The Emotional Rollercoaster that is our Girl

The Dynamic Daughter will be 14 soon. She is a delight to have around but she can also be emotionally exhausting. She has been diagnosed with Cyclothymia in the last 12 months and this has been an excellent explanation of her whole life. Cyclothymia is a mild form of bipolar. She has always been extreme in her emotions but unlike bipolar these extremes come and go fairly quickly. The paediatrician who diagnosed her also said that these people usually have an incredible empathy for others and a willingness to help and this is so true of her. Like any teenager she can be selfish, rude and difficult but her ability to care for and think of others is amazing.

Her birth was, as was her brother's, not easy so after 14 hours of unsuccessful labour she was born by cesarean section. It was a lot less traumatic than her brother's birth and she weighed a healthy 9lb 6oz or 4250g. But unfortunately, we had to have drama didn't we? At the age of 3 days the Dynamic Daughter developed a fever and started to twitch and jitter. For the next four days this twitching baby was kept in a humidicrib and subjected to all sorts of tests. Her life was never in danger but her quality of life was in question. It turned out to be a virus and she recovered from it. It took a few days for the Dynamic Daughter to stop flinching when she was touched because she had had many heel pricks for blood tests and a lumbar puncture.

When the Young Negotiator was a baby he was relaxed and happy when I left the room. He would amuse himself beautifully with his fingers, toes or whatever. Not so the Dynamic Daughter. Illogically, I thought they would be the same but they could not have been more opposite. The Young Negotiator, who was almost three when she was born, and I called her the hungry hungry hippo. Luckily he had plenty of patience. I was feeding this baby every 1.5 - 2 hours. Her appetite was insatiable. Her ability to be alone was negligible and her reaction to my leaving a room was instant. She screamed! But she was more or less a healthy and happy baby. After checking with the early childhood sister I started her on solids at three months just to get her to fill up.

Cyclothymia explains her early life beautifully. I think if I had had 10 children I would have realised she was extreme but I only had the two. People often said that boys are so much harder than girls to raise and I would always laugh at that.

At the age of three the Dynamic Daughter developed a habit of fainting. The first time she did it was at daycare while I was at work and she even stopped breathing. She had a battery of tests but all seemed normal. Eventually we worked out that the fainting was associated with blood or the discussion of blood whether it was hers or belonged to someone else. The nurse at daycare also realised that she was not walking properly. Through more referrals and physiotherapy visits it was discovered that she had a left-sided weakness and her fine motor skills were poor. Like her grandfather, uncles and myself the Dynamic Daughter has a tremor in the hands. All of this was not insurmountable. It was to make life interesting though. There were many faints up until late primary school age and then for some reason they stopped. (They have come back with the advent of hormones and when she experiences extreme anxiety). If we were quick enough we could talk her out of them. I know one day we were crossing a road on the way to the movies and I was holding both their hands. All three of us had been fooling around but when we started to cross at the crossing I asked them to stop. The Dynamic Daughter chose to ignore this advice and continued, only to trip me up. I fell on top of her on the road. My fall was cushioned by her little body but she unfortunately was bleeding and under my weight. Her injuries were not serious but she kept saying "I'm going to faint" over and over. We were in the middle of the road, it was hot, I had a little boy on one side and this over dramatic person on the other and I am thinking I don't think I can carry her (my back was crap). In my bestest and sternest voice I told her that if she fainted she would not get to go to the movies and we would just go home. The Dynamic Daughter recovered in record time.

When she was about four I took her to see The Hooley Dooleys concert (like the Wiggles) with a friend and her daughter. The concert was excellent and the kids loved it. The Dynamic Daughter was so excited that in the middle of a song where all the kids were dancing she commenced screaming louder and louder and more hysterically until it was like her head exploded and she collapsed in a sobbing heap on the ground. We were stunned. I held her on my lap and she cried and trembled for a good five minutes. That was the cyclothymia, it makes sense now.

At primary school she was over enthusiastic and her extreme excitement and enthusiasm made it socially hard for her. She had friends and got on with some of the other kids but would go into overdrive making it hard for some kids to cope. The Dynamic Daughter would come home from school and talk in such a manic way about everything that it was exhausting. But in a matter of seconds her mood could change to absolute sorrow and she would be crying inconsolably.

This little girl had amazing ambition and did very well in school. One parent told me that she would be voting for her one day. Her future plans were many and varied but were always very elaborate and exotic. The one ambition I remember her having was to be a Super Hero.

Children can learn fairly quickly what their peers will accept and adjust accordingly. The Dynamic Daughter took a little longer than most. As she got older she was able to adjust her behaviour to fit in. This change in personality in itself was tough, it was not the real her and this could possibly have lead to the depression she was to suffer for nearly two years in high school.

RIP Boris ......Ya' bully

Boris had to have his head removed from his body. My most naked necked of naked neck roosters became aggressive, but only with me. I raised him and his siblings from about 15 days old, fed them, cared for them, took their baby photos. Out of five chicks we ended up with four roosters. What are the chances eh? We gave one away which left us with three. Two more had to go but I was actually going to keep Boris. Until one day I turned my back on him and I felt a 'thump' on the back of my leg and turned around and there he was standing up to me. I ignored it once but it became a recurring thing. I was nervous around him. He would even run, in the way only a naked neck can run (which is quite funny), across the paddock to have a go at me. I did try walking purposely towards him but he would not back down.

Little featherless *^%#@~*! He had to go. That was a job for the Lovely Husband. He does not like it at all, poor bugger, but all is peace and tranquility again.


The young negotiator (my teenage son) tells me that he was not attacked because he is the alpha chicken. He does have the poultry following him every evening to put them away, it is very cute. The shirtless wonder with his earphones in his ears totally oblivious to the chickens and geese following adoringly to receive their share of scraps and grain.

We still have Norris and Frank. Frank has to find a new home but there is no hurry. Both roosters are well behaved. The teenagers have named the naked neck hen Steve. They say it is a rugged, tough name. She is the smallest of all the hens (I think she is a bantam) but the fastest out the door when it is opened and the first to get to the scraps/grain. She is a real chicken!

Birth of the Young Negotiator

The Young Negotiator is 16, turning 17 this year. He is a nice person, quiet and unassuming. He does well at school but his 'effort input' is quite sluggish and relaxed. He is not argumentative or difficult to get along with but he negotiates, man does he negotiate. It is all very polite and calm but every time we require something of large effort or of a big time user he has to negotiate with his father or myself. He has always done it. Even as a little fella' he would negotiate. I remember when he was preschool age he negotiated with his swimming teacher who stood about 1m in the water from the edge of the pool, where our little negotiator was holding on with firm determination, and asking him to swim the distance to her. "What if I just move along the side of the pool and I will get to you that way?"

His negotiating started in-utero. He was a large baby and was not coming into the world before he was ready. He was ten days late! Typical of him, no rush, no stress, no fuss. Had he been delivered on time or early he may well have fitted through my birth canal but no that was not to be. I was in labour for 48 hours because he was negotiating as to whether it would be warm enough or perhaps a bit bright for him out there. We went through a couple of shifts of the same staff at the hospital. The birth did not progress so they called in the obstetrician on call, who we shall name Dr Efficient but also Dr Lacks Bedside Manner. My strength was pretty much shot by this stage and so Dr Efficient tried a forceps delivery. Not successful, but when he tried to remove the forceps, one forcep arm did not want to come out. So off I go to have an emergency cesarean to have said forcep removed and, of course, the baby.

With the help of an epidural I had no feeling from the waist down. Dr Efficient had trouble getting the forcep out because the baby had threaded his arm through the loop at the end of the instrument. It was shiny and new and the baby liked it obviously. The baby was hard to get out because the contractions had wedged him tightly into the pelvis and he was LARGE and my pelvis not. I could feel no pain, like I said, but my body was being tugged and pulled at during the extraction of the little negotiator. (He is stubborn like his father). The first thing Dr Lacks Bedside Manner said when the baby was finally released from my battered body was "What a whacking huge baby!" He weighed 10lb 3oz or 4620g and he was 56cm long. Our firstborn had a concussion, split chin, footballers' eyes (swollen and nearly closed) and a paralysed left arm. My body was not much better. He was never in any distress before, during or after the birth. He had stitches in his chin and slept a lot. He fed four hourly and filled his nappy as babies do. He smiled and was easily amused. As babies go he was a dream. Nine months of physiotherapy fixed his paralysed arm. He had minor nerve damage but it is all good now.

We moved into our little cottage on the farm when he was six months old. The house is old and at the time needed renovating, rewiring and a functioning kitchen. It also needed screens on the windows. We had redback spiders, wasps and mosquitoes to deal with. It is not a project I would recommend to take on with a baby. For his first birthday we gave him (not literally) a set of kitchen taps. They know nothing at that age and the proud grandparents made up for any parental slackness.

Nothing much bothered him as a toddler, he loved to wear his sand bucket on his head and carry a broom so we called him Mr Bucket Head for a while. He would be easily amused and was happy with his own company from the beginning. His comprehension of life seemed amazing but I think children always amaze their parents.

He had a couple of minor mishaps. I had an old pram I kept for the paddock and our clothesline at the time was in the paddock with the cows. He sat in this pram while I hung out washing and the cows often visited him. A young cow rested her head on the shelter on top and fell asleep. One day I took him in this pram across the paddock to visit my neighbour. I was running, giving him a thrill. I assume he was smiling when the pram wheels unexpectedly hit an old and dry cowpat. The pram stopped suddenly and tumbled over, I fell to the side and the pram was upside down in the grass. I picked it up immediately to discover that the little negotiator's face had found a very new and fresh cowpat. The aiming could not have been more accurate. He started to splutter and spit and was tempted to cry. I cleaned him off as best I could and we commenced the run across the paddock again. He forgot to cry.

We used to have a male turkey, from an adjoining property, visit our chook pens and I knew nothing about them until one day it attacked the little negotiator and it was no longer welcome. There have been the odd rooster go him (they lived a short life) but all in all his life was pretty normal.

The young negotiator has tried different sports over the years. He is not a natural in the sporting world but has tried cricket, gymnastics, swimming, karate and is now a field hockey player. He has played hockey for about 6-7 years now. The only other sport he stuck at for any length of time was karate. He was only little and was inspired by those heroes of the screen, the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. He enjoyed the sport, he lacked the concentration and commitment required to achieve big things but was happy enough. His first sparring was memorable. He chose to spar his instructor who was a very tall teenager. We assume he picked the instructor because he knew that injury was unlikely to occur. On commencement of the fight the little negotiator rushed in, wrapped his arms around the young man's lower legs and sat on his feet. He sat there giggling and looked very pleased with himself. This is the kind of rumble that would happen at home with either parent and this obviously overrode any karate moves that were in his head. The funniest thing was that the instructor looked quite perplexed and had no idea how to respond. This little boy was not following protocol and it confused the instructor. We consider the little negotiator's first spar a win.

This year the young negotiator travels to Vancouver and LA for hockey. He applied to an organisation that takes teenage sporting teams overseas for different sports. It is not skill based but the simple act of applying and paying for it. He has a casual job in a supermarket and has paid for it himself. We are very proud his achievement. His team will be made up from teenagers from all parts of Australia and they will not meet until they travel together on the plane. They will play for the first time together in the first game against a Canadian team. He is beating his mother overseas! He has a passport. I don't have one. Cheat!

I'M BACK

Had a huge break over Christmas and New Year but am ready to get back into the swing of things.

Had good and bad Christmas. Had lovely friends, family and food - the three Fs. It was not stinking hot as it can be and we had fun.

On the down side my cat Cous Cous ate my canary Mr Peabody. My own fault. I left the cage door open by mistake and all I found was one satisfied cat and a few feathers. We were calling her "canary killer" for a few days. He was a lovely little guy.

My horse (the aforementioned Piece of Poop) has now been retrained and going beautifully and will be sold. She has been staying with a horse fanatic I met at a book launch. She was the author of a horsey book and when I emailed her about my Piece of Poop she wanted to meet me and we discussed her future. She is too much horse for me but would be an excellent pony clubber or ARC mount so she is on the market. This also saddened me as the outcome was decided the day after Mr Peabody's demise.

Mind you, we still have two miniature horses, geese, chooks and roosters, dogs and the cat. It is not as if I have any shortage of animals around me is it? But is it enough?

The geese, Bruce and Fanny, have me wrapped around their little webbed toes. They are so gorgeous and they love me you know. They are always excited to see me. They wait for me in the paddock if we happened to be walking in the same direction. These crazy geese have a very interesting habit of greeting our incoming or outgoing vehicles by running along side honking and flapping their wings. Apparently our vehicles leaving or entering the property is cause for celebration in the goose world. Our driveway is about 80 metres long and when we arrived home recently in one of our cars they came down to tell us something really exciting about their day of eating and pooing. They ran and flapped and called out to us with gusto but unfortunately they are not very agile. We had to stop the car suddenly to avoid a head-on with these crazy birds, one managed to veer off to the left but the other collided with a feathery thump on the other side of the car. Car and goose were undamaged but they are a bit more aware of the dangers of playing with traffic.

Every morning when I let Bruce and Fanny out to graze for the day I tell them at least two or three times that they are not coming into the yard as we walk together to the gate. Perhaps, four days out of the seven I mean it. They look at me, they talk to me, they wait patiently for me to open that gate for them. Damn it is hard. The best way is not to make eye contact.

We have a rescue greyhound who must not be fast enough on the track. We fostered her in 2006 and ended up keeping her. My daughter wanted to name her Layla (a lovely name indeed) but I like to give my animals names that I would not name a child. Anyway, having short-term memory loss at the time I could never remember the name I had picked and all I heard was my daughter calling her Layla. She learnt her name in one day and so did I.

This dog has been locked up in an old but comfortable shed at night when we go to bed ever since we adopted her. She has a lovely big bed, a biscuit and water. During the day she is with us in the house or in the yard with the other dog. Layla has developed separation anxiety. I don't know what happened but suddenly it was the worse thing in the world for her to go to bed at night. I don't think I appreciated the extent of her anxiety until I inspected the back of the door that faces into the shed. She had bitten and scratched it like a dog possessed. There is now a rabbit size hole in the bottom of the door. Her cot mattress that we picked up second hand for her to sleep on was ripped to a hundred pieces. One of the pushbike tires was removed from the rim and the tube destroyed. Wow, what a woman!

We decided to let her roam free in the yard at night for a few nights which we do not like doing. She is very well behaved but we did not want her bothering any wildlife and she tends to bark at the fruit bats, the possums, the wind, the imaginary axe-murderers, the foxes, who knows what! We lasted two nights. She wanted to come inside as well. NOT GOING TO HAPPEN. She is one very loyal but large dog. We would be tripping over her in the middle of the night because she has to be as close to you as possible and that means your bedside.

We had to work out what to do with her. We decided on tough love. Controversial sure, would it be successful? We had to try. We can be tough you know. We have chased foxes through the paddock in the middle of the night to get our goose back. We chained her to her bed in the shed. I put an old piece of industrial carpet on top of her bed to protect it, we moved the bikes and we gave her bones instead of biscuits to take to bed. I even gave her an old stuffed toy. Does this sound tough enough to you? Man we were bristling with toughness. I would give her cuddles, a gentle talking to, her bone and leave the door open in case there was some claustrophobia happening. She cried, she whaled, she barked and then for good measure she cried again. I visited her once and told her to think good thoughts. This was our night time routine for almost a week. She is one stubborn hound. Eventually she eased off and has since stopped altogether. Told you we were tough. She still would prefer to stay in the house but will go out voluntarily now and I still give her cuddles and a little advice and she is back to the biscuits. Just don't look into their eyes I tell you.

Brain Injury Websites

Some links to brain injury related websites:

http://www.accc.gov.au/content/index.phtml/itemId/289177/fromItemId/815972/quickLinkId/816544/whichType/sng

http://braininjury.org.au/portal/

http://www.biansw.org.au/

My Brain Injury Problems & Solutions

My brain injury is classified as mild and as such I acknowledge how hard it was/is for those who have a more severe injury than mine. I found my own experience to be devastating, rewarding, depressing, enlightening and a great source of amusement.

Problem: Short term memory loss.
Every morning I woke up and did not know what day it was. Every day-sleep I woke from was just as confusing. Was it morning or afternoon? Was I alone or were the family at home? I often had to be asked the same question twice because I couldn't remember it the first time. I would be telling someone something and forget what I was talking about half way through. I had word finding difficulties. I bird flew towards the Lovely Husband and I one day until it realised we were there and at the last minute swooped away. "Stupid fish!" says I. I had trouble remembering new faces and new information did not sink in to that soft, spongy blob in my skull.

Solution: The Caring Counsellor advised me to keep a diary. Every morning I got up and checked the diary to see what day it was and was I supposed to be doing anything with that day. Eventually I would repeatedly say the name of the coming day in my head before going to sleep at night. I also keep a notebook and write things down. I have become the most "listed" person I know. If I needed to go to town I would have to write down the places I needed to go and in the exact order I wanted to do it in. These days I still need a list but the exact order is not necessary. I cross off what is complete and check and sometimes recheck my list.

Problem: Fatigue.
I was tired 100% of the time. When I had not rested enough I would become wobbly on my feet and need to hold on to something or someone so as not to fall over. I would become agitated and upset because my already compromised brain function would become even more impaired. Fatigue leads to all other problem areas. The brain controls all and so when it is fatigued all other issues become exaggerated.

Solution: My Caring Counsellor advised me that reading and watching TV/movies was not a form of resting your brain. Your brain is obviously working when you read and following a story line on the TV. Sleep and silence was the answer. Once I understood this it made a difference to my every day life. I did not find it easy to do, not being a daytime sleeper but it was absolutely essential and, to a lesser degree, still is. Accepting that I had limits was bloody hard and I still occasionally muck that up. I am stubborn after all.

Problem: Light and noise sensitivity.
Sunlight and excessive internal lighting was too much for my delicate sensibilities. Excessive noise was equally hard on me, and still is to a slightly lesser degree.

Solution: At home the family learned that the music or television or their personal noise levels, if too loud, would agitate me and my mood would quickly change. I learnt that a shopping centre was the worst place for me. All the extravagant lighting, the general noise bouncing off all those surfaces and the usually busy shoppers was way too much for my brain to deal with. Sensory overload! I avoided these centres and if I needed to shop I would do so in the outdoor or open street shops. I carried ear plugs for unexpected situations. I avoided peak hour and busy shopping times. Early morning was the best.

Problem: Problem solving, decision making and concentration.
If I was going to cook dinner but was missing an ingredient, no matter how minor, I was flummoxed. I could not work out an alternative. If my plans were interrupted or diverted in any way I became confused and did not know what to do next. If someone asked me a question or talked to me while I was doing something eg. cooking, I would end up not being able to cook and not comprehend what they were saying. Two things in my head was one too many. How male of me.

Solution: On Sunday nights I make a menu for the week. On a piece of paper I will write the day eg. Monday, under that on the left side I write the name of the meal I will be making eg. spaghetti bolognaise. On the right side opposite this I write what ingredients I need. Eg. spaghetti, mince etc. I obviously check if I have any ingredients already and if so it does not make the list. I phone the Lovely Husband at work and he brings home what ingredients I need. This has reduced my stress levels significantly and it saves money too.
If I was in town and an unexpected incident threw my plans skewiff, I would ring my Lovely Husband, usually in a state of anxiety, and after telling him my problem, which was quite often very minor, he would explain the best way to deal with it. He was very patient and always understanding and he saved my sanity many times.
The children took a while to understand that they could no longer come to me while I was doing something and immediately launch into a story or question me expecting an immediate answer. I either stopped doing what I was doing and listened or they would have to come to me later when I was free. With my friends and family I had to explain the situation and occasionally, gently remind them and it was all sorted. If people understand the situation they are more often than not happy to oblige you.

Problem: Unsteady or wobbly on my feet.
This was quite significant in the first few months of my situation. When I had been concentrating too long or had been too physically active my balance would give me grief and I needed to hold onto something still and steady to stop from falling over. (I discovered my daughter was not still and steady and so lousy as a leaning post).

Solution: The obvious thing was to hold onto the person closest to me, a wall or a piece of furniture. Amongst friends and family this could be made light of but I was always self conscious of it when out in public. One day my tired old brain hit upon an idea to buy one of those upright shopping trolleys on wheels you often see the aged take around with them. The beauty of this was that I did not have to carry any bags, the trolley carried quite a lot of weight and if I was to become wobbly it was the perfect secret way to stop me from falling down. I would sit it on its stand and just hang on to it. Looking ever so cool and steady with my trendy old person's, bright red tartan shopping trolley. I am sure I was the envy of other people my age who did not possess one of these fashion must-haves. It even had that three wheel design for going up and down stairs. Woohoo!

Problem: Anxiety, depression and insomnia.
Unfortunately this came with the territory. I have had depression in the past and according to the Caring Counsellor this made me statistically more likely to get it during this difficult time. The anxiety was understandable in the circumstances. Being not in control of your abilities or lack thereof is a stressful thing. There were hours and sometimes days of tears, there were periods of extreme anger and frustration. More than once I lined my head up to drive it into the wall (but knew I never would).

Solution: The Caring Counsellor saved my sanity. She gradually, over the weeks, advised me, gave me more information and watched and listened to me. She was in contact with my doctor (with my permission) and he in turn saw me regularly. For my part I had to share my feelings with them, tell them about my down times. This was essential. My doctor, a very thorough man, established that I was in fact suffering emotionally and to counter my insomnia and anxiety/mild depression put me on half dose anti-depressants. This medication helped me sleep and took the edge off my anxieties when dealing with the world. It helped me face every day challenges with a new courage. I was sent to a psychologist who, apart from giving me techniques to manage my negative feelings, also helped me deal with my mild phobia of dentists! That was a bonus.

My Lovely Husband was a rock! He helped me, defended me against those who would not try to understand, he was there for me every down time and up. My children adjusted quickly to new responsibilities and became my caring helpers. They made sacrifices because I was unable to manage any new activities they wished to take on and social outings were restrictive and very mild. They eventually considered my disability automatically when arrangements needed to be made or social situations were at hand.

My friends, some of whom have had their own difficulties in life, were instrumental in my mental well being. They are great listeners. The one piece of advice that I should have listened to earlier was "Be kind to yourself". Another one was "Allow yourself to grieve for what you have lost". I have learnt that it is OK to be sad or angry or frustrated (obviously for a prolonged period is not good).
I allow myself to feel.

Update on the Baby Fruit Bat

The baby bat rescued from our power lines has been adopted by an adult bat of a different breed who is also in the care of the WIRES carer. The mother bat had been rescued but had obviously lost a baby because she was lactating. Apparently she took to the baby immediately, wrapped her wings around it and has been feeding her ever since.

The mother is a black bat the the baby a grey headed bat. It is nice how they accept each other isn't it?