has one of the lowest rates of breastfeeding in Europe.  Of course there are many reasons why women can't or don't breast feed.  And of course it is a woman's right to bottle feed.  But I believe that the breast feeding rates are largely down to women's lack of confidence.   Well educated and articulate women have told me that they would have felt too embarrassed to ever consider breast feeding.

I breast fed my lovely twinnies for 8 months, until I returned to work.  How did I feed two babies ?  It was simple really when you think about it.  Two boobs. Two babies. A lot of patience.  I ate a hell of a lot of bananas.  Strategically placed scarves to save my modesty.  With the manoeuvring required to get the babies in position, I had arm muscles like never before.  It was a special time for my babies and I.  Our time.  I found it comforting.  There were no bottles to sterilise.  No winding of babies.  It was good for my mental health and great for getting back in shape too !

'Breasts' isn't a word that we are too comfortable with in Ireland.  Until I decided to breastfeed my children seven years ago, the only time I would have uttered the word 'breast' would have been in relation to 'breast cancer', whispered in hushed tones and only then because there was no substitute word for such a serious illness.  I don't think that I'm not alone in this awkwardness.

As a nation, we aren't good at talking about women's bodies generally, especially the parts that can be associated with sexual activity.   I think that much of this is rooted in tradition.  We all know of our shameful history in the treatment of unmarried mothers, not that long ago.  Even married women weren't saved from the shame of 'doing the bold thing'.  'Churching' refers to a religious blessing that women were given following recovery from childbirth.  It is thought to have derived from the Jewish purification practice, where the sin of childbirth was washed away.  People considered the purification as important as it allowed the 'unclean' woman to reenter the church in a state of grace.  It was dropped by the Catholic Church after the second Vatican Council of 1967-65.  It doesn't seem that there was any similar ceremony for men who carried out the dirty deed.

Formula milk was introduced in Ireland in the mid to late 1950's.  A pricey commodity, it soon became associated with wealth.  Breast feeding was considered as an activity for the poor.  Breast feeding was ditched, in a similar way that ceramic bathtubs were ripped out in favour of avocado green plastic.  One of my friends breastfed her daughter about 25 years ago, much to her Mother-in Law's disgust.   A woman with notions like Mrs Bucket/Bouquet in the comedy series 'Keeping Up Appearances', she would announce 'here comes the cow' when my friend called to visit, infant in arms. She actually went as far as going out to buy formula milk and bottles when my friend nipped out for a walk.  I kid you not.  The wagon.

Us women aren't really nice to each other, are we ?  Thankfully my breast feeding experiences were generally very positive.  The only negative comments  I got about breast feeding were from other women.  Women around my age.  Unsolicited comments. 'How will you cope ?', with a concerned face, as if I had a terminal illness rather than two healthy babies who I chose to feed myself.  'At least with the bottle you know how much they are getting'.  I bit my lip, looking at my children thriving before my eyes.  I found such comments hurtful.  But I never retaliated with the long list of the benefits of breast feeding.  I don't think they wanted to hear anyway.

Men on the other hand, tended to be very supportive, saying things like 'good girl yourself'.  My Dad told his GP proudly, 'all that I know is that there isn't a bottle to be seen'.    Statistics show that women who receive family support when breast feeding  have greater success.  My wide family circle were encouraging and of course thrilled with the arrivals of my twins.  It was a pat on the back that I needed.  I also had a super public health nurse who was full of practical advise.

Other statistics show that women who see others breast feeding are more likely to do so themselves.  I was very pleased that my step daughter Zara, aged in her early twenties, also breast fed her daughter. She told me that she wouldn't have considered it, had she not seen me breast feeding. I'd like to think that, in turn, she was a role model for other young mothers.
                                                                                               
Growing up on a dairy farm, I was surrounded by mammals producing milk and all that comes with it - mastitis, calves finding it hard to feed, what happened when a cow died during the birth and the rush to find beestings (colostrum) to feed the calf.  You realised the importance of a mother's milk.  How the beestings could be life or death to a young calf.  It was natures way.      

One of my earliest memories of boobs for anything other that feeding your young, was seeing pictures of Toni, 'the exotic dancer' in the Sunday World.  She was a household name along with Fr Michael Cleary and Gerry Ryan.  You would see her there in all her glory as you ate the roast spuds and mushy peas.

Toni was a housewife from Tallaght, with HUGE boobs. Apparently she had a regular slot in The Lower Deck in a pub in Portobello.  (Queue : inappropriate jokes about the top deck. Ha ha). As far as I remember, she wore a gauze top, so she wasn't actually topless, but you could still see all that Toni had to offer.  At the time, I didn't think that there was anything wrong with Toni strutting her stuff.  Maybe it was because she looked like a mammy and her chest looked like the kind of place where you would go for a snuggle if you cut your knee after falling off your bike.  I was way too innocent to think that grown men might also have had thoughts about snuggling their bald head in Toni's chest.

Compared to the Jordan's and other surgically enhanced models of today, Toni looked pretty wholesome.  It's worrying that young girls are surrounded by so many images of plastic people, only to eager to stick their booty in our faces.  It's all the more reason for us wimmin to embrace breast feeding.  Encourage young mums.  Tell them that every single feed makes a difference to them and their baby.  If  breast feeding isn't your thing, hold your tongue in front of a breast feeding mother. She might be having a bad hair day.  Talk to your daughter about breast feeding as a natural, lovely thing to do.

Reclaim the space that only us women can.