AUTHOR'S CORNER;

This is the season to be jolly, count our blessings and spread Christmas cheer to our family and friends.  Where presents underneath that Christmas tree are beautifully wrapped and carefully placed.  Where every house tries to outdo the one next to them with spectacular lights and flashing ornaments. When all that matters is the size of that turkey and the creative trimmings that go along with it.  When hairstyles have got to be had and that special dress must be found. Sparkle, sparkle, on Christmas day for all the world to see; that's what matters, right?

My run up to Christmas started much the same this year; I planned to sparkle and shimmer beneath those lovely lights. Anticipating the admirable looks from my family as I, the hostess, cooked up a Christmas feast to die for!  I fretted about the size of that turkey and Iceland was called upon to home deliver me a lorry load of party treats!  I planned it all meticulously, right down to the last detail.  But what I didn't plan for was my daughter going into hospital.

Suddenly my world seemed quite small and Christmas.... what Christmas?   What started off as a sore throat soon turned into tonsillitis and by the time her throat closed up and her face had turned yellow and swelled and the good doctors in A&E had put her on a drip and taken blood tests, I was facing the possibility that it might be glandular fever!

Her pretty face had ballooned to twice its normal size, her eyes hardly open, and she curled up like a foetus.  It was not looking good.  What's more, she had just started a part time job and she had a load of coursework and exams to revise for in the new year.  She is a Biomedical student at uni and had passed the first year with a first!  Now it seemed, within a blink of an eye, that she would not be able to revise, much less go to work.  My beautiful girl, my adorable, intelligent girl, that button nosed, wide eyed toddler that I used to put on my knee was a young woman in trouble.

Christmas preparations fell by the wayside, invitations did not seem to matter and as for my hair and outfit.... who cared??  All I cared about was my child.  And though I like to think of myself as a strong woman, I could not help but burst into tears when she said she thought she was going to die.  No parent, no matter how strong, sensible or intelligent can stand to hear those words come out of their child's mouth. The world seemed to fog up and my vision became very narrow; all I could see was my child hooked up to drips.  

Exhaustion overtook me and my mind was on auto pilot. With three other kids at home (albeit almost grown up) I was like a headless chicken, running from pillar to post.  I dealt with this by going shopping for her in between visiting hours; as if by buying her pyjamas she didn't need and extra toothbrush and magazines would somehow confirm her recovery and magic the illness away!  Thinking about it now, I must have seemed ridiculous to my husband and children; my daughter was lying in a hospital bed and all I could worry about was whether she had crisp new pyjamas to wear!  By day two she had the colour back in her cheeks and her the swelling in her face was going down, by the evening she was talking to me and I even managed to make her laugh!  By the third day she was well enough to be discharged and back to the safety of home!  

As for the glandular fever; which by the way has no treatment and can last between three weeks and six month and in the worst case scenario can cause the spleen to burst or secondary infection of the brain, I was told that it was so far mild, and that yes whilst her spleen and liver are a little inflamed, that with monitoring and a lot of rest, she should make a full recovery.  She is resting on the sofa as I write this and her little sister is listening to her tell of her ordeal, thank God!  

So this Christmas, my happy Christmas is not going to be the massive turkey I have ordered for the extended family that can no longer attend because they might be in danger of catching her illness.  My happy Christmas is not in the decorations that my cat has seen fit to jump and pull at and is now kind of hanging awkwardly.  My happy Christmas is not in that sparkly dress that I had seen in the shop and meant to buy before I was taken up with hospital worry.  My happy Christmas is not about that wonderful new haircut that I was supposed to book myself in for!  My happy Christmas is in knowing that my baby is safe, in having her here, home with us.  My happy Christmas is in knowing how blessed I am to have my daughter, whole, cared for and alive!     

Merry Christmas to everyone and may your loved ones always, always be safe with you!