Ann Allan : There is no shame in being depressed.

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Many people refuse to talk about how they are feeling for fear of being considered ‘loopy’ or ‘nuts’ or some other derogatory term. So is it any wonder when things start going downhill many try to keep it a secret.

I kept my depression hidden for some time . After a traumatic event in my life it took a couple of years to develop. It started very slowly. I was able to function, able to carry out the day to day activities and able to drag myself into work in the mornings. I appeared happy and could be the life and soul of any party. However on some occasions the mask slipped and on one occasion as I chaired a meeting, tears came from nowhere and I dissolved into uncontrollable sobs. My embarrassed colleagues were unsure what to do. On other occasions while sitting at my desk I would start to cry for no reason. I remember sitting with clients and a voice in my head saying ‘ I don’t want to be here, why am I here?’ I felt afraid and my heart started pounding and that is when I decided to see a doctor. My blood pressure was through the roof and he signed me off work. He recommended anti depressants but I refused. I came home and went to bed and that is mostly where I stayed over the next six months.

The panic attacks became more frequent and more debilitating. I refused to speak to friends on the phone. My family lived a long way off and appeared to be unaware what I was going through.  I barely held the home together and if it hadn’t been for someone coming into clean a couple of days a week we would never have managed. I lay in bed most days. My husband went to work and I just lay there. My thoughts were dark and confused. On a number of occasions I heard voices in my head. I reached the stage where the bang of a door or a sudden loud noise hurt. That is hard to explain but it was as if every nerve end was so sensitive that they reacted to noise. I was having two or three panic attacks every day and I couldn’t see a future. I was so desperate on one occasion that I tried the anti depressants but they made me violently ill and I decided I didn’t need that on top of what I was already suffering. I needed to see my doctor again in order to get a certificate for work.

I was very lucky that I made that appointment. It was a locum and he suggested that he should refer me to a counsellor. I could wait for an appointment or I could go privately and be seen relatively quickly, which I did. After 3 or 4 sessions I began to see some light at the end of the tunnel. I felt my mood beginning to lift and I followed his advice to set myself a project. My project, strange though it may seem, was to strip the pine woodwork in the hall removing all the white paint. At first I thought I can’t do this but by the third morning I couldn’t wait to get up and start work. It took me weeks but I loved it and everyday I could see the fruits of my labour. Gradually the black mist was lifting and I was beginning to feel normal again. The panic attacks had disappeared. My only medication was a beta blocker to help keep my blood pressure under control. Of course I can’t say this therapy will work for everyone but it worked for me.

My advice, however, would be to talk to someone as soon as you begin to feel that something is not quite right. Don’t let it take you over. Talk to a counsellor, talk to the Samaritans or talk to your doctor. There is no shame in being depressed and help is out there.

@amhNI Lifeline 0808 808 8000 or the Samaritans on 08457 90 90 90.

Áine McGrath:  A Rabbits Tale.

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One day last week I was lifting a few spuds at the allotment and stopped to have a chat with a neighbouring plot holder.  As we stood there, I couldn’t help but notice out of the corner of my eye that there was a young wild rabbit sitting nearby, nibbling on some grass under a hawthorn hedge.  Silently foraging, it sat there in the sunshine, twitching its whiskers whilst it chewed on the blades of grass.  Eyes glistening, it was a beautiful thing to see – and to be so close to.  So as not to disturb it, I whispered to my friend “look – right there!” and gestured in the rabbit’s direction – not thinking that he wouldn’t be quite so keen to see it as I was…

 

I was horrified when my friend reached towards the ground and picked up a rock, about eight inches square.  Like a primitive hunter-gatherer, he eyed up the rabbit, growled under his breath and raised the rock up above his shoulder to take aim.

 

“NO!” I yelled, startling him into submission.  “What do you want to do that for?  Look at all the size of it – and look at the size of us!”  He was stunned and muttered “well…they come in and eat everything in sight!”, gesturing towards his plot.  Yes: I remembered then that wild rabbits had indeed found a way onto his allotment last summer and had particularly enjoyed his beans…

 

He went to take aim again.  “NO! DON’T DO IT!” I yelled again.  “Look” I said, “that wee rabbit’s only doing what comes naturally to it.  It spends its day searching for food, then it goes home to its burrow and makes baby rabbits.  That’s all they do – that’s all they’re supposed to do.  This is its home, its natural environment.  WE’RE the ones who are upsetting the natural order of things here!  We each have a wee strip of ground that we grow stuff on in a concentrated, cultivated fashion, and those wee rabbits come in here and see all of this and think “waaa-hey!”  We’re practically laying out a buffet for them – yet we persecute them for following their instinct!”

 

Unable to keep from smiling, he looked at me and said “uuuurrrgghhhh!!!  You bloody big softie!  I’d never thought of it that way before…”  Laughing, he threw the rock away and left the rabbit to eat in peace.

 

Incidences such as our encounter with the rabbit serve to remind us that life does not revolve around our own personal needs and desires.  There are always other people, or other things, to consider, and every choice that we are faced with presents us with an opportunity to generate a positive or negative outcome.  The truth is that we can’t make informed, responsible decisions without considering the perspective of all of the parties concerned – even if it is only that of a young wild rabbit!  Just because a situation directly affects us, it doesn’t mean to say that ours is the only viewpoint that matters.  In every sphere of life, there will always be other viewpoints – and they will always be equally as valid as the one(s) that pertain to our own personal selves.  Just take a quick look down the headlines that are making the news today.  How many differing viewpoints do you see?  How much compromise do you see?  It makes me wonder, just how many of those people making the news today could benefit from watching baby rabbits…

Áine McGrath: Is Real Food Weird ?

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I remember one day a few years ago, I went to buy spuds from a local farmer who sold the produce he grew from a hayshed at the back of his house. We were chittering away when a middle-aged woman pulled up in a big Merc. She got out and with a plum in her gub she said,

“I’d like to buy sahm of yohr po-TAY-toes.”

The farmer explained that he had some freshly dug Navans and gestured towards some that he was in the process of bagging. A look of contempt crept across her face as she replied with the plum in her gub

“Oeh my GOOD-ness! They’re DER-TEH! I’ll goeh to Mahks and Spincah instead.”

The farmer and I struggled to keep our faces straight as she jumped back into the big Merc and sped off to Marksies. In this sanitised world we live in, adults are just as detached from the essential tenets of survival as the children in this cartoon are…

Out of the Adoption Box by Anon.

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“In all of us there is a hunger, marrow deep, to know our heritage – to know who we are and where we came from. Without this enriching knowledge, there is a hollow yearning. No matter what our attainments in life, there is still a vacuum, an emptiness, and the most disquieting loneliness”.

– Alex Haley

I entered this world in late 1971, born to a single mother in her early twenties. I was given up for adoption and placed with my adoptive parents in early 1972. I don’t remember at what age I was told that I was adopted but I do remember being read a story from a book that was used at that time for adoptive parents. The book was used to explain to adopted children why they were “chosen”, “special” etc and how they as a family all lived “happily ever after…”

My family consists of my mother, father and an older brother and sister who were also adopted. The three of us were from different birth mothers.

During my childhood I was made to feel different because my family members bore no physical resemblance to one another. When out and about meeting new people we were constantly reminded of this. People would say things like ” oh, you couldn’t be related, sure you don’t look alike…” These comments continued through primary and grammar school and my sister and I were told the same by friends and teachers. Consequently, from quite a young age I felt “different” and was always embarrassed that we stood out so much as a family.

Apart from that, I would describe my early childhood as happy enough, doing the normal things that children do with their families and friends. Thinking of my natural mother is not something that I remember during those early years.
As I grew into adolescence and early adulthood, I started thinking about my natural mother more and more. She was always on my mind. Every birthday and at various times over the following years I would go through periods of wanting to find her. I would often picture our reunion in my head and what it would be like for both of us. Equally, there were a lot of times when I was angry with her and wondered why I would want to meet her when she had given me away. Surely if she really wanted to keep me she would have found a way.

The main reasons that hold adoptee adults back from finding their natural mother is the fear of rejection again and that in most cases she will have married and have had a family.  Chances are they may never told anyone about you,  although, their parents and siblings would have been told at the time of pregnancy. As a result, you think that they are not going to want you upsetting their lives. The other big factor is the huge guilt that you bear for your adoptive parents. These two people have given you everything in life and yet deep in your heart all you want is your “mummy”.

Four years ago aged 39, I reached the stage where I had a real desire to make contact with my natural mother. My identity and heritage started to mean more to me, which I think is probably something that comes with getting older. I also needed to know if there was any medical conditions of a genetically inherited nature that I should know about.
I made contact with Social Services, found out my mother’s name, age at birth, where she had come from and where I was born. This was the only information that I was given.

Deciding what to do caused me huge anxiety. I had all sorts of thoughts going through my head, I was afraid of upsetting my birth mother’s life and also that of my adoptive parents. I knew that if I found my birth mother and all went well, than my relationship with my parents would never be the same again and they could be deeply hurt. I had also read about cases where adoptee adults had got in touch with their natural mother only to find out several months down the line that they didn’t connect and didn’t want to keep in touch. Added to this was the fact that my sister had not had a successful reunion with her birth mother who rejected her again. My brother was in a similar situation. After a lot of thought I felt that perhaps this was something that for all concerned was best left in a “box” unopened.

However, I knew this wasn’t really what I wanted so I continued to look for her on and off through Internet searches. I was hoping to find even a photograph. On my last birthday I looked her up again on the Internet only to find her obituary. You can imagine the distress and upset this caused me. The final realisation that I would never get to meet my mummy opened up the “box” that I had kept all my feelings in for a long number of years. This has resulted in me needing counselling and medication to help me cope emotionally with the huge loss. In fact I have suffered from mild depression for a number of years, which I now realise, has been linked to my adoption. Because of the stigma of mental illness I have never talked to anyone about this except my husband. I just battled on keeping it in its “box”.

You see, for me as an adoptee adult, it is not only the loss of never having had the mummy that I should have had, but of a whole life with the extended family with whom I should have been brought up. People who I would have looked like, shared personality with, shared mannerisms, had things in common with, all those simple things that “normal” families take for granted. I am left at 43 years of age with adoptive parents who whilst they raised me very well and have always loved me, I do not feel a connection. Through counselling I understand that there would be no connection, as such, because I am not theirs in that sense and so therefore can’t have any of their personality etc. It has also been explained to me that it is a bit of a lottery as to who adopts you and what type of people they are. There are people who are adopted and have a very happy life with their adoptive parents and never feel the need to look for their natural mother. We are not a close family and have never been, though my parents would think we are. I did try over the years to do things with my adoptive mother but gave up about ten years ago because we have  nothing in common and we are completely different people. For many years now my biggest regret is the loss of having a lovely Mum that I could go for coffee with, have a day out at a spa, go shopping and have fun, like lots of other mother/daughter relationships. That includes my own relationship with my daughter. I appreciate that there may be people reading this who have their natural mums and don’t get on with them, but at least they are your mums, I never got that chance.

I will be forever grateful to my parents for all they have done for me. However my adoption was never right and should never have happened simply because my mummy became pregnant at a time when it was frowned upon by the Catholic Church.

I do support adoption in cases were people are not fit to raise children or where they have been abused. However my mummy would have been perfectly able. It was just in those days it was an embarrassment to families for their daughters to be pregnant. This makes the whole thing so sad. I am happy that in modern adoptions there is a link maintained in some form with the natural mother.

On a happier note, I have now been reunited with my natural Aunt who is the most amazing person to come into my life and we connected immediately. They are, as a family, extremely sorry for what happened and acknowledge that my adoption should never have happened. I have found out lots of things about my mummy, my grandparents and extended family. I have an album of the most beautiful photographs of her and most special of all is that I have some of her jewellery and several handwritten letters. My mummy wrote these at the time of the adoption when she was trying so hard to find ways of keeping me. I have also met a cousin, his wife and children and there are plans to meet other uncles and cousins over the Spring/Summer. It is so good to finally see someone who I resemble and my daughter who will soon be twenty-five is very like my mummy. It is wonderful to finally know my heritage and for my daughter and some day my grandchildren to know theirs. I can now be who I am. What I find so sad is that my mummy did go on to marry but had no more children. I can’t imagine how she got through her life living with the fact that her only child had to be given up for adoption simply because it was an embarrassment.

What I want to say to any adoptee adults out there like myself is: Please, if you want to find your mummy stop thinking and worrying about it and just do it now. Please stop feeling guilty about your adoptive parents. Don’t feel that you are doing something wrong in hurting them. Put yourself first because this was never your fault. I can’t promise that it will be a happy reunion but at least you will have tried. My failure to do so will be the biggest regret of my life and I am struggling to come to terms with that.

To anyone who is judging me because of my feelings towards my adoptive parents, I would say it’s not as simple as two people raising you and loving you all your life. Remember they chose to adopt and always knew that their children had a heritage of their own and some day would want to find their natural families. We have a right and a need to do so. My parents are not the type who ever talked about the adoption, nor did they actively encourage us later in life to find our natural mothers. I understand this is because of their fear of loss but I feel this is selfish on their part. Please think how you would feel if you had been sent off to another family. Babies deserve to be brought up by their mummy.

And finally to any families who have fallen out. Life’s too short. Make amends and be thankful that you all have each other. What I would give to have had the family in my life that I should have had.

Name has being withheld to protect families involved. For help and advice contact:

http://www.familycaresociety.co.uk

http://www.samaritans.org

http://www.adoption.org

 

 

 

Being Mindful of Success by Áine McGrath

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Often I find myself thinking in depth about modern living and the effect it has on the human psyche. I’ve written about it extensively in my journals for several years now, exploring the symptoms and reflecting on the effects of constructed social norms that have corrupted basic human happiness. We live in a high octane, fast-paced world that’s fuelled by stress generated by fickle man-made standards that equate to smoke and mirrors. “Success” is defined in monetary and material terms – but if we take a bit of time to examine what’s really going on we can see that “success” in the modern world is something very different indeed.

Where is the success in having a career that demands all of our time, leaving us with no room to enjoy quality moments with the people with whom we feel real and completely at ease? Is there really success in a job that brings nothing but deadlines, isolation and stress into our lives? Do our demands for “rights”, accountability and retribution become obstacles to our own peace of mind? Are our priorities all wrong?

It pays dividends to take a little bit of time out of every day for the purpose of lone reflection. Sitting still, listening to the sounds that are going on around us, feeling the sensations in our body as we sit quietly and allow our minds to gently settle brings a certain sense of perspective into our chaotic lives. Some people call these windows of reflection “meditation”. It should come naturally to us, but we’ve become so conditioned by socially
constructed chaos that this most natural of human phenomena has become almost impossible for us to access. With that in mind, I’m inclined to believe that true success in life is remaining spiritually and emotionally healthy in a world where our buttons are being pushed 24/7. Breaking the mould and nurturing our own uniqueness has become the exception rather than the rule – and it requires self-awareness and spiritual awakening of the kind that can only be rooted in true inner calmness. It’s difficult to achieve that when we’re constantly surrounded by other people and the majority of our time is taken up with worldly “obligations”. Making time to practice mindfulness at some point in our day helps us to filter out all the background noise, the chaos and the unnecessary demands of modern living with the result that we find a sense of perspective on the world we live in – and how to survive within it. It’s a lifeskill that’s definitely worth having. 🙂

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Denise O’Neill: Let’s Celebrate Getting Older

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Let’s celebrate getting older – it’s a normal part of living!

What is happening to the human species?

Is there a human disease or illness called ‘ageing’, a condition that must be eradicated at all costs? How do we cure this horrible disease/illness? Never fear—we have been informed that there are many treatments available to eliminate and prevent it happening to us: face/neck lift, brow lift, eye bag removal, fillers, Botox injections, micro dermabrasion, laser treatment, chemical peel, lip plumping and, not forgetting, lotions and creams. So we are OK and all is well with the world.

But, wait a minute … isn’t ageing a normal and natural process? We all get wrinkles, jowls, laughter lines, baggy eyes, etc, as time goes on. We all age differently depending on our genes, sun or cold weather exposure, lack of sleep, cigarette smoking, drinking alcohol, stress and illness. But, we all age—a fact of life.

Let’s look at faces and how we perceive ourselves. When we study ourselves in the mirror or look at photographs what we see are two-dimensional images and we tend to judge ourselves quite harshly. All we see are the lines, blemishes and loose and saggy skin. But, we don’t see ourselves the way others see us. We don’t see the three-dimensional, all-encompassing us—our characteristics, our movements, how we communicate. We communicate with our faces more than we ever realise to show all sorts of emotions including happiness, love, elation, shock, worry and sadness. When we fill the lines and wrinkles and tighten up the sagging skin, we take away the facial communication. Faces become puffed, frozen, expressionless, alien-like and that special factor unique to each one of us, known as character, disappears.

So, we have a situation now in society where we have been brainwashed into thinking that we must strive to look young in order to be happy and successful. We are bombarded with images in all forms of media that have been ‘photoshopped’ to the max. What we see are not real images of real people. This is leading to many opting for the ‘cures’ stated above which is a growing and, in my view, a worrying trend. And, what is more worrying is the fact that younger people are having ‘work’ done.

What angers me is that many in the booming cosmetic procedures industry are making mega bucks from people falling for their promises that life will be wonderful if they were to look 10 years younger. And, for those who pretend not to have had procedures, we are not fools—we can tell who has had work done. It’s as plain as the nose on your face (sorry, couldn’t resist the pun). We also don’t know, from a medical and psychological point of view, what the long-term effects of these procedures are.

If people wish to avail of the processes to eliminate the signs of ageing, that is their choice. But what we really need is a revolution that says ageing is positive. We need a change of mind-set to get back to celebrating the beauty of getting older. Let’s see images in the media of real people, with real wrinkles, jowls and laughter lines. Our faces belong to each of us and the characteristics we have developed are evidence that we have lived, that we are continuing to evolve, that we are wiser, and that life is good to the very end.

I am also passionate about grey as a choice for women but that is another story…Check out http://www.greyisok.blogspot.co.uk

Photo by Catherine McIlkenny.

Ann Allan: NHS Lack of Communication?

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Sunday saw me sitting in our local out of hours department. I had been in agony all weekend with a strained shoulder blade. My blood pressure was also extremely high and I thought it prudent to seek medical advice. An appointment was made for 2pm by a doctor who had phoned me to find out what was wrong.
After waiting about a half an hour I was seen by a different doctor. I explained my symptoms once again and was examined. My BP was still ridiculously high and the Doctor requested permission to access my medical records. I agreed.  She was efficient, thorough and caring despite having a large number of patients waiting. After being prescribed a short course of medication I was advised to see my own doctor the next day in order to have a long term prescription filled out. Imagine my surprise when I attended my own doctors surgery on Monday only to find that the computer system only works one way. The out of hours doctors could assess my information but my own doctors couldn’t assess what the out of hours doctors had added to my notes. They had to wait for a written report. What sort of a system is this and how much of the out of hours doctor’s time is involved in writing out reports? Does it leave room for errors and a delay in following up patients who have presented to the out of hours doctors?

Ann Allan: The Rush to Blame.

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The recent desecration of a memorial on the Newtownards Road brought out the armchair detectives. A rush to blame the other side for the destruction. What I saw was a lone figure on a bicycle on a mission. What his/ her reasons were for this act of stupidity was not obvious. Nor was it obvious where the perpetrator had come from. Notwithstanding, those on the loyalist side blamed the Short Strand and those on the Nationalist side blamed the Newtowards Rd community themselves.
Why is there this rush to blame and cry foul? Why try to stigmatise a whole community for the actions of a few? Do those in the loyalist community really believe that the residents of Short Strand had a secret vote? That they all supported the motion for an idiot on a bicycle to go to the Newtownards Road and wreck a memorial. Likewise do the residents of Short Strand really believe that the whole community in that area hatched a plan to wreck a memorial just so ‘themuns’ would get the blame?
I’m not saying that it wasn’t the case that one or two members of these communities did actually do it and with the intention to cause trouble but it wasn’t the entire community. Most people want to live and let live. Most people want to get on with life. So when we start blaming without all the facts then the seed for mistrust is sown.
You can see it around you every day, especially on Twitter. The actions of one or two idiots has the usual suspects out ready to judge. You are playing into the hands of those who carry out these deeds. They maybe get their kicks out of wrecking things or they may have an agenda to cause more tension so please in future wait for the police to do their job and find the criminals before you rush to judgement.

Ann Allan: How to Stay Faithful to Facebook while Having an Affair with Twitter.

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I suppose it all started when I discovered Skype. Suddenly I could communicate with relations I hadn’t seen for years. It took a while for me to realise why I hadn’t communicated with them for years. We had little in common. As a result I sat making small talk before announcing , sorry have to go, somebody at the door. Ok, so it was midnight here and morning in Australia, but I hoped they wouldn’t notice. The novelty with Skype soon wore off. I became restless. When a friend introduced me to Facebook I was ready for something new. The attraction wasn’t instant. I dabbled a little.

Facebook wanted to know a lot of personal information and being a little coy I decided that my name and an outline photo was as far as I was prepared to go. I openly mocked those who had succumbed to Facebook’s charms and thought them very fickle. However it didn’t take long to seduce me and so my love affair with Facebook began. I changed my profile picture many times to get it right. Decided in the end on a picture painted by my six year old granddaughter. A cheery black haired girl with no nose. A bit like Snow White. Without an actual photo I could still pretend I was young and attractive. Deceitful I know but hey ho! That little red light at the top of my timeline had my heart beating faster. It surely knew how to get to me. The anticipation that I had a message or that someone wanted to be my friend was so exciting. I did try to ignore it but the flesh is weak and with the bribe that I could gossip, see silly photos and endless words of wisdom I warmed to its charms.

After a short flirtation I was in love, well at least I thought I was. Always one to take an interest in what’s trending, I became aware of Twitter. Subliminally to start with. TV programmes now gave out Twitter handles. Never take off, I said. Too complicated, I thought. Oh, ok I’ll have a look, I conceded. And that’s when my relationship with Facebook began to suffer. I was more and more attracted to Twitter. Twitter offered excitement. New people. New followers. I could follow people who weren’t friends and people I thought I would never meet followed me. When Eamonn Holmes and Marian Keyes became followers my life was complete. They would never have been my friend on Facebook. There are of course downsides. . No one says nasty things on Facebook. We are all loved up. Twitter, however, like the jealous lover can be hurtful, spiteful or just do the huffing bit. I put something out there, bare my soul and Twitter just ignores me. Then I feel spurned and return to Facebook to seek reassurance that I’m still loved. There I cringe over some of the sugary posts giving out advice like modern day Nietzsche’s but like them anyway so as not to offend my other love.

Tension is high in the evenings. Hubby is jealous of my flirtations with social media. We use the same email address. He has an iPad and iPhone. I have an iPad and iPhone and when a tweet, email or Facebook alert comes in, it’s a bit like the 1812 overture. All the alerts are different and they all come in at intervals of a nano second.

“Feck  off ” he mutters, as I relish the fact that one of my lovers is calling. So to whom shall I stay faithful? I think I’ll string them both along. They fulfil different needs and I am loathe to let either go. Just have to make sure they don’t find out about each other and I’m sure Skype would have me back.

 

 

Ann Allan: Maybe I’ll get some wisdom teeth

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I had been attending the dentist for years, having my check up every six months, and hadn’t needed any dental work. So it came as a bit of shock when, with my mouth wide open and unable to speak, the dentist informed me that I had receding gums. ‘ Wah dos at ean’? I asked. Why does a dentist start talking to you when you can only answer in Swahili. Well I think you may need implants, he said, otherwise your teeth will become loose and eventually fall out. This will make your chin drop and you will be unable to chew. Pictures of an ugly old hag were floating in front of my face. Didn’t take long to discover I was looking at my reflection in the dentist’s light but with the thought of eating being a problem I panicked. Implants? Was I going to look like Ryland Clark? Would I ever be able to speak properly again and what was the pain going to be like on a scale of one to ten? I had noticed a few teeth a bit loose. I was still able to munch my way through a steak but I had to face the truth, I was old and I needed new teeth. At least things had changed. False teeth had moved into the twenty first century and it was no longer necessary to have dentures that you kept in a glass by the bedside.

An appointment was made with a well known clinic in Belfast. The waiting room was so plush that I thought I might actually book in and spend a few days there. This is going to be pricey I thought. I had my consultation with a very nice dentist. I was then taken for an X-ray. It was a small room and I had something like a bit put in my mouth. I had to bite on it and an outer ring revolved around my head taking a photo of my gums. In a few minutes the X-Ray was up in front of me and the dentist was confirming that my bone density was decreasing and my only option was to have seven teeth removed. There were then two options. One was eight implants or two implants and a bridge. I was advised that a dental plan would be sent setting out the options and the price.

A couple of days later the plan arrived and for the price of the first option I could have bought a reasonably sized family car. For the second option, a smaller sized car. The family could envisage seeing their inheritance in my beautiful new set of teeth. However I conveniently shoved the letter in a drawer and put it to the back of my mind. I’d think about if later.

On my next routine visit my dentist enquired how my assessment had gone. Er fine, I muttered, embarrassed by the fact that I was procr… procras… putting off the decision. I was also having a few niggling pains and the realisation that I couldn’t put it off any longer was beginning to sink in. By this time I’d managed to mislay the original letter so I requested a copy. This arrived followed by a telephone call from the clinic, by the end of which I had agreed to go back and see the consultant. This time I brought the hubby so that he could ask questions that I might forget. He was more impressed with the large wall mounted TV in the waiting room. After a chat with the nice dentist I agreed that option two was the least traumatic. Ok so I’d be badly bruised around the neck and chin area. After my holiday from hell I could cope with a bit of bruising, couldn’t I? It was arranged that I would come in in a few days time and have a scan. This was to make sure that I had enough bone density to put in the two implants.

The night before the scan I didn’t sleep. I tossed and turned. I phoned next morning cancelling the scan. A letter had also arrived that morning asking me to sign my acceptance of the procedure. Unfortunately it gave the downsides as well as the benefits and the imagination went into overdrive.

Knowing I had to make a decision I did what I thought I would do if I was having work done to my house. I’d get a second opinion. I contacted another well known private clinic and explained what I was looking for. They quoted the price of a nice day out at a spa, plus lunch, for the consultation. I thought that was a bit steep but I assumed that the assessment would be on the same basis as the first clinic. The price there for a consultation had been more like the price of an intensive manicure and half the price of this clinic. Instead after a brief sweep around my mouth with a gloved hand I was told what I already knew. I needed implants. It lasted half an hour and there was to be no follow up recommendation with quotes. Big son kept trying to face time me during the consultation as I had forgotten to turn my phone off. This was embarrassing to say the least, as every time I cancelled the call, he tried again. Six times in all. The consulting room was unbearably hot and I was realising I had made a big mistake. I paid the exorbitant consultation fee with a heavy heart and left feeling like a sixty five year old woman who just been trying to put off the inevitable. So that’s where I am at the moment. I need to plan a six month period in the near future when it won’t matter if I have no teeth, temporary teeth, two implants, two implants plus bridge and learning to talk ‘ proper’ again in more or less that order. Hubby can’t suppress his delight. No nagging for six weeks. I’ll let you know what happens..

Ann Allan September 2014.