Some comments just need to be responded to but I need more than the 5 minutes in between. As a result they are pushed away for that elusive quiet moment. Sorry commenters, I will come back in a separate post.
Going to Venice for a couple of days for another unadulterated luxurious experience.
Yes, I would hate me too.
I'm not going out much this week. I'm under surveillance.
It's difficult to find original presents for most people around me. They either have the stuff or they don't need it. Obviously this creates interesting challenges but with my fair share of travelling I normally manage to come up with something.
Another option used to be 'made to order'. My mother is a professional ceramist/potter and made me the most beautiful vases, cups with names, bowls with the most amazing colours and just generally unusual but practical stuff. I was a popular guest in those days.... Living in different countries finished that option so I'm back at having to think about being original again.
I've discovered a new option. Via the wonders of the web I stumbled across Eveline, another Dutchie in the UK, as it's always nice to read what other ex-pats are up to. Some months ago she started selling hand painted eggcups, charms, peg people, pebbles and treasures she found at a car boot sale that were 'just begging to be painted'.
I initially ordered some great looking egg cups just because they looked so cheerful. Why settle for a white one if you can have a bright sun with a big smile greeting you in the morning? The children loved them and insisted on having them on the table even if they weren't eating eggs.
I therefore asked Eveline if she could do bespoke ones for their birthday. I gave her some clues and favourite colours for inspiration and she came up with these:
And all this, you are not going to believe this, for £5. Eveline, you need to increase your prices - after I order the next set of course.
Tess and Sam totally love them because they are so original. They are great to have and even better to keep so I'll be ordering lots more of them for the 'grandchildren', leaving au-pairs and for whoever is in need of cheering up.
So, for original presents, you now know where to go.
Ranting on a blog is fun but ranting on the radio is probably more effective.
By the time I'd finished my last of 11 interviews I'd become more irritated and less careful with my words. In the first ones I managed not to snigger at the suggestion that the State didn't want 'to be complicit to deceit'. I'm afraid by the last interview my guard had slipped and I actually said "Oh really, since when does deceit bother them?". Admittedly, not the cleverest thing to say. But at least I was honest.
I have to be careful not to fall in the same trap as many clinicians have done after removal of anonymity. Because they didn't support it, their recruitment failed. I need to be prepared for, in my eyes, a worst case scenario and not become despondent.
O well, let's cross that bridge when we get there.
The Group has spoken.
Children born with the help of donated sperm or eggs should have the fact recorded on their birth certificates, a group of MPs and peers has suggested. (see also here, and here).
I can genuinely say that this part of the proposal completely baffles me. In other areas - same sex parenthood for instance- the draft Bill moves towards the concept of parenthood as a legal responsibility rather than a biological relationship. In this case, children are forced to know that at least one of their parents is not the genetical parent - effectively going backwards.
I'm in support of openness and use my little influence to advise as such. But in five years we have moved from complete anonymity to being forced to tell the donor-conceived person. Why o why all of a sudden this haste? In a country where change and speed are practically swear words?
One of the arguments is that removal of anonymity doesn't make sense if the vast majority of people do not intend to tell their children anyway. True but aren't there other ways of addressing that? If they're really that concerned why isn't there more done to educate and support DC parents? A lot more can and should be done so that parents want to tell their child and not have to.
Another argument is that the government doesn't want to be complicit in deceit and 'wants to do the responsible thing'. This sledgehammer approach may very well have the reverse effect and will drive even more patients abroad. What is responsible about that?
Furthermore, we have many discussions with donors-to-be about being known and being open. That, as has now been shown, doesn't deter donors. However, being seen as the parent, legal or not, is a major issue for donors. If the birth certificate doesn't show the legal parent as being the parent, logic dictates that the donor is seen as the parent. The absence of an identity at that stage doesn't change the concept.
99% of the donors feel they're not the parent of a donor-conceived child and don't want to be seen in that way either.
I don't think I would have donated under these guidelines. And what should worry the policy makers is my prediction, and most of them have been pretty good over the years, that many will agree with me.
Running controversial recruitment campaigns seems to be a family trait.
My youngest brother has come up with an idea to lure a specific age group back to the sports club which they would normally leave once they go to University.
Reduced subscription fees, interview coaching for the work place (very clever Ser - I've got a hunch where that will be coming from..) and ........ a certain amount of free beer.
The National Alcohol Prevention Society is up in arms about the last measure and calls this very irresponsible. It uses some completely irrelevant arguments and doesn't seem to realise what happens in real life.
In the meantime this campaign has hit the national press which undoubtedly will have an effect on the results. Again, cleverly done Ser.
Next time make sure they spell (y)our name right though.
Tess gave me a list of instructions of what I should and shouldn't be doing during sports day.
I thought I'd gotten out of this one as it was originally scheduled for Monday. Due to a Very Important Meeting (read: I was chilling out with some friends at Pennyhill, the best spa in the country) I couldn't make it. Unfortunately my lack of interest in bean-bag throwing, three-legged relay and the 'egg and sperm race' was punished by a postponement until a day that I could make it. Today.
Just to make sure I was clear on her expectations she drew up this list. "A reminder," she called it.
I was supposed to
"What does 'act normal' mean?"
"You know. What other mothers do. They act normal."
Genuinely puzzled because, as far as I'm aware, I blend nicely in the background and don't act remotely embarrassing.
"I act normal. You have to give me some clues here because I honestly don't know what you mean sausage meisie."
"You just sort of look .... different.... . I don't want you to be different."
Still not sure of what she meant and feeling slightly sorry for causing her any kind of upset, I raise my eyebrows. Sam, my good old loyal easygoing little soldier, saves the day.
"Pfeeh, she wants to stand out if she can sit next to you in the convertible. She doesn't know what she wants."
And turning to me he adds, in a reassuring, slightly patronising tone "I just want you to come as yourself. As my Mummy."
Every mother should have a son.
Having a girl/boy twin who are being raised by their stepfather from since they were 3 years old, I have my own ongoing social researches.
What's the influence of nature versus nurture?
How much of ones gender typical behaviour is determined by its environment? What do children copy from their biological parent and what comes from the raising parent? Especially the last question is interesting for me as a donor and one who is involved in wider donor issues.
The gender issue has always been clear. Although they had access to exactly the same toys, Tessa would cuddle a doll but Sam would test its strength by throwing it off the stairs. Tess would use the blocks to make a shelter for her collection of soft toys whilst Sam would measure how high he could stack them before it would collapse. In this case, nature is the clear winner.
The other issue is more complex.
Physically they've inherited their father's curly hair. Tess has his colouring but the looks of both grandmothers. Sam his facial characteristics but my colouring. Sometimes Sam reminds me of one my brothers. Only one, which is weird considering my brothers are deemed identical. I disagree but that is a different subject altogether.
Personality wise Sam is a mixed bag. He has some habits which are quite clearly paternally inherited. Most of them are rather fun, others are reminders why I divorced his father. Interestingly enough he also has many traits of his stepfather. Of course he has copied (?) the ones I dislike most just to annoy me even more. As a result the two boys like to gang up against me and show me the wrongs of my way.
I adore Sam more than anything in life but I do not understand him. By experience I know what makes him tick, I feel what works and doesn't and can predict his next move but I cannot work out what goes on between these ears.
Tess is a different story. I only have to look at her to know what she thinks. Good and bad bits, personality wise that child is a carbon copy of me. I received the school reports of the children. There is a comment from her teacher that, apart from the language obviously, is exactly the same as on one of my reports. Word for word.
This can all change. I was considered, both for looks and personality, the spitting image of my father. The last time I saw him he expressed his surprise just how much I look like my mother nowadays. And my post earlier this week clearly showed that also personality wise I've become parts of my mother.
Does it work the other way round as well? Will Tess end up being like her father? And if so, which one?
And will I ever understand my big little boy?
Thirty-five'ish years ago, when my mother decided to open up a farm/gallery/ pottery school, the children were involved in naming the place. I must have been around 7 or so and I clearly remember the discussion. In the end it was decided to name it 't Tiende Kind' which means 'The Tenth Child'. It was very fitting as my mother always had a variety of 'children' to look after.
In addition to 4 children and 2 dogs we had a constant stream of 'stray's'. Friends without a place to stay, unofficial foster arrangements, limping dogs. My mother could always find a spare bed or added more rice to the pan. If you counted them at any given time, 'De Boerderij' - the farm- would always be the Tenth Child.
From the outside my world is very different to my mother's. She is an artist with no interest in material belongings, doesn't do luxury and is as low maintenance as they come. She is the type that never cleans her nails, cuts her own hair 'because she feels like it' and can't be bothered to have a facial or anything like that. Nature has obviously decided to skip a generation and give me the double dose of all of the above. We couldn't be more different if we tried.
One of the things we do have in common is our Agony Aunting and opening up our house and life for others. And the older I get the more I start to look like my mother in that respect. As tiring as it can get sometimes, it is something we just have to do.
The reason why I haven't kept up this log is not because I've been busy with work - not more than usual anyway. But both on Wednesday, Thursday and Friday, I spent hours on holding hands, mopping tears, pouring tea wine and listening to three different 'my life is falling apart' scenarios. On Saturday the sleep over for 3 girls ended up being a party for 5 because friends couldn't organise a baby sitter and the BBQ on Sunday should have been a smallish affair but meant feeding and entertaining 38 people ("Knowing you I'm sure you don't mind if I bring some friends...").
By Sunday night I was shattered, the house looked like a bomb-site but I was enjoying a quiet glass of wine in the garden. The cat 'that's not ours but doesn't know it and therefore lives with us' walked up to me for a scratch and a cuddle.
And that's when I realised I look more like my mother than I'd ever thought possible.
And I'm proud of that.
In between real big news as
My school French hasn't been tested much and I had to delve in the deepest corners of my memory to get useful phrases out. I nevertheless managed to get myself on the right bus out of Lyon airport to my hotel.
Seated next to me was this young guy clearly determined to test his English. With his pidgin English, my pidgin French and lots of flapping hands, I learnt he works as a croupier in the casino, always wanted to go to London, knew the city Lyon very well and was willing to show me around.
When we came to the subject of why I was in Lyon my initial reply was straight forward. Conference is conference after all, although the French version sounds so much sexier. However my tourist guide croupier wanted to know what the conference was about.
Both his English and my French was inadequate. It did cross my mind to use my hands to explain (sperm) donation but quickly dismissed it. Even I have my limits.
Instead I pretended to be a librarian which proved to be a great conversation stopper.
Must remember it for next time.
My on-line absence may suggest the opposite but things are actually calmer than they have been for a long time.
The au-pair is close to perfect which makes a massive difference to the running of this household. I don't know how she does it but clothes are clean and ironed within a day of throwing them in the laundry basket. This is a luxury I never had in my life and one I could quite easily get used to. Most importantly, she is great with the children, both as a play friend, carer and disciplinarian. That part of my life runs as good as it has ever done with smiles all over. I'm spending lots of fun time with the children and everyone is chilled. Working parents will appreciate just how important a calm house is for the smooth running of practically everything else.
For the business I recruited a proper right-hand who is already showing signs of wanting to take over the practical part of my job. Go for it girl, you can have it all. Leaves me time to do the fun bits.
Half fun, half work; I'm off to Lyon tomorrow. Speaking at the 23rd Annual Meeting of the European Society of Human Reproduction and Embryology. I have to admit to being slightly nervous about it as this is the most prestigious conference I've ever spoken at. I realise I've been asked because I do things differently and because I'm not scientific but now I'm all of a sudden concerned of making a right ass of myself.
O well, nothing that funky shoes, a good bra and lipstick can't fix on ultimately a testosterone laden conference. And yes I mean that. Part of it anyway.
Before I had my first coffee I checked if a large shipment had been received in the US. And as I typed in the reference number my brother's face flashed up which woke me up more than any coffee can. I know he's 'paid to smile and look pretty' (his words, not mine) but I've never actually seen him.
He is the guy who 'just focuses on his business.'
What business exactly S?
A week in the life of..
It may not be equally important in some people's eyes but it is nevertheless a week of big events.
Yesterday I finally concluded an ongoing disciplinary hearing, today I gave oral evidence to the House of Lords and House of Commons Joint Committee on the Draft Human Tissue and Embryos Bill which took place at the Palace of Westminster and tomorrow I will be in the Royal Enclosure in Ascot.
I only live 8 miles from the place but managed to avoid going for all these years. Persuaded by my friend I decided to go this time - just for a fun day out. Some weeks ago we planned to go out shopping to find The Outfit With A Great Hat. And Shoes. Because there is no such thing as too many shoes. And A Hand Bag. Because there is also no such thing as too many hand bags either.
And then real life took over. We never went shopping.
It's 22:00. And I have No Outfit. Well I have shoes and a handbag. It's just the bit on top and the bit in the middle that's missing.
I'm starting to think I'm better in the non-frivolous stuff.
I rang my friend and gym buddy to explain, or apologise, for my recent absenteeism. As she is a hardworking career woman herself she knows the drill and realises that sometimes 'things' just take over.
"You know," I said, "too many things to juggle, too many decisions to make. Conferences, school plays, presentations.. the works. The gym was a time luxury which I couldn't afford."
"Well," she replied, after letting out a massive belly laugh "I know all about juggling and decision making. Right now, at this very moment, I'm in Alicante and juggling a book and a G&T. And I have to make the decision soon if I should get up and get a new G&T or just lie here and not move. I therefore know what you feel."
Not quite the same G, but I know you know what I mean.
Eleven months after I was born, my mother gave birth to my sister. Family legend says she wanted to go on for number three straight away but my father, quite understandable, was not in favour. As 'revenge' she gave birth to twins two years later, resulting in 4 children in 4 years.
I clearly remember having a discussion with my mother many years later that having twins was the way forward. In fact, if I had my way, I was going to have twins as well. Of course she reminded me that's not exactly how it works but nevertheless, I always had this strong sense that one day I was going to have my own -non-IVF- twins.
When they indeed discovered I was carrying twins, the consultant put a nice damper on it by reeling off the statistics. Chances for miscarriage are this, high blood pressure is that, prematurity so and so. He also mentioned relationship problems and possibly even divorce. As my then husband and I were discussing divorce before I fell pregnant it gave me a statistical sense of reassurance; I will definitely suffer one of the consequences so statistically I might be OK on the other ones. Admittedly a weird thought and it shows you how my warped mind sometimes works...
I was reminded of the facts and figures when I attended the annual conference of the Human Fertility and Embryology Authority where one of the sessions was dedicated to 'The best possible start to life: Issues around multiple births and embryo transfer.'
Being a twin or having a twin is seen as special. However the increased use of fertility treatment has also led to an increase in multiple births and unfortunately also to an increase in infant mortality, cerebral palsy and numerous other incidences. The presentations of Mr Khalaf and Holte made this all clear but the moving story of Mrs Torr who lost one child during her first pregnancy and has a disabled child from her second twin pregnancy really drove it home.
The HFEA is therefore presently consulting on proposals to discipline clinics that produce twins or triplets in more than 10 per cent of pregnancies. And as a twin mother, someone with access to this data and links with the people who consult or decide, I've been asked quite a few times what my views are.
If I would have been an IVF patient, would I have used single embryo transfer (SET)?
Only in the last days I've learnt that SET can be as successful as multiple embryo transfer which will reassure people faced with this choice. But I have to be honest; I know the statistics good and bad, I've spoken to the parents of disabled children, argued with the consultants on a multiple birth advisory committee and I can also still remember my own fear when my children were born almost 7 weeks premature.
But in the end, if I had the same choice, I would go for twins again. A 40% risk still means a 60% chance of it being OK. I know this is playing with fire and I'm glad I wasn't burnt. But as we separated a year after having the twins, I only would have had one child.
And that thought breaks my heart more than you can imagine.
As I said before I don't want this blog to end up as a vehicle in the campaign against donor conception. I can accept criticism when I talk about these issues but it's starting to become a recurring theme that even non-related posts are used as a hook to hang all sorts of things on.
I started blogging 4 years ago and there has been a loyal group of readers from day one. I will never know why people read my blog and it's probably best not to ask either. But I will not let it happen that the tone of my blog is going to change because a small group realises it's reach and is using it to vent their thoughts.
If you want people to know your views, start your own blog. It's free.
What annoys me more than anything is the way it's being done - not the views itself. There is a site called Tangled Webs that challenges donor conception in Australia and internationally. I know my site is being linked from there and I can see that particular posts create increased traffic. However, when I asked to have access to the moderated bulletin board it was denied. Actually, it wasn't denied. They just never bothered to return my polite, open and honest email. I wasn't pretending to be anybody else and was upfront about my side in this discussion.
As it's clearly their wish to talk only amongst themselves I have decided to block commenters that haven't grasped the nature of this blog.
Again, they can always start their own.
With a 5"11 1/2 (that half is vital...) mother with shoe-size 8 and a 6"3ft father with shoe-size 12 (or was it 13? You forget these things after some years) it doesn't take a genius to work out that my children will be tall, have big hands and feet and eventually will dwarf me.
Yesterday I bought new trainers for Sam. He has size 7 1/2 or 41 as we European earthlings would say.
Seven-and-a-half.
My baby is only 8 and has size seven and a half. How much longer will it be before he towers over me??
I can see a food rationing being introduced soon . . .
Whilst I'm not in favour of huge payments for donors to recognise their commitment or sacrifice, whenever we talk about it people get really uncomfortable. I do find the hypocrisy around money in the fertility sector astonishing. It's the poor patients, the failing sector, the fact that money corrupts, ethics etc etc. Money is a dirty word.
What is so appalling about it is that at the same time the best paid consultant in this country is not a cardiac or cosmetic one, what most people think, but a private fertility consultant. The rise of fertility tourism is not just because of the lack of donors in this country but because for a third of the money you can have excellent care and a holiday on top of it. Although, truth to be said, IVF -involving donors or not- is never a holiday.
The words pot, kettle and black sprung to mind when I read this but unfortunately he's right:
Back when I was 20 and discussed love, life and everything else with my fellow students in Amsterdam I was the only one of my group of driven young women whose biggest ambition was to become a mother. Mother first, everything else second. I even said, something they still remind me of every now and then, that “If I haven’t found the right man by the time I’m 30, I’ll take them on my own”. Children I meant, not the men. Over the years that thought changed, mainly due to age and experience. Nothing quite like the self-centeredness of 20-year olds…
This was all challenged in my thirties when I didn’t get pregnant straight away. My younger sister got pregnant by just thinking about it, one of my friends fell pregnant through taking anti-conception and had it subsequently terminated and the same university friends who didn’t seem overly bothered about motherhood in the first place kept their pregnancies from me for the first months because, guess what, they all fell pregnant straight away.
I started the route of investigation and it turned out that both of us were fine, together it seemed to work but we were just one of these couples that took a bit longer. The fact we lived in separate countries probably didn’t help matters and I clearly remember the time where I HAD to travel to a certain country, in a certain week, just to have sex.
It took us three years but at last I was rewarded with healthy beautiful twins, luckily enough without IVF or such.
So when I saw an item on tv about the shortage of egg donors I immediately empathised with all those struggling couples. That same day I contacted a clinic to register as a potential donor.
I went through implication-counselling and was forced to think about the consequences for myself, my children, the donor conceived and the dc parents. I researched it as much as I could in the limited time I had. I was already 35, had 2 one-year olds, was going through a divorce and my company was about to go under. I could have been forgiven for not wanting to go ahead, but my desire to help was stronger than everything else. I thought it was the right thing to do.
During my research I stumbled across the NGDT and contacted them after I completed my donation. It was a slightly different type of organisation back then but I quickly became a Trustee. Some years later we were consulted about the removal of anonymity which caused a split between the Trustees. Some were fiercely against it, others were not so much against it but feared the end of donation altogether. I asked myself where I stood on the debate and sought consultation from many people around me. In the meantime I had met many donors, donor conceived young adults, recipients, clinicians, ethicists, researchers- you name them. I’ve learned a lot from listening to them and whilst I didn’t always agree, it certainly made me wiser and taught me more shades of grey than even I thought was possible.
I learned more about "genetic bewilderment" - the confusion of not knowing who your biological parent is. I’ve either spoken to, emailed with, learned from or heard from many donor conceived young adults, across the globe, and saw different reactions and emotions. From the not caring and happy to be alive, only curious on a superficial level, really wanting to find out and disappointed that they couldn’t, to being genuinely distressed and distraught about it. I’ve learned a lot from my closest friend who was told at the age of 16 that what he thought were his parents were not his biological parents. He now knows who is mother is but still knows nothing about his father. Interestingly enough, he was against removal of anonymity, adding another shade of grey to the spectrum.
I’ve either spoken to, emailed with, learned from or heard from many egg and sperm donors from all over the world. The vast majority is happy with their donation. A large percentage of donors would not donate on a willing to be known basis but have no regrets about what they did. There is a very small group that has regrets.
And I’ve either spoken to, emailed with, learned from or heard from thousands of recipients-to-be, people on waiting lists or people who abandoned treatment all together. To cut a long story short, I never met a happy one.
Consequently I fundamentally disagree with the conclusion of the comment left on an earlier post that “the most important concern in donor conception is the welfare of offspring”. I agree with the importance of their welfare but I disagree with the suggestion that all donor conceived children feel abandoned and that therefore donor assisted conception should be abolished.
I fully accept and understand that some donor conceived people may have certain needs that need to be met. I have therefore changed my status as a donor. I donated under the old law, i.e. I was anonymous, but am now registered as a willing-to-be-known donor. But I know the needs of people requiring donors as well and feel these needs should be equally met.
Unlike most donors I had and have to review my thoughts and actions several times. When I donated, when I became the Chair going through a legislation change, when I changed my own status as a donor and the numerous times I have been challenged. I’ve dealt with more people, pro and against, than I can remember and read more research on all sides of the argument than most people realise is available. Each and every time I learn something new and the way I think about it now is different from when I donated 7 years ago. But I still think it was the right thing to do. For me at least.
I realise that other people would have made different choices given the same information. That is their prerogative and I respect them for that. Life has taught me some invaluable lessons, one of them that others are not right or wrong. They just think differently about something.
Of course I hope that the children out of my donation are happy, healthy and safe. I don’t know whether the parents will tell them about their conception but for everybody’s sake I hope they do sooner rather than later. There is strong evidence to suggest that children who are told early in life about their conception have a greater acceptance. Furthermore, by not telling you risk the children finding out in a different way adding the issue of deception to an already bewildering situation.
And whether they are ‘just’ curious to find out about my basic statistics or want to meet me, it’s fine with me. Admittedly I would feel for the parents if they want to meet as I can imagine their anxiety about the bond the children may seek with me. Time will tell how I, and my family, will react and feel. I like to think I’m balanced and stable enough to be able to deal with any scenario that can be thrown at me.
About the criticism of my choice itself:
My life, my choices, my failures and my successes have always been met by criticism, (mis)judgement, jealousy, misunderstanding. It fits people’s own belief to think that my choices are not thought through – especially if they don’t agree with me -, all the good things in my life are down to sheer luck or good looks and that underneath this persona lurks another much darker creature. As a result, I have become desensitised when it comes to criticism.
I will never stop caring about people. But I have stopped caring what some say about me years ago.
Insanely busy and not having had the time to sit down and write. Hired someone to do part of my job 1 and she is starting on the 4th of June. The best news of the week: I've got The Perfect Au-Pair.
Despite there being more than 22 million men in the country, Britain is in the middle of a major sperm donor shortage. When the law changed in April 2005, sperm donors no longer had the right to remain anonymous and donor children can now discover who their biological father is.
Siaran West, 35, from Cardiff, was devastated when her husband's MS meant he could no longer father a child. She tells Danny how a sperm donor changed the family's life. In his quest to help the infertile, Danny heads to Westminster with a home-made sperm donation chamber to invite the Labour MPs who changed the law to lead the way. And, with advice from sex expert Tracy Cox, he embarks on a nationwide tour in a mobile sperm tank to persuade the country's men to donate.
As his freezer fills up with sperm samples, Danny soon realises men are willing to come to the rescue if they can remain anonymous. But, more significantly, by actively searching for donors Danny finds men still prepared to donate, even without anonymity. He decides to take news of his discovery to Caroline Flint, the Minister responsible.
Anyone any idea how many times in recent weeks I felt great in being able to say, really smug, "I told you so..."?
Britons are among the biggest whingers in the workplace, a report claimed yesterday.
A study of work attitudes among almost 14,000 employees in 23 countries showed that the French were most unhappy with their pay and working hours, with staff from Britain and Sweden joint second.
The least whinging workers were in Holland, the study found.
And may I just add that, as far as I'm concerned, the difference between the UK and Holland is not just limited to the workplace.
So after this observation, who is going to be the first to ask me, also combined with this and this, why I'm still here?
One of the busiest 3 weeks of the last 10 years with children having rehearsals for dance shows, extra practises for rugby tournaments, presentation to be written for ESHRE, business partner down with concussion, NGDT inundated with calls, press on my back on 2 big stories in one week, social commitments that couldn't be moved and no au-pair, has finally come to an end.
Everything has been dealt with, the presentation will be finished today - it's not yet but it will just have to - AND on Tuesday Friedy from Germany will join our family. Her list of questions suggests she is another through and through German.
I look forward to having the socks sorted by colour.
My 'Safety' post has triggered a completely unrelated debate on donor conception issues.
I think it's an important discussion and will certainly not ignore it. I'm however right in the middle of some time-consuming work stuff which I can't afford to drop. I would not want to put my view on this subject as one of the replies.
I welcome to hear every side of the debate. I may not agree with it but I will always respect everyone's opinion and will always give everyone a voice. However, I would like to think I can continue to write about things in my life as a mother, a wife, a business woman and a person and not have to constantly think how things will be seen in the light of me the egg donor or me the Chair of the NGDT.
Thanks.
Like most parents my heart sunk when I heard about the case of the kidnapped 3-year old Madeleine. I check the news even more than I do normally to hear if she has been found but have to look away if I see the anguished faces of the parents. My heart really bleeds for them.
Nevertheless my initial reaction was one of surprise to hear that 3 children under 3 were left on their own in a hotel room. What on earth went through their minds when they made that decision?
The subsequent articles about whether it's safe to leave your children alone completely miss the point. Some even suggest that parents who don't leave their children alone in certain circumstances are paranoid and neurotic. Excuse me??! It's not about the real safety issues the adults have, it's about the perceived ones the children may have.
I never leave my children alone at night and never have done. That's not because I'm neurotic or worried about the house burning down, kidnappers or whatever 'worse case scenario' could happen. The chances of these real dangers happening are so slim they don't even cross my mind.
But if one of them wakes up with a nightmare and cries without getting a reaction, or one needs the loo and finds the house empty, their sense of safety is affected. It would break my heart knowing one of my children cries out for me and I'm not there to hold it, tell it everything will be alright and Mummy is here, you will be safe. God-knows what scary thoughts will enter their minds if they are left to cry and panic. Most parents will know to well how irrational children can be with their fears.
I can't protect them from all the bad things that are happening, real or imagined. All I can do is offer the safe feeling that whatever happens, I will be there. And that doesn't make me a paranoid or neurotic mother. It makes me one that wants to be there when it counts.
At this morning's breakfast table:
"What are you going to do in London today Mum?"
I responded in an excited manner.
"I'm going to be interviewed for South-American television and after that I'm having a meeting about setting up another company."
And without missing a beat Tess only response was:
"And are you back on time to pick us up from school?"
Some years ago, before removal of anonymity but during the consultation period, we discussed our strategy for the years to come. Completely against the grain, I predicted that with the right attitude, the right approach and admittedly, the right tide, a stabilisation or possibly even a 5% increase was possible after removal. We've lost some trustees who either didn't support the change in law and/or predicted the end of donation in the UK. The remaining trustees agreed it was a hard job but not impossible.
When I shared this with some professionals in future meetings I was politely but firmly reminded that we don't deal with the patients and have no clinical experience. In other words, 'you haven't got a clue what you are talking about'.
I'm sure you can imagine how ever so slightly proud we are for being partly responsible for this increase and for sticking our neck out when it mattered.
According to The Guardian I said
"Internet fresh sperm companies are "preying on the vulnerable" and should be banned."
In the heated discussion that preceded this comment I actually also said
"and I do every thing in my power to shut these companies down."
As much as I understand that women would love to fall pregnant, there are enormous risks attached to using these type of companies. Risks that could affect the parents, the child and the donor.
I do genuinely believe that if people want to take risks they should. If they can make an informed decision, weigh up pros and cons and want to go ahead, I have no problem with it. However, the information provided to both recipients and donors is inaccurate, deceiving and in some cases blatantly wrong.
I have nothing against commercial enterprises and have no axe to grind. But having had contact both with recipients and donors using these services I know they weren't given the full picture. One donor told me that he couldn't produce a sample one evening as he was 'too drunk to perform'. He had his room mate do it for him. I somehow couldn't share this story with the recipient as I didn't want to burst her bubble of happiness.
Another donor had the shock of a lifetime when I had to tell him that legally he could be seen to be the father of the 4 children he seemed to have produced in the space of 6 weeks. He was assured his details were anonymous. He wasn't told about the small print where it states "we cannot entirely guarantee the anonymity of recipients or donors." If, for whatever reason, a recipient would demand disclosure via a legal process, these organisations would indemnify themselves by passing on details of the donor.
If they really believe they're doing the right thing by helping so many recipients they should at least have the guts to be open and honest about the facts. All of them.
But that's where they fall short on balls.
The yearly end-of-season rugby players evening took place last night. I was dreading it with a vengeance but nevertheless dragged the family to this most glamorous of events.
The coaches speeches and awards was to be followed by a buffet, drinks and the highlight of the evening, a true disco with flashing light and smoke effects. However, as could have been predicted, by 9 o'clock most of the children, mainly boys, where either more interested in kicking a ball or, the slightly older ones, drinking beer behind the bushes.
Determined to liven things up and to give the children some payback for all the hours we wasted spent on rugby pitches some decided to start the competition Which Parent Can Embarrass Their Child Most By Being On The Dance Floor.
You will be pleased to learn that my ever present competitive streak meant I won this competition. Hands down.
Many years ago there was the McDonald's commercial where the young boy was being served by a lovely looking girl. At one point she calls the boy 'Meneer' (Sir) and he's subsequently shown with the biggest proudest grin you can imagine, turns to his parent and says with the tone of a 6-year old in love: "Ze zei meneer tegen me/She called me Sir."
I had to think back of that commercial, shown when I was about 15, when I received an email from the Foreign Office. A delegation of the Israeli government, including Director General and Heads of Departments, were coming to the UK to meet various legal and ethical experts on stemcell research and tissue- and gamete donation.
I'm not doubting I know my stuff. But I did wonder how I managed to get myself in a position I'm asked for meetings like this. I can pretend to be all cool about it but the truth is I was really excited about this opportunity. I was joined by my fellow Trustee, a lawyer, who was as excited to be part of this meeting and to have the chance to see the Fine Rooms in the Foreign Office itself.
Why is the painting of me that is not me so popular in India, Iraq, Iran, Russia and Korea?
And linked into this: is it a coincidence I got 2 mails asking if I was willing to teach Dutch lessons?
My whole Sunday was spent on a rugby pitch were Sam was playing a tournament. It was a lovely leisurely day made even better by the quality time we had together. Unlike all the other boys of his team, Sam has no hesitation of sitting on his Mum's lap, having his back scratched, his neck nibbled or my arms around him. Even when he grows to be 2 meters tall he'll always be my baby and I keep telling him that as well.
I said this to my sister, mother of 3 including a 10year old boy, and wondered how long he would be happy to snuggle up to me. I was relieved when she reminded me that my brothers continued to do so until they were 18, both 1.90m with a 1.56m mother.
At bed time I crawled next to him for our daily review of life session.
The referee from Dorking sucked, his knee still hurts and he wants to play for the national team. I told him how much I loved him sitting with me and I wish that could stay forever.
"Of course that will stay forever. But not when I have my own children because they want to sit on my lap as well." And after a pause he added "and I don't think the seat will hold that."
My dear lovely cuddly big small son, if by that time you really still feel the same way, I just get a stronger seat.
It sometimes can be very frustrating to work for the NGDT.
You can get all the shit for trying to make a difference but you actually never get to see the patients if things go well.
The story of Richard and Sandra changed all this and we've never been this closely involved with the process itself.
It all makes it so worth it if you get a call from a very proud happy Daddy to say that Mum and two sons are doing well.
Welcome to the world boys. Can't wait to meet you and your Mummy and Daddy soon.
Sam managed to remove the au-pair as a user on one of the PC's. This surprised me because you can only do that via the computer administration account, i.e. my account. And my account is protected via a password.
"How did you remove that user account?"
"By using your login of course!" (as in 'Mum, don't ask me these silly questions!!')
"But how did you get past my password?"
"O I tried a couple and one of the guesses was right."
"So how did you guess this one then?"
And to my surprise, and horror, he said:
"You and Pappa [my ex-husband] have the same password."
Needless to say, as it doesn't relate to where we first met, names of the children or anything obvious I am completely utterly puzzled how this is possible. Unless Sam is being clever and tries to wind his mother up.
In which he succeeded....
Forced by other work commitments I had to drive into London for a NGDT related meeting. Going into London is normally a straight-forward affair. I take the train and that's it. This time I was near London anyway and in the usual rush, so I had to park my car in one of these London car parks with lots of very expensive cars, where you pay an arm and a leg and they ask you to leave the key. I dutifully obliged, advised them of my expected return time and left.
When I returned some hours later they got me my car and handed back the keys. I immediately noticed my key ring was missing.
"Excuse me, there was a key ring on it. Could I have that back as well please?"
The guys looked at each other, discussed something in their own language and shook their heads. "We are sure there was nothing on there."
"Listen guys I know it was there." And to the amusement of some other customers I added, "it's sperm so I'm sure you think it's funny. But it's my work so it means more to me than to you. Could I please have it back?"
As I said 'It's my work' one of the other customers looked from my rather lovely convertible car to me, dressed in a sharp suit, back to the car and smiled. I smiled back and told him that although I wouldn't want to guess what he was thinking, chances are he wasn't thinking the right thing. In the back of my head I could hear my husband say: "If you are in a hole, stop digging."
There was more snickering and the parking guys pretended to be looking for my sperm-thingy on their desk. Surrounded by 5 of these man in an underground parking garage with no easy way of escape, I figured creating a fuss and asking for names and numbers wasn't going to help my case. I clearly wouldn't get my keyring back and I risked all sorts of other things on top of it.
Annoyed I got back in my car. As I drove up to the barrier, still in the car park, the customer who most probably believes my career is in the sex-industry pulled up from the right. He gave me a big smile and let me through.
And judging by his smile he was thinking the wrong thing.
On my return from a fun day out with the children I read an email from my blog buddy Maureen. We met via our running blogs as we were both training for the London Marathon 2005. By sheer coincidence we bumped into each other during the run itself and we stayed in contact ever since. Funnily enough I thought about her today as the last time I saw her was in an amusement park with all the children.
"Happy Marathon Anniversary to us" was the opening line of her mail and all of sudden I remembered again. Today, two years ago, we both ran the London Marathon.
We both wanted to do it again but we've also both been told we will never be able to. Maureen suffers from arthritis and I have a variety of issues with my knee. We are both limping and we may have to accept that 2005 was really our one and only marathon. Nevertheless, I follow Maureen's example of posting a picture of that momentous day, looking tired and grim but with the medal to prove 'we finished'.
Maureen, it sucks that our bodies have aged faster than our minds. But lets remind ourselves that in the end we don't belong to the 15% of people who say 'one day I'm going to finish a marathon'.
We belong to the 1% that actually did.
The children were still in Holland when I picked Deniz up from the airport. This is the 5th foreign au-pair and she looked as bewildered as the others did. They all want to learn about the different culture, language and habits but once they are 'in it' you can tell they're shocked. Deniz was no exception. Although I'd spoken to her on the phone and therefore know her English is acceptable, she barely spoke a word for the first couple of hours. Over the years I've learnt to keep my mouth shut and let them absorb all the new experiences.
Richard understandably is not to happy with the title of his article in the Daily Mail. I can sympathise but said to him it would be hypocritical of me to blame the journalists considering I'm promoting a campaign named Give A Toss.
I am immensely proud of Richard and all the men out there (Eric being one of them) who are prepared to share their low sperm count with the world. Richard is absolute right when he says
"While female infertility is discussed publicly, male fertility problems are still taboo. I suppose that's because men aren't so open about their feelings and hate to admit they have a problem, so I tried hard to share what I was feeling and not bottle it up. "
Stories like this will make men come forward. I honestly truly believe in the goodness of mankind in general and many British men in particular. I have seen the stats on our site yesterday and know that men have been calling in to ask information about becoming a sperm donor. Richard and Sandra, I realise the attention you are getting is a lot more than you bargained for, especially one week before becoming parents of twins, but you really have made a difference. And on behalf of many couples out there, waiting for sperm donors, I have to thank you from the bottom of my heart.
I also hope you've made people think with the last statement in the article
"People have asked me if I feel less of a man because I can't father children and the answer is no. A real man is one who faces his problems and tries to find a solution, and I have done that."
You both can be very proud of yourself.
"So why are you not married then?"
The question surprised me as only three seconds before we were discussing mobile solutions for London Underground, his customer. And hopefully, one day, my customer as well. Funnily enough my very first thought was my sister. She would have immediately killed that one with a brisk "I am married", closed the subject and moved on to matters in hand (wouldn't you B?).
However, me being me, I smiled and asked "And why would you ask that?" A clever counter-question I thought. It would cover whether he's hitting on me and why he thinks I'm not married.
With un-British directness he replied, albeit with a slightly embarrassed tone in his voice, "I normally don't do this..... but I wanted to ask you out for lunch or so. I dunno, I suppose I wanted to get to know you better."
The business woman in me, and the bit that knows that being a female in a male world has its advantages, saw a nice opportunity. "Why don't you take me to your next management meeting with London Underground and we have lunch afterwards?"
"I'm being used here aren't I?" he asked, but luckily still with a smile.
"Of course you are. But you also know I've got something to add to that meeting so we both win."
"OK, I'll organise a project meeting, you will be invited and we'll have lunch afterwards."
I have told him in the meantime I'm married and have children but, as most Dutch people do, wear my wedding ring on the other hand. But the meeting, and lunch, still stands.
It can be fun being a female in a male industry.
Where on the internet is the nude painting of me that is not me?
I feel very sorry for Natallie Evans who has lost her final appeal to use the embryos that were fertilised by her ex-partner. As she is infertile after cancer treatment she has no more chances to become a mother of children genetically her own.
However I do feel that justice has prevailed. Bottom-line is that her ex-partner has not given consent. I believe that his refusal for consent is as important as her wish to use.
Every individual has a right to consent to advance his or her own welfare. This right is exercised by freely and voluntarily consenting or refusing consent to medical procedures, based on a sufficient knowledge of the benefits, burdens, and risks involved. It's not just this case. It applies to organ donation, blood donation and of course sperm and egg donation.
If we accept that consent is not worth the paper it was written on but can be fought, and won, in court it will open up a can of worms with much wider implications than just this case alone.
Tragically it's a case of human relationships gone horribly sour. I don't think the ex-partner is more selfish for not allowing her to try for a genetically related child, than she is selfish for wanting to have a child against his wishes.
Very sad. But I would have been more sad if the courts decision would have been the other way around.
The comments about the Give A Toss website are making it internationally as well. Sometimes I reply, sometimes I remind myself to get a life.
I have replied to the Dutch one, couldn't resist that one, and threw in a typical Dutch comment which I would not get away with in this country.
And that in itself was so worth it.
Not being British I never quite understood the fascinating with 'bacon butties'. It's the thing many parents scramble for on a cold Sunday morning on a rugby pitch and the looks of delight after the first bite, would suggest it's nirvana. I try everything at least once, especially after these looks, and gave this a try as well. Let's just say it won't be refused if it's the only food available but that's as far as I go with describing what I think of a bacon butty.
Obviously others think differently and even researched it.
It's simple really:
The formula is: N = C + {fb (cm) . fb (tc)} + fb (Ts) + fc . ta, where N=force in Newtons required to break the cooked bacon, fb=function of the bacon type, fc=function of the condiment/filling effect, Ts=serving temperature, tc=cooking time, ta=time or duration of application of condiment/filling, cm=cooking method, C=Newtons required to break uncooked bacon.
So no excuses from now on. We can all make the perfect butty.
We leave the gym changing rooms and I walk in front of my friend. I turn around and say proudly:"See, my knee is much better. I can walk without a limp now."
"Ehhh, you still walk with a limp."
"No, look carefully if I walk slower now. It's limp-less."
Friend 1 and Friend 2 look at me, shake their heads and agree :"You have become used to it so you don't even notice. But you still limp."
Deep down convinced that is their eyesight and not my knee I ask the husband when I'm back home. I concentrate on walking straight and am certain it's limp-less.
"They're right," and I'm sure he's saying it to make me feel better, by which he fails, as he adds "it's a bit of a failed sexy wiggle. With a limp."
Some x-rays, MRI scans and 2 consultations later it is official. My knee is knackered.
"But", said the consultant cheerful, "it's entirely in line with having had cartilage removed 20 years ago so the good news is that it's nothing unusual." O thanks, I feel so much better now.
"The bad news is that there is very little I can do about it. I can clean it up with an additional operation but there are no guarantees."
As my brain translates sentences like 'can't do or shouldn't do' into challenges, I weigh up my options. The pain is there but manageable, the movement is restricted by I've lived with it for a while now and I rather keep an operation as the last resort, not the first one.
Decision made. I won't have an operation and instead find alternative ways of dealing with it. I've taken the first two steps already. I've joined a gym so I can strengthen the surrounding muscles with
When comedian and TV presenter Danny Robins travelled the country to highlight the UK's shortage of sperm donors, he was surprised to discover just how many men were prepared to pledge their support.
