Chapter 2

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It was a relatively uncomplicated pregnancy, Yes, I bordered on gestational diabetes, threats of pre-eclampsia, and a severe case of swollen ... well just about everything!
In the summer of 1991, leafy Kent was unbearably hot, and a seriously badly timed pregnancy on my part, meaning that not only was it hot and humid, but, when I got my annual attack of hay fever I Couldn't take any antihistamines, which in future planned pregnancies, I would never repeat.
I was happy, however, expecting my first child, soon after marrying Michael. I'd met him whilst at work. I wasn't really a career girl, and I felt guilty as I wasn't really interested in becoming one. The job for me was just "coasting", I had no real idea what I wanted to do with my life, or any real ambition to achieve anything in particular. I'm sad to say, I was one of those little girls, embroiled in my own femininity, and flourished in the role expected of my gender. I played with dolls, and I was surrounded by pink, despite the amused horror it produced in my Mother..., as I got older, my dreams were simple. I just wanted to, fall in love, to a handsome Prince, and have a family of my own.

I was an only child. My mother, Samantha Burns, was so diametrically opposed to me, as I was a girly girl, and she was an ardent feminist. She gave birth to me at 35, ancient in those days, and out of wedlock a disgrace in the sixties. My mother was never ashamed; however, she was disowned by her family, and she rarely ever mentioned them. If I pressed her she became irritated and gave clipped answers to any question. She had trained as a primary school teacher, (a job which she loved), and we lived a comfortable (but insular) life. She had friends, and was extremely popular with them, as she was with her pupils, whom she occasionally invited over to our home for tea. I, however. always felt a little jealous that they were having Mum on "my time", so I wasn't always particularly friendly to them. Our house was a happy one though and often filled with fun and laughter. Unlike my Mum though, I was not gregarious, and basically a loner. It wasn't that I didn't have friends, it was just, that I really didn't mind being on my own. In fact, I felt happier in my own surroundings, and fantasising, about what my future would be. I had simple wants and desires. I was a dreamer, but the dreams were always simple ones.

As I got older my thoughts and personality never really changed, in fact, I became more introverted, and single-minded Whilst I was in my teens, Mum began having dreadful headaches, and balance issues, from which she was eventually diagnosed as having an inoperable brain tumour. I was 16, at the time, and went into free fall, after her diagnosis. My life would be changed forever.

Despite persistent nagging about concentrating on my exams I never really applied myself with school work again. I would often lie to Mum about doing well at school, and makeup stories about, how my A levels were going, and careers I was interested in. It was easier for me, and as she weakened, the questions became less, as I was needed more and more as her carer, a role I know she never would have chosen for me voluntarily.

Mum never lied to me about the extent of her illness, and in the later stages, we had many discussions about death. Deep down though I'm not sure if I truly believed she would die and leave me. Our last few months were filled with her physical pain, which increased, and as the tumour grew, her mentality changed, which caused her to have blackouts, hysterical outbursts, and delusions. Yet despite this, there was still laughter in her more lucid moments.

Sadly, Mum never divulged much information about her own family. It was difficult and unfair to press her given the circumstances, yet I couldn't believe that they wouldn't want to know or see her, but she refused any information, saying that it wouldn't make any difference to them and that she didn't want them in my life, now or ever. She was adamant, but at the time I couldn't help but feel resentful, feeling that she was being selfish, as when she was gone, I would have no one.
A few months after I turned 18, Mum deteriorated rapidly, she needed round the clock care. Thankfully Macmillan Nurses came to help. They were invaluable to both of us, and they helped me a lot emotionally, I will always be grateful, as they cared as much for me, as her. They found the time for tea, and a chat, about my own grief and uncertain future.
Mum was eventually admitted into a hospital. She was having seizures, which never seemed to stop. She had barely arrived in the A and E department when she had a cardiac arrest. While I stood in shock, they administered C.P.R. Incredibly they brought her back, however, she soon slipped into a coma, and we never were to speak again.
Mum clung to life for 3 days, and I never left her side, I knew that praying would be fruitless. Although it was inevitable, I still held out some hope, that a miracle would happen, but at 3 pm on a Friday, her eyes flickered for the last time, before passing peacefully. The inevitable, that I feared would never happen, had happened. I was alone now.
Some of Mum's friends helped me organise her funeral. There were lots of people at her funeral. The children from her school cried, but I was in shock, and hardly cried at all. Did it mean I didn't really love her? I felt guilty. A bad daughter. After the funeral, all, but a few of Mum's friends had a disappeared from my life. I was a loner of course, so although a little hurt, I didn't mourn their loss to any great degree. I sold our house, as it was ridiculous for me to have a three bedroomed

house. After selling I bought a small flat, in central Ashford, and put the rest of the money, into a savings account, and wondered, what on earth I would do next? Having failed most of my A levels, as expected, I had no thoughts about my future. I needed to get a job, but as what I had no idea. I just started looking at the local papers, as it seemed the best place to start. After some months scouring the locals, I eventually saw a position advertised, for a cashier in my local Bank. It sounded promising, and as maths was my best subject, I decided to apply. I got an interview and secured a post at Barclays in Ashford.

I met Michael three days after getting the job as a bank cashier. He was the branch manager and appeared much older than me, he seemed very grown up, and I was far too shy to have more than a cursory attempt at conversation. After about 8 months I felt more home and had settled well into the daily workings of the bank. The six other people in the small branch were all very kind and helpful to me. I went out occasionally with my workmates, but no meaningful relationships flourished. As time went on, however, my friendship with Michael Schaffer, became closer, and I realised we had things in common. He too was an only child, and we had a lot of similar interests, in music, especially Elton John, books and life.

He was ten years older than me at 28, actually younger than I had originally thought. He was I found a really nice down to earth guy. He was very funny. I found after a while that he was making lots of excuses to see me or ask for my help specifically in the branch. I didn't, for a long time consider that he was "interested in me" romantically, probably because, I was still waiting for my fantasy prince and my silly childish dreams of romantic love. That didn't mean It wasn't romantic love, but it was safe somehow, and I really needed to feel safe. He was gentle, and when he smiled at me, I became flustered and shaky. When Michael, eventually asked me out on a date, I was delighted. Being with him, I felt happy and more secure than I had for a long time. He was the one, I decided quickly, yes definitely. We married in a little church in the Kent countryside close to Canterbury, I was only twenty.
This was what I had always wanted. A loving husband, and after six months of marriage, I was pregnant, and looking forward, to having my own family and realising the only dream I had ever had. It was the beginning. Everything seemed perfect!
Pregnancy had brought out the most stubborn part of my character, I decided I wanted a high-tech hospital birth. I loved my mother but, maybe there was a part of me that desired to go against the feminist ways that I know my Mother would have wanted for me. I wanted to feel I was in control, as in my life so far, I had found that difficult. My mother I knew, would have wanted me to have a natural home birth. She loved to regale me with the story of my birth, which only made me cringe, and made me determined that that wouldn't be for me. I didn't bother to go to any birthing classes, as I had already decided, no natural birth for me! soon as possible, it would be an epidural and goodbye pain, hello baby.

Life of course very rarely goes to plan. After being a week late, I was forced into a hospital to be induced. I had put this off for a day, as it was Michaels Birthday, and I just wanted to be at home with him. Thankfully the hospital relented, and I came into the hospital on Sunday the 11th of August 1991. Typically, as it was a weekend, there seemed to be a skeleton staff, meaning that there was only one anaesthetist, and he was on an emergency, so couldn't be there to perform an epidural, there and then. I was suddenly given a crash course in, so-called "natural birth" consisting of breathing, and consuming vast amounts of gas and air!

To be honest I don't remember much about the birth, just lots of pain and confusion. I felt myself slipping in and out of consciousness, with a strong sense of foreboding, which sadly turned out to be for a good reason. Melissa was born, flat and blue, there was no crying, no sound. Even in my semi-conscious state, I knew my baby was not alive! If the birth was confusing, the next few hours were equally so.
At one point a kindly looking woman joined me in the birthing room, only to tell me my child was dead! I remember the screaming, and begging, that it couldn't be true. The unbearable agony, and the inability to believe! There was a gap in time, where I remember nothing, and when I did and became aware, the woman was gone! I wish I could remember her name, or what she looked like, but I can't.
Later I was still alone in the Labour room, when the doors flapped open and a large incubator was wheeled into the room, with an Asian looking doctor, and two nurses with him. "Well," he explained in an almost jolly fashion, "your daughter gave us a quite a fright. We've got to take her to SCBU, as she is still very unwell" I could hardly catch my breath, or speak, as they disappeared as quickly as they came. I remember trying to crane my neck to see what was in the incubator, but all I could see were wires, tubes and nothing else.
The next thing I remember was lying in a private room, with Michael in a put-up bed next to me. I remember feeling so so tired, but felt so guilty of wanting to sleep when my baby was.... somewhere! I did sleep that night. I slept very deeply. The doctors came to see me, in the way that they would for weeks to come. They explained that our baby was very sick, and had, through inhaling meconium into her lungs, been starved of oxygen, and as a result had suffered a significant brain injury during the birth. They told us that if she survived the first few months, which was unlikely, she would have very little quality of life, and would die young. We had many of these similar meetings over the next few weeks. Each time Michael and I would hope beyond hope that they had something new to tell us. To give us hope for our Melissa. Sadly, this was not to be. Many tests were done, and each one just gave us more and more devastating news to try and process. She was blind, that I already knew. She was paraplegic and epileptic. She also had a condition called nystagmus, which resulted in her eyes never being still. They moved up and down and side to side. I knew blindness was inarguable. Every test showed massive damage throughout the brain.

One sense, however, appeared not to be affected, was her hearing. It was obvious to us she could hear. She often attempted to move her head to sounds. If you clapped, her body jumped in surprise. If I spoke to her, I felt her trying to concentrate, despite the fact the doctors said this was unlikely. It was impossible to know what she understood from her hearing, or how her brain processed the sounds. But to us, it didn't matter.

She could hear!