Come closer, Mr.Brewer, I have something I want to show you.

I've thought long and hard about putting my thoughts into words on the subject of a Cornwall councillor who was recently re-elected. I only became aware of him through the anguished tweets of others on my time line. I don't know much about him but what I do horrifies me. His name is Collin Brewer and he is on record as saying that children with disabilities should be put down after birth as they are too much of a drain on council services.  I have angrily committed pen to paper, stabbed out words on the keyboard, started, re-started, deleted parts and then the whole thing altogether before realising I don't need words to show you just how wrong you are, Mr. Brewer if you think children with disabilities are a burden on society. These pictures are all the proof needed.

A sleeping angel dreaming of big things.

Looking to the future.

Always a cheeky grin for us after nap time.

Giggles.

Giggles.

And more giggles.

With her own unique character.

A little lady in her own right.

So keep calm Mr. Brewer, there's no need for language like yours. Why don't you get to know us a little better before writing us off entirely?

I was prompted to write this post by a call for a peaceful blog protest by Hayleywho campaigns tirelessly for rights for kids with Down syndrome, and in doing so, is a champion of rights for all kids with special needs. You can read the inspiring, beautifully written entries here

Mini prejudices

There is a little alleyway myself and Mini pass through when the grey Galway skies hold firm enough to allow us to walk to the shops without fear of a thorough soaking. There is a a retired woman who either through her own initiative and finances or- and I'm hoping this is more the case although I'm not holding my breath-following the instruction of the city council, works tirelessly clearing weeds, planting new grass and flowers and generally making the final stretch of the pathway a very pleasant place for a wander.

She seems like a very nice woman and always greats Mini with plenty of smiles and enthusiastic cries of how well she perceives Mini to be doing, ending with her professing how well my daughter seems to be progressing.  All well and good. Except that yesterday she asked a question that was far removed from her usual queries as to what age Mini is and the obligatory is she sleeping through the night? No yesterday, as Mini was toddling along and I was doing my best to mentally steer her away from the mounds of freshly dug earth( she is not the biggest fan of holding hands), the woman paused to greet us, while resting on her rake and uttered the words
" Are you her carer?"

Initially I was too shocked to respond and eventually managed to mumble out "um, no I'm her....mother." The rest of the conversation passed in a bit a of a blur with the woman once again repeating her mantra of "she's doing great isn't she?" and me nodding and awkwardly trying to move Mini forward. I know she meant no harm in asking the question but in a flash she had relegated Mini from a normal child enjoying a walk to the shops with her mother to an individual needing the constant care of a professional.
Therein lies the rub-the fact of the matter is that Mini does not require much more looking after than a "normal" child her age. She eats without much assistance, she plays with other children, responds well to the supervision of adults. She certainly does not require a carer. She could spend Monday to Friday in the creche if I chose to work full time. But, as she wears her disability on her face for all to see-in her almond shaped eyes, button nose, tiny ears and rounded cheeks- she is judged accordingly and it seems the worst case scenario is often decided to be the case.

Really what I should have done was spend some time with this woman and educated her accordingly. People with Down syndrome are not all cut from the same cloth so to speak and they possess a wide range of abilities but only recently has their potential begun to be unlocked through early intervention services and a suspension of previously held prejudices. What I want for Mini is to be a child first and foremost and to be judged for who she is and what she is capable of achieving, not for her disability. Yes she is different but so is every child and just like every child, she deserves to be treated with dignity not prejudice. Take her for what she is, not from what you've read about or heard that she is likely to be.

No happy ending for you here buddy!

So work wise, 2013 has so far been dire. Not many patients have come through my door at all. It makes me laugh and cry a little inside when people talk about how the worst is behind us, economically speaking. I fear the worst is yet to come. Ordinary people, those with crippling negative equity and with small mouths to feed, are being squeezed again and again by a government that only manages to impress in one foul way-its blatant disregard for the hard working honest man or woman it continues to abuse.

Hence once the increased car tax, health insurance, house insurance, grocery bill, mortgage ( and let's not forget the impending property tax and water charges) have been deducted from the dwindling pay packet there's not much extra left over at the end of the month for luxury services like acupuncture. I firmly believe that acupuncture with its emphasis on treating the root of the problem rather than simply addressing its symptoms a la Western medicine is what makes it far superior to its mainstream counterpart in combating many, but obviously not all, aches and pains.

Not everyone feels the same way and why should they when they have been raised in Western society with only a doctor available in the role of healer. Thus part of my job is to educate people, to answer any queries they may have about acupuncture and see if it is right for them as it's not for everyone. As such I used to many enquiries about my services by phone and text, which usually spike just after I have run an advertisement.

One such spike in enquiries occurred this morning just after my most recent advertising endeavour. The ad in question was published in this week's Galway Independent,in the Classifieds section under Health & Beauty so it has been in circulation now for approximately 6 hours. In that time I have received 4 phone calls and 2 enquiries by text message. So what's the issue I hear you ask? The issue is that those who have read the ad have decided that acupuncture is some kind of code word for 'sexy time'. The first call was from an elderly gentleman who was wondering would acupuncture help with his cold feet. Cue me enquiring as to the nature of the problem as a good therapist does-was it the result of an injury?How long has this been going on for?How is his diet and lifestyle in general? The conversation proceeded in this vein for nearly ten minutes. He then began to enquire about my fee and location and then asked me a question which instantly set off alarm bells-
"Do I offer any extras?"
I played dumb-"Extras, sir?"
"Yes," he replied, "Sex."
I couldn't believe he had just er, come out with it so to speak and mumbled a shocked, "I'm hanging up now, do not call again."

The next call was from another elderly gentleman who didn't waste quite so much time in getting to the reason he was calling-after the standard what are your fees/location questions, it was straight into "Would acupuncture help with ejaculation?"

The two texts, again from men, were a combination of an enquiry as to whether I offered a "naked massage?" -note there is no mention of massage in the advertisement- and a request from a charming individual called Ian to do acupuncture on his bum. This last one I have to admit caused a brief smile to flutter across my lips before the blood once again began to boil. It's an advertisement in a newspaper, people!!One that offers acupuncture and reiki not happy endings!!! I am appaled to have been treated this way by perverted men who somehow think it is acceptable to treat a professional woman offering theraputic services by reducing her to little more than a whore.

Or is it my own fault for placing an ad in the Classified section? I know massages can have a different connotation for some twisted individuals but there is no mention of massage in my ad. It is obviously much cheaper to put an ad in the classifieds than to take out a placed advertisement in the main body of the newspaper. I don't have a huge budget for my marketing and advertising. On the face of today's "results" however , I'll be avoiding the Classifieds section and advising other hard working female therapists to do likewise. Maybe I'll get a legitimate enquiry from this ad but the abuse I've had to face is something no one should have to deal with in order to make a living.

Here is the infamous ad-thankfully I only paid for it to appear in this weeks edition. Looks pretty harmless, no?

Mini words

Mini turned the big 0-2 at the weekend. By the reckoning of the sometimes humorous, always informative emails from Babycentre, she should have approximately 50-75 words in her burgeoning vocabulary. Of course this is the time line for the development of a "normal" toddler. Mini understands certain commands but doesn't have anywhere close to that figure. She has 2 spoken words-the charming "bye" which she lavishes on anyone who leaves her presence-much to the amusement of strangers including cashiers and security guards-and the less charismatic "no" which she usually bellows whenever anyone deigns not to acquiesce to her every wish.

Added to her spoken lexicon are about 10 signs using Irish Sign Language which for the most part seem to revolve around food-biscuit, apple, banana, drink, eat. Her favourite things-music, light, bubbles and play round out the growing collection. The signs are by no means perfect but act as a means of communication that is badly needed by both Mini and us. She doesn't always use them, however, and when this happens she falls back on the most basic form of communicating- screaming  at the top of her small but mighty lungs. It's a frustrating time as we try to interpret her wishes. While friends of ours comment on how life has gotten so much easier in some regards with the advent of language in their little ones, we are left to decipher the half signs and feral cries of our bright but (for now) linguistically challenged child.

I fantasise that somehow, her little brain has decided to abandon the English language and instead opt for the alluring romance of her father's native tongue, le francais. I dream of her turning to me one day at dinner time and uttering the full phrase, "Mais non maman, je voudrais pas du poulet ce soir, donne-moi le boeuf bourguignon!" Or words to that effect. In truth I just can't wait to start chatting with Mini. I suspect she' ll be quite the chatty Cathy once she gets going if her fake phonecalls are anything to go by!

Mini failings

I turn 32 this year. In a few short weeks actually. Another trip around the sun nearly completed and what have I learnt? Feels like not much and while I attempt to get some kind of career path going, I am reminded of the fact that there are some things that no matter how old I get or how much I study/practise, will forever remain just beyond the realm of my understanding.

1. How to reverse into a parking space.
Not because I'm a woman but because I have a terrible problem with depth perception. At times I'm nearly as bad as that tortoise trying to get the tomato. So reversing into a parking space can only be achieved by allowing my mind to go blank and entering a Zen like state-a kind of becoming one with the steering wheel, which allows me to be finely attuned to the movements of the car. And no one, absolutely no one can be watching me while I do this. Any sighting of traffic coming against me in the other direction and that's the end of that manoeuvre-I become like this poor lady.


2. The female reproductive system.
I'm a woman who has been surfing the monthly crimson wave now for nigh on twenty years now, plus I also gave birth, which should indicate that I have a pretty good idea of what's going on down below but it pains me to say that this just isn't the case.  I know the bit about an egg being released and needing to be fertilised but what leads up to that happening with hormones flying around left, right and centre,  and the aftermath which makes use of words like blastocyte, endometrium and corpus luteum just downright baffles me. No wonder we women are as bonkers as we are when our internal plumbing is so complicated.

3. Not knowing my left from my right
I can just about follow directions, but if you're facing me and ask me to turn to the left, my brain will become instantly muddled. Do you mean your left of my left?Or stage left? This reaches levels of chronic confusion whenever I get on a healthy buzz and head to a local Yoga class. Unless the instructor is standing with his back to me, any request to lift the right leg/arm/toe/knee is met with a a flummoxed flailing until I steal a glance at my neighbour to confirm which direction I am supposed to bend my unwilling body part into next.

4. The French language.
I love this language but it seems I may never master its unforgiving pronunciation and myriad grammar exceptions. And the French are the most unforgiving in the world when it comes to inaccuracies, even of the slightest nature, concerning their beloved native tongue. Sometimes I think I should just abandon my confused mumblings and go the route of Joey from Friends.


5. Feeling comfortable with shopping in Brown Thomas.
This doesn't happen very often as I don't generally tend to have the sufficient funds needed to shop in this designer boutique. My father gave up buying actual presents years ago to go down the voucher route so every Christmas I duly receive an ebony gift card promising luxury items that are beyond the capabilities of my thin, threadbare wallet.

Two things I don't like about the store-
1) I generally buy make up with the gift card because it's still all I could afford even with its plastic assistance. The products have no price tags, or they do but in such minute form that you literally have to bend over double and angle your eye to the counter to such a degree that you end up inhaling half of the eyeshadow that's such a garish shade of orange that you'll never wear it the real world and oh God, here comes a sales assistant... which brings me to...
2) The staff. This sounds silly, as I'm a ( nearly) 32 year old WOMAN but I still revert to the painfully shy 16 year old me when it comes to dealing with the perceived uber-confidence of the staff. So much so, that at times I have nearly collided into a stand brimming with shiny goodies, just to avoid making eye contact with a particularly enthusiastic make up assistant. In my mind, they can sense that I don't belong here amongst the finer things in life and are trying to rat me out with a seemingly benign "Can I help you?" Maybe one day (when I win the Lotto) I'll be able to sashay in there and buy all around me without the batter of a Lancome enhanced thick black eyelash.

And you guys, what seemingly innocuous things do you fear may be forever beyond your grasp?

Best Valentines Card Ever

We normally don't do Valentines in this household but I loved receiving this from Mini when I went to pick her up from creche today!

Mini no mates

Mini was invited to a birthday party at the weekend. It was a joyous event with many little kids running all over the place, there to celebrate the 2nd birthday of a beaming little girl. It's not something that Mini gets to experience on a regular basis. Not many of my friends have children and she is the first grandchild on both sides. Add to that, half of her family live thousands of miles away in France and her interaction with other kids her age is few and far between. It's something I'm starting to feel a little guilty about.

Shortly after Mini was born, we were both invited to the "March Mums Club", basically a community led meet up of mums and babies who had been born in our local hospital in March 2011. It would have been a great opportunity to meet other mums, form a support group and forge friendships between adults and little ones alike. Back then, I couldn't face going to this group as to see all those perfectly healthy babies who had been denied to our family would have been a step too far in dealing with Mini's diagnosis. Now of course, I realise that Down syndrome isn't the worst thing in the world, far from it, but that chance for Mini to make friends in this way has long since passed.

One of my most deep rooted fears for Mini is children will reject her due to her differences and she won't make any friends. It's my pessimistic nature creating a worse case scenario but I worry all the same. She seems to be popular enough at her creche, which soothes my nerves and gives me hope. Mini celebrates her own birthday in a few weeks time and I would love to see it overrun with little kids all there to enjoy the day with her.

So how to solve the equation? Start getting my friends who are coupled up to get procreating? I can't see that being too much of a runner to be honest. I've been looking in local shops and libraries on notice boards for playgroups but can't seem to find any so I'm turning to you, dear reader. Any suggestions?

Wanna play with me?