Having spent the last year editing Supernanny.co.uk, I now have a new job, editing School Gate, a new blog for Times Online.
Please check out my blog and make comments and suggestions.
Thanks!
Tuesday, 8 July 2008
Monday, 23 June 2008
Placebo pills for kids.....
Today I have a piece in the Times about placebo pill for kids. You can read it here:
http://www.timesonline.co.uk/tol/life_and_style/health/article4182294.ece
My original piece was rather different - firstly, because it was longer, but also because Dr Ian Paul and the GP mentioned were both people I interviewed at a later date.
So if you want to read my original piece, here it is:
By Sarah Ebner
Your child is crying, unhappy, and says he is ill. You know he isn’t hurt or so unwell he needs medicine, but long for something to help calm him down. Now the makers of Obecalp think they have the solution. Their product, the first standardised, especially made placebo “pill”, has just gone on sale via its American website. But their new product raises a huge number of questions.
The website for Obecalp (placebo spelt backwards) quotes “mommy” Jennifer Buettner, who came up with the idea. “It does nothing,” she writes. “Just like it’s supposed to. The brain does it all (with a kiss on the cheek.)”
It sounds like a brilliant idea, a harmless substance to comfort someone not really in need of medication. But if someone doesn’t really require medicine, should we be giving them a substitute at all? Many medical experts (and parents) think not.
“There’s definitely ethical issues about giving a medication that’s not got any active substance in it,” says Dr Margaret Bamforth from the Royal College of Psychiatrists. “You’d have to think very carefully about it.”
The placebo effect has long been documented. It is usually explained as something which occurs when a patient’s symptoms improve, despite being treated with a product that has no active medical ingredients. It’s thought this happens because patients believe the treatment will work (in other words, they don’t know it’s a placebo). Recent research also suggests that taking a placebo pill stimulates the release of endorphins (which release feelings of euphoria) in the brain.
Of course it would be very rare to find someone who would ask for a placebo rather than medication, and this is one of the ethical issues in which Obecalp is now tangled. By suggesting that parents give their child such a pill, aren’t they suggesting a deception?
Dennis Buettner, co-creator of Obecalp and Jennifer’s husband, thinks not. He’s hoping that Obecalp will help thousands of people, citing children, the elderly and those with special needs.
“This isn’t the deception of a child,” he says firmly. “We like to look at it as the protection of a child. To give them medicine of suspect efficacy is a deception. Children are over-medicated in this country. This is not medicine.”
The Buettners, who have, rather ironically, called their company “Efficacy Brands”, say they are genuinely amazed by the storm their product has created.
“That caught us both,” says Dennis Buettner. “This is a product that is designed to be absolutely nothing, inert. The controversy caught me completely off guard.”
It’s understandable that the Buettners were taken aback. At first glance, their product seems simple. It’s almost like giving a plaster to a child who doesn’t really need one, just to placate them. Except that a child knows that a plaster is just something to cover a scratch. The danger is that they’ll think this cherry flavoured tablet is medication.
“It’s full of contradictions,” exclaims Dr Bamforth, who’s an expert in child and adolescent psychiatry. “It’s saying go to your doctor, but when you find there’s nothing wrong with your child, give them a pill anyway. That doesn’t make any sense, does it?
“You’re also teaching children to rely on a pill. You’re not helping them deal with whatever the problem is, to develop a functional coping strategy.”
When the Buettners initially had the idea for Obecalp, it seemed straightforward.
“My wife and I had our young niece to stay because her parents were on vacation,” says Dennis. “We anticipated that she would be anxious and when she said she had a bad tummy. Jen said that I should go to Wal-Mart and buy a placebo. But they had nothing. That’s when I began to research and found that nowhere in the world had retail placebos.”
The Buettners thought they were on to something big and decided to make a placebo pill themselves. They contacted every drug manufacturer in the country, spoke to numerous scientists (one of whom gave them the idea for making the pill out of dextrose) and eventually came to an agreement with one particular company (with whom they have a non-disclosure agreement.)
“One guy told us that he’d spent his entire career developing products that were designed to do all types of things, but really did nothing. He couldn’t believe that he met us, and we were asking him to specifically design a product that does nothing.”
The sample products (given a cherry taste, because, Buettner says, it’s the most popular over-the-counter flavour), were tested positively on friends and family. Rather surprisingly, Buettner admits that none were tried as a placebo on someone who had a malady, but simply handed out to taste. The couple were obviously happy with the results as the first batch of tablets (5-7000 bottles) went on sale to the public at the beginning of June. The first orders are just being dispatched.
Buettner is passionate about the idea that too many people are given medication when they don’t need it, and argues that Obecalp addresses that issue. That children (and adults) are given too many pills is something others agree with. What they can’t understand is why a product which looks like a pill (even if it isn’t one) is seen as the solution.
“It’s a nonsense,” says Imti Choonara, a professor in medical health at Nottingham University and expert in paediatric clinical pharmacology. “I have no problems with placebos in general, but I’m concerned that this will make children think they always need a medicine to make themselves better.
“I don’t see the logic in having something available that you can buy over the counter as a placebo. It’s a contradiction in terms. You’re not going to buy it for yourself, and it’s inappropriate to give it your partner or other family member because you know it doesn’t work.”
Buettner is exceptionally keen to stress that Obecalp is not medicine, that he doesn’t have medical training, and that he recommends speaking to a doctor before using the product. He won’t even say what he thinks Obecalp might be able to treat, just that it is sold as an over-the-counter dietary supplement.
“We make absolutely no claims which might be construed or misunderstood to be medical advice, so I am unable to give particulars as to its use,” he says when pressed.
However, he is less reticent when talking about the placebo effect in general. He cites a number of medical studies, explaining that recent ones which appear to show that both cough medicines and Prozac work little better than placebos, inspired him to speed up production.
One study he enthusiastically points towards is from the University of Chicago. Earlier this year researchers there found that nearly half the doctors they questioned admitted to giving out a placebo to patients at some point.
“We’re hoping that there’s a potential that if you see your physician and he thinks there’s nothing wrong, we’re providing him with the knowledge that there’s a standardised placebo of high grade quality that exists for use,” says Buettner.
It’s ironic then that Professor John Hickner, who worked on the Chicago study, is not a fan of Obecalp.
“I think it is a terrible idea for parents to give placebos to their kids,” he says. “We are already a society that believes pills are the easy answer to too many problems.”
But Buettner is sticking to his guns. He says that sales are already going well and is keen to move forward. He has plans for a diabetic version of the pill, and a distribution deal to take it into Europe. Could the next big American export really be something that is simply mind over matter?
Ends
http://www.timesonline.co.uk/tol/life_and_style/health/article4182294.ece
My original piece was rather different - firstly, because it was longer, but also because Dr Ian Paul and the GP mentioned were both people I interviewed at a later date.
So if you want to read my original piece, here it is:
By Sarah Ebner
Your child is crying, unhappy, and says he is ill. You know he isn’t hurt or so unwell he needs medicine, but long for something to help calm him down. Now the makers of Obecalp think they have the solution. Their product, the first standardised, especially made placebo “pill”, has just gone on sale via its American website. But their new product raises a huge number of questions.
The website for Obecalp (placebo spelt backwards) quotes “mommy” Jennifer Buettner, who came up with the idea. “It does nothing,” she writes. “Just like it’s supposed to. The brain does it all (with a kiss on the cheek.)”
It sounds like a brilliant idea, a harmless substance to comfort someone not really in need of medication. But if someone doesn’t really require medicine, should we be giving them a substitute at all? Many medical experts (and parents) think not.
“There’s definitely ethical issues about giving a medication that’s not got any active substance in it,” says Dr Margaret Bamforth from the Royal College of Psychiatrists. “You’d have to think very carefully about it.”
The placebo effect has long been documented. It is usually explained as something which occurs when a patient’s symptoms improve, despite being treated with a product that has no active medical ingredients. It’s thought this happens because patients believe the treatment will work (in other words, they don’t know it’s a placebo). Recent research also suggests that taking a placebo pill stimulates the release of endorphins (which release feelings of euphoria) in the brain.
Of course it would be very rare to find someone who would ask for a placebo rather than medication, and this is one of the ethical issues in which Obecalp is now tangled. By suggesting that parents give their child such a pill, aren’t they suggesting a deception?
Dennis Buettner, co-creator of Obecalp and Jennifer’s husband, thinks not. He’s hoping that Obecalp will help thousands of people, citing children, the elderly and those with special needs.
“This isn’t the deception of a child,” he says firmly. “We like to look at it as the protection of a child. To give them medicine of suspect efficacy is a deception. Children are over-medicated in this country. This is not medicine.”
The Buettners, who have, rather ironically, called their company “Efficacy Brands”, say they are genuinely amazed by the storm their product has created.
“That caught us both,” says Dennis Buettner. “This is a product that is designed to be absolutely nothing, inert. The controversy caught me completely off guard.”
It’s understandable that the Buettners were taken aback. At first glance, their product seems simple. It’s almost like giving a plaster to a child who doesn’t really need one, just to placate them. Except that a child knows that a plaster is just something to cover a scratch. The danger is that they’ll think this cherry flavoured tablet is medication.
“It’s full of contradictions,” exclaims Dr Bamforth, who’s an expert in child and adolescent psychiatry. “It’s saying go to your doctor, but when you find there’s nothing wrong with your child, give them a pill anyway. That doesn’t make any sense, does it?
“You’re also teaching children to rely on a pill. You’re not helping them deal with whatever the problem is, to develop a functional coping strategy.”
When the Buettners initially had the idea for Obecalp, it seemed straightforward.
“My wife and I had our young niece to stay because her parents were on vacation,” says Dennis. “We anticipated that she would be anxious and when she said she had a bad tummy. Jen said that I should go to Wal-Mart and buy a placebo. But they had nothing. That’s when I began to research and found that nowhere in the world had retail placebos.”
The Buettners thought they were on to something big and decided to make a placebo pill themselves. They contacted every drug manufacturer in the country, spoke to numerous scientists (one of whom gave them the idea for making the pill out of dextrose) and eventually came to an agreement with one particular company (with whom they have a non-disclosure agreement.)
“One guy told us that he’d spent his entire career developing products that were designed to do all types of things, but really did nothing. He couldn’t believe that he met us, and we were asking him to specifically design a product that does nothing.”
The sample products (given a cherry taste, because, Buettner says, it’s the most popular over-the-counter flavour), were tested positively on friends and family. Rather surprisingly, Buettner admits that none were tried as a placebo on someone who had a malady, but simply handed out to taste. The couple were obviously happy with the results as the first batch of tablets (5-7000 bottles) went on sale to the public at the beginning of June. The first orders are just being dispatched.
Buettner is passionate about the idea that too many people are given medication when they don’t need it, and argues that Obecalp addresses that issue. That children (and adults) are given too many pills is something others agree with. What they can’t understand is why a product which looks like a pill (even if it isn’t one) is seen as the solution.
“It’s a nonsense,” says Imti Choonara, a professor in medical health at Nottingham University and expert in paediatric clinical pharmacology. “I have no problems with placebos in general, but I’m concerned that this will make children think they always need a medicine to make themselves better.
“I don’t see the logic in having something available that you can buy over the counter as a placebo. It’s a contradiction in terms. You’re not going to buy it for yourself, and it’s inappropriate to give it your partner or other family member because you know it doesn’t work.”
Buettner is exceptionally keen to stress that Obecalp is not medicine, that he doesn’t have medical training, and that he recommends speaking to a doctor before using the product. He won’t even say what he thinks Obecalp might be able to treat, just that it is sold as an over-the-counter dietary supplement.
“We make absolutely no claims which might be construed or misunderstood to be medical advice, so I am unable to give particulars as to its use,” he says when pressed.
However, he is less reticent when talking about the placebo effect in general. He cites a number of medical studies, explaining that recent ones which appear to show that both cough medicines and Prozac work little better than placebos, inspired him to speed up production.
One study he enthusiastically points towards is from the University of Chicago. Earlier this year researchers there found that nearly half the doctors they questioned admitted to giving out a placebo to patients at some point.
“We’re hoping that there’s a potential that if you see your physician and he thinks there’s nothing wrong, we’re providing him with the knowledge that there’s a standardised placebo of high grade quality that exists for use,” says Buettner.
It’s ironic then that Professor John Hickner, who worked on the Chicago study, is not a fan of Obecalp.
“I think it is a terrible idea for parents to give placebos to their kids,” he says. “We are already a society that believes pills are the easy answer to too many problems.”
But Buettner is sticking to his guns. He says that sales are already going well and is keen to move forward. He has plans for a diabetic version of the pill, and a distribution deal to take it into Europe. Could the next big American export really be something that is simply mind over matter?
Ends
Saturday, 19 April 2008
The lowdown on parenting websites
Hello
Today I have an article in the Telegraph Weekend Section about parenting websites. You can read it on their site: http://www.telegraph.co.uk/education/main.jhtml?xml=/education/2008/04/19/famums19.xml
Or by continuing to read here:
Internet mums: help's within site
Last Updated: 12:01am BST 19/04/2008
The internet is proving invaluable for isolated mothers, discovers Sarah Ebner
Ellen Kirkby was nervous. The birth of her first son, Matthew, had not been easy and as the due date for her second child loomed, she realised she didn't want to be alone.
Fortunately fate - in the form of parenting website, Mumsnet - intervened.
"I posted a thread saying I was worried. DaisyMOO came on and said she would like to be there for me," says Kirkby. "It was a week before my due date and I knew nothing about her. But we chatted and I thought: 'Go for it.'?"
DaisyMOO (who's also known as Caroline Newey) was indeed there at the birth, and Kirkby says her presence made all the difference. (Her second labour was far better than her first.)
"She gave me the confidence to have the birth I wanted, to turn down drugs I didn't want and to help get Joe to breastfeed. She even went to get my ex-partner so he could see the baby, while making it as stress-free as possible for me."
To those not familiar with the astonishing growth of parenting websites, Kirkby's story may sound unusual. But to the hundreds of thousands of devotees, these sites fulfil a very real need, and one which politicians have heeded. David Cameron recently made his second appearance on Mumsnet, while the Department for Children, Schools and Families has just awarded a £500,000 grant to Netmums.
In a world where the extended family has often disappeared, parenting websites provide support and friendship 24 hours a day, seven days a week. They offer advice from other parents who have "been there", an emotional outlet and the opportunity to chat about anything from global warming to what to cook for supper.
Mumsnet stands out because, with 75 per cent of its users having a degree, much of the talk is caustic, argumentative and some might say intimidating. "They are honest," says Kirkby. "Maybe people in real life aren't brave enough to tell you to snap out of it. They will on Mumsnet."
"We have 20,000 posts a day so it's any question you may want to ask," adds the founder of the site, Justine Roberts. "It's not just sleeping and breastfeeding."
Parenting gurus have been around for decades. Dr Spock, Penelope Leach and more recently Gina Ford have told parents how to bring up their children, but these days many parents want more than the one point of view they get from a single expert.
"I've read so many books, but they seem almost dictatorial," says Suzi Shaw, who credits Mumszone for helping her through the loneliness she felt when her husband was diagnosed with depression.
"It was really hard being on my own, but knowing other people were going through the same thing really helped me," says Shaw, who adds that she loves getting "15 different points of view, instantly".
Linking people up, wherever they are, is definitely one of the websites' main attractions. The cloak of anonymity probably helps too - there are some questions parents don't want to ask face to face.
"I can be the person I want to be, not necessarily the person other people think I am," says Shaw, who adds that she constantly asks, and offers, advice to her friends online.
Chrissi Hudson, a Netmums aficionado, does likewise. "I don't want to be labelled a bad mum by someone in a white coat," she says. "I meet people in the same boat as me and we support each other. If I had a problem I would go on Netmums first."
It's that instinct, of going to a website rather than a professional, which prompted the huge grant awarded to Netmums. It's intended to help more than 50,000 parents in 18 months and Siobhan Freegard, founder of the site, hopes to employ some expert advisers.
"When we set up the site, we weren't expecting to get the number of serious cases that we did, from postnatal depression to domestic abuse," she says. "We have mums at their wits' end, some suicidal, but we don't have any specialists, just one counsellor behind the scenes. We told the Government that we had the mums and the problems, so the money should come to us. We're filling a gap in the system."
Freegard initially set up the site on a local level, with information for mothers in Harrow, where she lives. Soon emails came in from elsewhere asking for similar sites. There are now 152, which are all tightly moderated to provide what Freegard describes as a "safe and friendly environment".
But parenting sites aren't all about anonymity and computer screens. Many of those online have now met up with their friends offline and found a real connection. Perhaps one reason for this is that unlike mother and baby groups, websites allow you to meet other parents without children being present. You don't need to talk over, or even pretend to like, someone else's wailing toddler. Instead, you have the time to discover shared interests.
"It's like lonely hearts in effect," says Chrissi Hudson. "I've made so many friends."
www.mumsnet.com: witty, acerbic, with a huge range of topics. Just signed six-figure deal for a series of "modern, funny" parenting books.
www.netmums.com: vast membership, lots of support and advice. Also has publishing deal.
www.badmothersclub.co.uk: set up by Stephanie Calman to reassure mums muddling through.
www.supernanny.co.uk: advice based site based on the TV show
www.gurgle.com: newest site, backed by Mothercare and the Early Learning Centre.
www.mumszone.co.uk: supportive forum, section on mums who work from home.
Today I have an article in the Telegraph Weekend Section about parenting websites. You can read it on their site: http://www.telegraph.co.uk/education/main.jhtml?xml=/education/2008/04/19/famums19.xml
Or by continuing to read here:
Internet mums: help's within site
Last Updated: 12:01am BST 19/04/2008
The internet is proving invaluable for isolated mothers, discovers Sarah Ebner
Ellen Kirkby was nervous. The birth of her first son, Matthew, had not been easy and as the due date for her second child loomed, she realised she didn't want to be alone.
Fortunately fate - in the form of parenting website, Mumsnet - intervened.
"I posted a thread saying I was worried. DaisyMOO came on and said she would like to be there for me," says Kirkby. "It was a week before my due date and I knew nothing about her. But we chatted and I thought: 'Go for it.'?"
DaisyMOO (who's also known as Caroline Newey) was indeed there at the birth, and Kirkby says her presence made all the difference. (Her second labour was far better than her first.)
"She gave me the confidence to have the birth I wanted, to turn down drugs I didn't want and to help get Joe to breastfeed. She even went to get my ex-partner so he could see the baby, while making it as stress-free as possible for me."
To those not familiar with the astonishing growth of parenting websites, Kirkby's story may sound unusual. But to the hundreds of thousands of devotees, these sites fulfil a very real need, and one which politicians have heeded. David Cameron recently made his second appearance on Mumsnet, while the Department for Children, Schools and Families has just awarded a £500,000 grant to Netmums.
In a world where the extended family has often disappeared, parenting websites provide support and friendship 24 hours a day, seven days a week. They offer advice from other parents who have "been there", an emotional outlet and the opportunity to chat about anything from global warming to what to cook for supper.
Mumsnet stands out because, with 75 per cent of its users having a degree, much of the talk is caustic, argumentative and some might say intimidating. "They are honest," says Kirkby. "Maybe people in real life aren't brave enough to tell you to snap out of it. They will on Mumsnet."
"We have 20,000 posts a day so it's any question you may want to ask," adds the founder of the site, Justine Roberts. "It's not just sleeping and breastfeeding."
Parenting gurus have been around for decades. Dr Spock, Penelope Leach and more recently Gina Ford have told parents how to bring up their children, but these days many parents want more than the one point of view they get from a single expert.
"I've read so many books, but they seem almost dictatorial," says Suzi Shaw, who credits Mumszone for helping her through the loneliness she felt when her husband was diagnosed with depression.
"It was really hard being on my own, but knowing other people were going through the same thing really helped me," says Shaw, who adds that she loves getting "15 different points of view, instantly".
Linking people up, wherever they are, is definitely one of the websites' main attractions. The cloak of anonymity probably helps too - there are some questions parents don't want to ask face to face.
"I can be the person I want to be, not necessarily the person other people think I am," says Shaw, who adds that she constantly asks, and offers, advice to her friends online.
Chrissi Hudson, a Netmums aficionado, does likewise. "I don't want to be labelled a bad mum by someone in a white coat," she says. "I meet people in the same boat as me and we support each other. If I had a problem I would go on Netmums first."
It's that instinct, of going to a website rather than a professional, which prompted the huge grant awarded to Netmums. It's intended to help more than 50,000 parents in 18 months and Siobhan Freegard, founder of the site, hopes to employ some expert advisers.
"When we set up the site, we weren't expecting to get the number of serious cases that we did, from postnatal depression to domestic abuse," she says. "We have mums at their wits' end, some suicidal, but we don't have any specialists, just one counsellor behind the scenes. We told the Government that we had the mums and the problems, so the money should come to us. We're filling a gap in the system."
Freegard initially set up the site on a local level, with information for mothers in Harrow, where she lives. Soon emails came in from elsewhere asking for similar sites. There are now 152, which are all tightly moderated to provide what Freegard describes as a "safe and friendly environment".
But parenting sites aren't all about anonymity and computer screens. Many of those online have now met up with their friends offline and found a real connection. Perhaps one reason for this is that unlike mother and baby groups, websites allow you to meet other parents without children being present. You don't need to talk over, or even pretend to like, someone else's wailing toddler. Instead, you have the time to discover shared interests.
"It's like lonely hearts in effect," says Chrissi Hudson. "I've made so many friends."
www.mumsnet.com: witty, acerbic, with a huge range of topics. Just signed six-figure deal for a series of "modern, funny" parenting books.
www.netmums.com: vast membership, lots of support and advice. Also has publishing deal.
www.badmothersclub.co.uk: set up by Stephanie Calman to reassure mums muddling through.
www.supernanny.co.uk: advice based site based on the TV show
www.gurgle.com: newest site, backed by Mothercare and the Early Learning Centre.
www.mumszone.co.uk: supportive forum, section on mums who work from home.
Thursday, 6 March 2008
Shortlisted at the Press Awards
Hello
I have some news - I have been shortlisted for feature writer of the year at this year's British Press Awards. I am, as you can imagine, delighted, especially as freelancing is never easy. It's the fourth time I've been shortlisted for one of these awards (and, I don't think I'm being particularly humble if I add that it's very likely to be the fourth time I don't win!) Still, I am very pleased.
You can see the list of nominees here:
http://www.britishpressawards.com/2008/shortlist.htm
I have some news - I have been shortlisted for feature writer of the year at this year's British Press Awards. I am, as you can imagine, delighted, especially as freelancing is never easy. It's the fourth time I've been shortlisted for one of these awards (and, I don't think I'm being particularly humble if I add that it's very likely to be the fourth time I don't win!) Still, I am very pleased.
You can see the list of nominees here:
http://www.britishpressawards.com/2008/shortlist.htm
Monday, 25 February 2008
Empty nest syndrome - and he's only two!
I have an article in the Daily Telegraph about early empty nest syndrome. You can read it here.....http://www.telegraph.co.uk/education/main.jhtml?xml=/education/2008/02/23/fanest123.xml
Or here:
Empty nest: mothership lost in space
Sarah Ebner knew empty nest syndrome would strike one day - but wasn't expecting it when her youngest was just two
I feel bereft. My son has left me. My cheerful, gorgeous, golden boy has moved on, with barely a thought for how I will cope. He talks now of other women and has become so secretive that I have no idea what he's up to ("I don't know," he repeats firmly). He's only two and a half, but it'll never be the same again.
If I'm honest, I can't believe it. I had no fears about my son starting nursery. I thought that as long as he was happy, I would be. But I was wrong. As Robbie skipped away merrily, I felt ridiculously emotional. While the staff were thrilled that he was so happy and un-clingy, I felt an almost irresistible urge to rush into the nursery, grab him and bring him back home with me.
He's only at pre-school for three hours a day, so could I really be suffering from empty nest syndrome?
"Yes," says Jacqui Marson, a chartered counselling psychologist who specialises in motherhood. "It's a definite loss and reacting to it is completely normal."
I have to admit that I'm feeling pretty silly. When my elder daughter began at the same nursery, I waved her off with none of the same emotions. But perhaps that was because I still had a baby at home with me. Now that he has bounced off into the (beginning of the) adult world, I am strangely lost. The time, which is only relevant on the two days I don't work, seems so vast that I worry about how best to fill it. How did he grow up so quickly? It's as if he doesn't need me any more.
That's a feeling Jeannie Ford can certainly relate to. Her younger son, Oliver, joined reception class last September but still doesn't spend every day at school.
"There's a very long settling-in and assessment process and we're now at the stage where Ollie does four days until 3.20," she says. "His teacher has said that he can now do that on the other day as well, but I don't want him to. He's my baby and I can't face losing him for that fifth day too. Then it'll be forever."
Empty nest syndrome was so termed to explain the loss and sadness that many parents experience when their children no longer live with them or need day-to-day care. It's very common, usually when children leave home for university. But it can strike, as I now know, at any age. Parent coach Sue Atkins says that a recent client was worried about her 25-year-old son, who was getting married. She felt she was losing him to his wife.
"Parenting is a constant letting-go," says Atkins. "From the moment you play peek-a-boo with your child, you've started them off being independent and letting them know that you won't always be there. Feeling sad is common at any stage. There's no right and wrong about it." I know I should be thrilled that my son's so settled and secure but a hint of clinginess from him would, secretly, be nice. Maybe that's selfish. But losing your baby to the growing up process is always hard.
Alison Dishington would agree with that. Her youngest child, Grace, began school last year.
"I was very emotional and cried when I got home. I actually felt a little sick," she says. "I was sad when each of my four children started but it got stronger with each one. With Grace, it was the end of an era and the house seemed so empty and quiet. I still find it terribly quiet and always have the radio on."
But Alison says that the feelings of sadness didn't last. "I felt very morbid at the loss for a short while, but then I felt some relief too. After all, I now had time to empty those cupboards I'd been meaning to do for months and space to do some things for me, too. I began swimming again and took up yoga, which I love. So I have to say there is a positive side and you can certainly fill the gap."
Jacqui Marson agrees that the key is not to panic desperately about filling the time with more work, as I have done, but to take it slowly and decide what's best for you.
"We all neglect ourselves when we have young children. So, with the realisation that you are beginning not to be the centre of your child's universe, you have to work out how to be the centre of your own universe again. It might be that you turn back to your career but it might also be that you decide to take up pottery." Sue Atkins suggests that the key is to try to relax and to celebrate the start of nursery, school or university as a step forward for your child and for you.
"Focus on the plus points," she says. "Be delighted that your child is happy, having fun and learning new things. You can't live your life through your children and when your last one goes, they do leave a gap. You have to decide how to fill it." My new life has begun. What do I do now?
Ends
Or here:
Empty nest: mothership lost in space
Sarah Ebner knew empty nest syndrome would strike one day - but wasn't expecting it when her youngest was just two
I feel bereft. My son has left me. My cheerful, gorgeous, golden boy has moved on, with barely a thought for how I will cope. He talks now of other women and has become so secretive that I have no idea what he's up to ("I don't know," he repeats firmly). He's only two and a half, but it'll never be the same again.
If I'm honest, I can't believe it. I had no fears about my son starting nursery. I thought that as long as he was happy, I would be. But I was wrong. As Robbie skipped away merrily, I felt ridiculously emotional. While the staff were thrilled that he was so happy and un-clingy, I felt an almost irresistible urge to rush into the nursery, grab him and bring him back home with me.
He's only at pre-school for three hours a day, so could I really be suffering from empty nest syndrome?
"Yes," says Jacqui Marson, a chartered counselling psychologist who specialises in motherhood. "It's a definite loss and reacting to it is completely normal."
I have to admit that I'm feeling pretty silly. When my elder daughter began at the same nursery, I waved her off with none of the same emotions. But perhaps that was because I still had a baby at home with me. Now that he has bounced off into the (beginning of the) adult world, I am strangely lost. The time, which is only relevant on the two days I don't work, seems so vast that I worry about how best to fill it. How did he grow up so quickly? It's as if he doesn't need me any more.
That's a feeling Jeannie Ford can certainly relate to. Her younger son, Oliver, joined reception class last September but still doesn't spend every day at school.
"There's a very long settling-in and assessment process and we're now at the stage where Ollie does four days until 3.20," she says. "His teacher has said that he can now do that on the other day as well, but I don't want him to. He's my baby and I can't face losing him for that fifth day too. Then it'll be forever."
Empty nest syndrome was so termed to explain the loss and sadness that many parents experience when their children no longer live with them or need day-to-day care. It's very common, usually when children leave home for university. But it can strike, as I now know, at any age. Parent coach Sue Atkins says that a recent client was worried about her 25-year-old son, who was getting married. She felt she was losing him to his wife.
"Parenting is a constant letting-go," says Atkins. "From the moment you play peek-a-boo with your child, you've started them off being independent and letting them know that you won't always be there. Feeling sad is common at any stage. There's no right and wrong about it." I know I should be thrilled that my son's so settled and secure but a hint of clinginess from him would, secretly, be nice. Maybe that's selfish. But losing your baby to the growing up process is always hard.
Alison Dishington would agree with that. Her youngest child, Grace, began school last year.
"I was very emotional and cried when I got home. I actually felt a little sick," she says. "I was sad when each of my four children started but it got stronger with each one. With Grace, it was the end of an era and the house seemed so empty and quiet. I still find it terribly quiet and always have the radio on."
But Alison says that the feelings of sadness didn't last. "I felt very morbid at the loss for a short while, but then I felt some relief too. After all, I now had time to empty those cupboards I'd been meaning to do for months and space to do some things for me, too. I began swimming again and took up yoga, which I love. So I have to say there is a positive side and you can certainly fill the gap."
Jacqui Marson agrees that the key is not to panic desperately about filling the time with more work, as I have done, but to take it slowly and decide what's best for you.
"We all neglect ourselves when we have young children. So, with the realisation that you are beginning not to be the centre of your child's universe, you have to work out how to be the centre of your own universe again. It might be that you turn back to your career but it might also be that you decide to take up pottery." Sue Atkins suggests that the key is to try to relax and to celebrate the start of nursery, school or university as a step forward for your child and for you.
"Focus on the plus points," she says. "Be delighted that your child is happy, having fun and learning new things. You can't live your life through your children and when your last one goes, they do leave a gap. You have to decide how to fill it." My new life has begun. What do I do now?
Ends
Saturday, 15 September 2007
The mother-in-law of all battles.....
Today I have a piece in the Telegraph about the problems that some women have with their mothers-in-law. Many people will be able to empathise!
Here is the link: http://www.telegraph.co.uk/education/main.jhtml?xml=/education/2007/09/15/famother115.xml
Or you can read on here....
The mother-in-law of all battles
Last Updated: 12:01am BST 15/09/2007
Dare to marry another woman's son? That's just asking for trouble, says Sarah Ebner
When Tania Harper's mother-in-law came to visit her, she brought with her two bibs, presents for Tania's baby son, Paul. One bib announced: "I love my Daddy." The other proclaimed: "I love my cat." Mummy, it was clear, did not merit a mention.
"It's absolutely typical," fumes Tania. "She's made it clear that I am surplus to requirements. When we see her friends, she tells them: 'This is my little boy.' Or: 'This is my son's little boy.' I feel like the invisible woman."
Tania's experiences will be familiar to millions of women. For want of a better name, we can call it "mother-in-law syndrome". It's what happens to so many innocent souls when they marry another woman's son.
"By the way I love Paul, I can already appreciate that there's something very special between boys and their mothers," says Tania. "Maybe mothers-in-law are so awful because we've stolen their sons."
Mums-in-law don't always get a great press, but it's often men who moan about them. Les Dawson and Bernard Manning weren't the only comedians to profit from mother-in-law jokes. But research suggests that men actually get off lightly. It's daughters-in-law who suffer.
"Studies show that the mother-in-law, daughter-in-law relationship is the trickiest," says Terri Apter, a psychologist who's writing a book about the subject.
"Men simply aren't as involved," she adds. "They can take a low profile."
Apter says that daughters-in-law feel judged and pressured by their mothers-in-law. She's also found that even modern mothers-in-law disregard feminist sympathies when it comes to their boys.
"They want what's best for their son. If that means suppressing their daughter-in-law's career, they think that's okay."
Lorraine Gibb can echo that: "When I met my mother-in-law, I quickly discovered we had nothing in common except that we both loved her son. Now what really irritates me is the way she discounts anything which contradicts her view that I am an ambitious career woman who doesn't put her darling boy first. This is despite the fact that I do all the cooking, organise the household and, having produced two children, gave up my high-flying job to work part-time. She still seems to think that I could look after her beloved child better."
When you marry, you often don't realise that you're not just marrying the man you love, but also his mother. Many in-laws are paragons of virtue and a joy to know. This article, however, isn't about them.
"I went out of my way to be nice to her," says Gillian Campbell of her mother-in-law. "But she just never made the effort with me. She doesn't ask me anything about myself and always expects me to run around after her. She visited four days after I gave birth and still expected me to make her a cup of tea. She told me it would 'do me good' to get up and about. I'd had a caesarean."
But Gillian knew from her wedding day what she was in for. "My sister went in to see that everything was ready in the church and saw Ian's mum. She introduced herself, saying: 'Gillian looks lovely. Isn't it a wonderful day?' Ian's mum - who was dressed all in black - just looked at her and said: 'Well, I think it's a very sad day.'
"My sister rushed out to tell me not to get married because my mother-in-law-to-be was so awful."
Problems with in-laws can veer from the foolish ("She hates the fact that I'm from London," says Celia Sharman, whose husband is from Nottingham) to the ridiculous ("She couldn't believe that I had a daughter when she'd always wanted one," says Lorraine Gibb). One woman even put a private detective on t her potential daughter-in-law. Amazingly, the couple went on to marry. Less surprisingly, they have now divorced.
Gillian Campbell admits she was so innocent when she got engaged that she didn't think it mattered what her mother-in-law was like. "But she made it obvious that Ian could have done so much better. She's always thought I wasn't good enough."
It's strange how all the women I spoke to, bar one, had mothers-in-law who didn't have daughters of their own. The one who did have a daughter (Celia Sharman's) didn't get on with her. Also, none of the mothers had sisters and none had got on with their mothers. This may be entirely anecdotal but it does suggest difficulty relating to other women.
But perhaps the real problem with mothers-in-law is the very name. It sounds like your own mother, someone you love, who's brought you up and knows you. Mothers-in-law, however, are thrust upon you.
"My mother-in-law has only ever bought me one present," says Tania Harper. "She arrived at our house smiling, and I was really touched, because she'd never got me anything before. Then she opened her bag and got out a T-shirt. It said: 'My mother-in-law went to Crete and all she bought me was this lousy T-shirt.' I was stunned. Then she said: 'You are going to wear it, aren't you?' "
Names have been changed.
DOS AND DON'TS
Be realistic. High expectations are bound to be dashed. Why should you expect a close and fulfilling relationship when you haven't chosen each other?
Remember she is not your mother, which means she isn't, necessarily, on your side. Watch who you complain about her to. Sympathetic female friends are probably better than husbands. You don't want your marriage affected.
Damage limitation may be the wisest option. It could be that a slightly cooler relationship is the best you can do.
Don't think that children will make you bond with your mother-in-law. They just offer lots more opportunities for conflict.
Here is the link: http://www.telegraph.co.uk/education/main.jhtml?xml=/education/2007/09/15/famother115.xml
Or you can read on here....
The mother-in-law of all battles
Last Updated: 12:01am BST 15/09/2007
Dare to marry another woman's son? That's just asking for trouble, says Sarah Ebner
When Tania Harper's mother-in-law came to visit her, she brought with her two bibs, presents for Tania's baby son, Paul. One bib announced: "I love my Daddy." The other proclaimed: "I love my cat." Mummy, it was clear, did not merit a mention.
"It's absolutely typical," fumes Tania. "She's made it clear that I am surplus to requirements. When we see her friends, she tells them: 'This is my little boy.' Or: 'This is my son's little boy.' I feel like the invisible woman."
Tania's experiences will be familiar to millions of women. For want of a better name, we can call it "mother-in-law syndrome". It's what happens to so many innocent souls when they marry another woman's son.
"By the way I love Paul, I can already appreciate that there's something very special between boys and their mothers," says Tania. "Maybe mothers-in-law are so awful because we've stolen their sons."
Mums-in-law don't always get a great press, but it's often men who moan about them. Les Dawson and Bernard Manning weren't the only comedians to profit from mother-in-law jokes. But research suggests that men actually get off lightly. It's daughters-in-law who suffer.
"Studies show that the mother-in-law, daughter-in-law relationship is the trickiest," says Terri Apter, a psychologist who's writing a book about the subject.
"Men simply aren't as involved," she adds. "They can take a low profile."
Apter says that daughters-in-law feel judged and pressured by their mothers-in-law. She's also found that even modern mothers-in-law disregard feminist sympathies when it comes to their boys.
"They want what's best for their son. If that means suppressing their daughter-in-law's career, they think that's okay."
Lorraine Gibb can echo that: "When I met my mother-in-law, I quickly discovered we had nothing in common except that we both loved her son. Now what really irritates me is the way she discounts anything which contradicts her view that I am an ambitious career woman who doesn't put her darling boy first. This is despite the fact that I do all the cooking, organise the household and, having produced two children, gave up my high-flying job to work part-time. She still seems to think that I could look after her beloved child better."
When you marry, you often don't realise that you're not just marrying the man you love, but also his mother. Many in-laws are paragons of virtue and a joy to know. This article, however, isn't about them.
"I went out of my way to be nice to her," says Gillian Campbell of her mother-in-law. "But she just never made the effort with me. She doesn't ask me anything about myself and always expects me to run around after her. She visited four days after I gave birth and still expected me to make her a cup of tea. She told me it would 'do me good' to get up and about. I'd had a caesarean."
But Gillian knew from her wedding day what she was in for. "My sister went in to see that everything was ready in the church and saw Ian's mum. She introduced herself, saying: 'Gillian looks lovely. Isn't it a wonderful day?' Ian's mum - who was dressed all in black - just looked at her and said: 'Well, I think it's a very sad day.'
"My sister rushed out to tell me not to get married because my mother-in-law-to-be was so awful."
Problems with in-laws can veer from the foolish ("She hates the fact that I'm from London," says Celia Sharman, whose husband is from Nottingham) to the ridiculous ("She couldn't believe that I had a daughter when she'd always wanted one," says Lorraine Gibb). One woman even put a private detective on t her potential daughter-in-law. Amazingly, the couple went on to marry. Less surprisingly, they have now divorced.
Gillian Campbell admits she was so innocent when she got engaged that she didn't think it mattered what her mother-in-law was like. "But she made it obvious that Ian could have done so much better. She's always thought I wasn't good enough."
It's strange how all the women I spoke to, bar one, had mothers-in-law who didn't have daughters of their own. The one who did have a daughter (Celia Sharman's) didn't get on with her. Also, none of the mothers had sisters and none had got on with their mothers. This may be entirely anecdotal but it does suggest difficulty relating to other women.
But perhaps the real problem with mothers-in-law is the very name. It sounds like your own mother, someone you love, who's brought you up and knows you. Mothers-in-law, however, are thrust upon you.
"My mother-in-law has only ever bought me one present," says Tania Harper. "She arrived at our house smiling, and I was really touched, because she'd never got me anything before. Then she opened her bag and got out a T-shirt. It said: 'My mother-in-law went to Crete and all she bought me was this lousy T-shirt.' I was stunned. Then she said: 'You are going to wear it, aren't you?' "
Names have been changed.
DOS AND DON'TS
Be realistic. High expectations are bound to be dashed. Why should you expect a close and fulfilling relationship when you haven't chosen each other?
Remember she is not your mother, which means she isn't, necessarily, on your side. Watch who you complain about her to. Sympathetic female friends are probably better than husbands. You don't want your marriage affected.
Damage limitation may be the wisest option. It could be that a slightly cooler relationship is the best you can do.
Don't think that children will make you bond with your mother-in-law. They just offer lots more opportunities for conflict.
Friday, 31 August 2007
Hallam Foe - how the original writer feels!
Please read my article about turning books into films. I interviewed Peter Jinks, author of the much acclaimed Hallam Foe, for it. The film - which stars Jamie Bell and Sophia Myles - is out today. The book is excellent by the way..
Having your book turned into a film, says Peter Jinks, author of Hallam Foe, is like “handing over your baby for a medical experiment.”
“You have to be aware that it’s going to be changed,” adds Jinks. “You can’t be surprised if it comes back with limbs in different places.”
Hallam Foe, an unusual coming of age tale about voyeurism and a boy’s tense relationship with his new stepmother, was Jinks’ first novel. It was critically acclaimed on publication, but not a huge best-seller, and Jinks admits that he was surprised when Scottish director David McKenzie (a former flat-mate of his) wanted to adapt it for the big screen.
“Everyone who writes a book hopes it will get optioned and made into a film,” says Jinks. “But I didn’t have any idea how it would work with my book. I knew that I liked Dave’s films and that he understood the underlying idea of the novel, but the book was just source material. They’ve been making their own piece of art.”
Hallam Foe – which stars Jamie Bell and Sophia Myles – is released today. But what made this particular book ripe for a film translation? And why are so many novels turned into films anyway?
“A book is something that actually exists,” says director McKenzie, whose two previous films, Young Adam and Asylum, were also based on novels. “It’s easier to galvanise people around a book than a screenplay, because it’s a tangible thing.
“Books are objects and people need objects to take hold of in the film business because there’s so much talk,” he adds. “It also means there’s a narrative there. With this book, I really liked the idea. It wasn’t your average coming of age stuff.”
But moving from the written word to the big screen is not always the easiest thing to do. Books are constantly turned into films, but for every big commercial and critical success – the Lord of the Rings films or The English Patient, for example - there are others which do not reach the heights they aspire to. The Da Vinci Code is one current case in point, but it joins many others including Captain Corelli’s Mandolin and Jonathan Safran Foer’s Everything is Illuminated.
“A good book does not necessarily make a good film,” says Nick Marston, who runs the film and television department at literary agents Curtis Brown. “It’s such a combination of different talents, a translation into a totally different medium and a genuinely collaborative procedure.”
Almost every week it seems as if a book is either being turned into a screenplay (recent examples include Lionel Shriver’s award winning We Need to Talk about Kevin, Susanna Clarke’s Jonathan Strange and Mr Norrell, and Philip Pullman’s His Dark Materials) or actually being released. Many of th4em are award-winning, from Rebecca to Brokeback Mountain.
“What we want is a really good story and a richness of character,” says Amelia Granger from film producers Working Title. “But what everyone is looking for is the holy grail – a manuscript that is brilliantly written, commercially appealing and yet prize winning!”
Granger is constantly on the look-out for new material, whether fiction or non-fiction. “True-life is often more exciting,” she says. “It all depends on the story and how good it is. If it’s original and feels like a world that hasn’t been seen before, then it may well be inspirational for a film.”
It’s true that film-makers don’t limit themselves simply to fiction. Fast Food Nation, Syriana and Munich are all based on non-fiction work, and in many ways, it’s the success of a book which helps to get it made.
“If a book has done well, it does give it a head start in terms of brand identity,” admits Nick Marston.
Last year, Marston set up a new in-house development and production arm at Curtis Brown. Its very existence demonstrates how many authors and agents have become more demanding when it comes to optioning their work.
“We did it because we felt that material wasn’t being fully developed and that there wasn’t enough imaginative twinning of writers and material,” says Marston. “It’s still the case that more things get optioned than get made, but some companies have really wised up and I don’t think we’re going to see such huge money coming out of the studios anymore.”
Amelia Granger agrees that in the past, “the creative process was being stifled,” by huge options on books which were then left languishing in development. She says that what authors and agents want now is an assurance that a film version of their book will actually get made.
“For example, we took on Ian McEwen’s Atonement for a director, Joe Wright (who made Pride and Prejudice) and a screenwriter, Christopher Hampton,” she says. “A creative approach was what was wanted and that was what we provided.”
For Peter Jinks the whole experience has been a delight, although he’s still overwhelmed by his visit to the set.
“I felt a bit like a ghost drifting around, but it was really emotional, a nice feeling,” he says. “It was a bit like seeing a dream become flesh.” And he adds that, although he’s currently writing a third novel, he has another ambition.
“I would like to write my own original screenplay,” he says.
Ends
Having your book turned into a film, says Peter Jinks, author of Hallam Foe, is like “handing over your baby for a medical experiment.”
“You have to be aware that it’s going to be changed,” adds Jinks. “You can’t be surprised if it comes back with limbs in different places.”
Hallam Foe, an unusual coming of age tale about voyeurism and a boy’s tense relationship with his new stepmother, was Jinks’ first novel. It was critically acclaimed on publication, but not a huge best-seller, and Jinks admits that he was surprised when Scottish director David McKenzie (a former flat-mate of his) wanted to adapt it for the big screen.
“Everyone who writes a book hopes it will get optioned and made into a film,” says Jinks. “But I didn’t have any idea how it would work with my book. I knew that I liked Dave’s films and that he understood the underlying idea of the novel, but the book was just source material. They’ve been making their own piece of art.”
Hallam Foe – which stars Jamie Bell and Sophia Myles – is released today. But what made this particular book ripe for a film translation? And why are so many novels turned into films anyway?
“A book is something that actually exists,” says director McKenzie, whose two previous films, Young Adam and Asylum, were also based on novels. “It’s easier to galvanise people around a book than a screenplay, because it’s a tangible thing.
“Books are objects and people need objects to take hold of in the film business because there’s so much talk,” he adds. “It also means there’s a narrative there. With this book, I really liked the idea. It wasn’t your average coming of age stuff.”
But moving from the written word to the big screen is not always the easiest thing to do. Books are constantly turned into films, but for every big commercial and critical success – the Lord of the Rings films or The English Patient, for example - there are others which do not reach the heights they aspire to. The Da Vinci Code is one current case in point, but it joins many others including Captain Corelli’s Mandolin and Jonathan Safran Foer’s Everything is Illuminated.
“A good book does not necessarily make a good film,” says Nick Marston, who runs the film and television department at literary agents Curtis Brown. “It’s such a combination of different talents, a translation into a totally different medium and a genuinely collaborative procedure.”
Almost every week it seems as if a book is either being turned into a screenplay (recent examples include Lionel Shriver’s award winning We Need to Talk about Kevin, Susanna Clarke’s Jonathan Strange and Mr Norrell, and Philip Pullman’s His Dark Materials) or actually being released. Many of th4em are award-winning, from Rebecca to Brokeback Mountain.
“What we want is a really good story and a richness of character,” says Amelia Granger from film producers Working Title. “But what everyone is looking for is the holy grail – a manuscript that is brilliantly written, commercially appealing and yet prize winning!”
Granger is constantly on the look-out for new material, whether fiction or non-fiction. “True-life is often more exciting,” she says. “It all depends on the story and how good it is. If it’s original and feels like a world that hasn’t been seen before, then it may well be inspirational for a film.”
It’s true that film-makers don’t limit themselves simply to fiction. Fast Food Nation, Syriana and Munich are all based on non-fiction work, and in many ways, it’s the success of a book which helps to get it made.
“If a book has done well, it does give it a head start in terms of brand identity,” admits Nick Marston.
Last year, Marston set up a new in-house development and production arm at Curtis Brown. Its very existence demonstrates how many authors and agents have become more demanding when it comes to optioning their work.
“We did it because we felt that material wasn’t being fully developed and that there wasn’t enough imaginative twinning of writers and material,” says Marston. “It’s still the case that more things get optioned than get made, but some companies have really wised up and I don’t think we’re going to see such huge money coming out of the studios anymore.”
Amelia Granger agrees that in the past, “the creative process was being stifled,” by huge options on books which were then left languishing in development. She says that what authors and agents want now is an assurance that a film version of their book will actually get made.
“For example, we took on Ian McEwen’s Atonement for a director, Joe Wright (who made Pride and Prejudice) and a screenwriter, Christopher Hampton,” she says. “A creative approach was what was wanted and that was what we provided.”
For Peter Jinks the whole experience has been a delight, although he’s still overwhelmed by his visit to the set.
“I felt a bit like a ghost drifting around, but it was really emotional, a nice feeling,” he says. “It was a bit like seeing a dream become flesh.” And he adds that, although he’s currently writing a third novel, he has another ambition.
“I would like to write my own original screenplay,” he says.
Ends
Tuesday, 28 August 2007
My son reeled into the room and I knew something was horribly wrong...
Today I have a very sad article in the Daily Mail about a boy who died, suddenly, leaving his family devastated. They chose to donate his organs - helping many other people.
Here is the link to the article, http://www.dailymail.co.uk/pages/live/articles/health/healthmain.html?in_article_id=478232&in_page_id=1774&in_a_source=
Or here is it in full...
My son reeled into the room and I knew something was horribly wrong...
On this day four years ago, 16-year-old Martin Burton died suddenly from a brain haemorrhage. His parents, Nigel, 48, and Sue, 47, donated his organs for transplantation, saving one boy's life and helping many others. Here, Sue tells SARAH EBNER the tragic story of what happened to her son...
"Martin was hooked up to tubes and monitoring equipment, but he seemed peaceful. I couldn't believe we had lost him, even though I knew he was brain dead.
He was pink and warm, and looked as if he were asleep. I sat and held his hand for hours and hours.
We had decided to donate Martin's organs and were asked if we wanted to take him into theatre. I declined. I'd been there for 36 hours and at some point we had to make a break. But the hardest moment for me was walking out of that hospital. I knew I was leaving my son behind.
Martin's death was the most profound loss, something you cannot imagine until it happens. Losing a child is the wrong order of things. All your hopes, your plans, your dreams of their future and your future are shattered.
You have to get used to a new life with a big part missing for ever. And that's the hard part to accept: that it is for ever.
Immediately after Martin died, I was too upset to think about the boy who received Martin's heart. Now I do think about him, particularly on days like today, the anniversary of Martin's death. It's as important a day for his family as ours, and I don't doubt that his parents give thanks every day for our decision.
It was the school holidays. Martin was his usual boisterous self. He'd gone to bed fine, but in the early hours of August 27, I heard a thud. It sounded like he had fallen out of bed.
Martin was often noisy, so I didn't thud. It sounded like he had fallen out Martin was often noisy, so I didn't worry. But the noise continued, like a banging. I realise now he was probably staggering and hitting the walls and furniture.
I sat up in bed and shouted: 'Martin, what are you doing?' The banging continued, so I called out: 'Are you all right?' He appeared in my bedroom doorway. 'Are you all right?' I repeated.
He looked at me with a glazed, confused expression. I realise now his brain was shutting down; he probably couldn't see or hear me, and he certainly couldn't speak. I've re-lived the expression on his face millions of times.
Martin staggered towards the bed and collapsed on it. I thought it was concussion, so I shook him.
He then rolled over and fell on the floor. I didn't realise it at the time, but he was in a deep coma.
I now feel naïve that I didn't realise how serious it was, but he seemed fine when he went to bed.
When I couldn't wake Martin up, I rang for an ambulance and it took us straight to Grantham Hospital. Nigel, my husband, was working in the RAF in Las Vegas when this happened, while my elder son Chris was staying with his girlfriend. When we got to the hospital, Martin was whisked away and I was left in reception.
I was in a daze - it seemed unreal. After a while, a nurse told me Martin was really ill and suggested I phone somebody. I rang my parents.
When they arrived, we were taken to see Martin, who was on a life support machine. We were told he'd had a brain haemorrhage (bleeding in the brain) and were advised to tell Nigel to come home.
Martin was transferred to the Queen's Medical Centre in Nottingham at 5am. Three hours later, the consultant said the extent of the bleeding was so great that there was nothing they could do. He then asked if I would consider donating Martin's organs.
I immediately said yes. Although we had never discussed it, I was sure Nigel would agree. I think Martin would have wanted it, too.
He was young and healthy. He'd had no illness, no medication and no injuries. The only part of him that was damaged was his brain. I thought that if I could save one mother from going through the nightmare of losing someone, it was worth it.
And I did save a family from that hell because Martin's heart went to a 15-year-old boy who'd had only hours to live. Hopefully he will now live a long, healthy life.
But while I do think about that boy, there's no comfort for me in the donation. Maybe there is consolation in knowing Martin did not die in vain. But at the moment I still see it as them having what I want: they've got a healthy son.
Martin was kept alive on life support until Nigel got home. It took him three flights and he arrived at 9.30am the next day.
I sat by Martin's bedside for all that time. Apart from a dressing over the pressure gauge which had been inserted into his brain, he had no injuries to his face or body, so didn't look any different. It was as if he was still alive.
When Nigel and I saw each other, we were in floods of tears.
You have to sign an agreement for each individual organ. You can say yes to some and no to others, and you also decide, if the organs aren't fit to be used, whether you want them to be left in the body or taken for research.
We said yes to everything, but no to the research. I've never seen the donation as a violation of Martin's body, but I think I felt giving his organs for research would be.
Because he was a multiple organ donor, we had to wait until all the doctors were ready, which wasn't until 8pm that night. I didn't want to see Martin go, so the transplant co-ordinator accompanied him to theatre for me. Nigel and I then left the hospital. YOU choose if you want to know what happens to the organs and we decided we wanted information.
Martin's lungs, heart, liver, both kidneys and both corneas were donated. All the organs were used that night, or in the early hours of the following morning, apart from the corneas. They were frozen and I don't know if they've been used.
Except for his heart, Martin's other organs went to older people. His liver to a middle-aged man; his lungs to an elderly gentleman; one kidney to another elderly man; the other to an elderly woman.
I would have liked more of Martin's organs to have gone to children because I feel enormous empathy with the mother My Lifesaver of the boy who has Martin's heart.
But when we agreed to donate them we knew we had no say in what happened. They must go to the person who has the best chance of receiving them successfully and that's much more important than age.
Still, we would love to meet any of the recipients. It would be nice if the transplant teams around the country could encourage contact between the families by letter for a longer period of time - perhaps an exchange of photos to make it less anonymous for both families.
Currently, they can only send an anonymous thank-you letter, with transplant co-ordinators acting as go-betweens. But I do realise it must be hard for the recipient families to know what to say.
At the time, we didn't know why Martin had collapsed. He'd always seemed healthy. We now know that he'd had a brain haemorrhage because of an arteriovenous malformation of the brain, or AVM, and that it could have happened at any time. AVMs occur when blood vessels develop in a malformed way.
Blood is normally pumped by the heart to the brain via arteries. When it's in the brain it's nourished by the capillaries before going back through the veins.
When you have an AVM, you don't have these capillaries. This means there's pressure on the blood vessels, which can rupture.
The consultant who looked after Martin described it to me as being like a twig - fine one minute, then snapping. The bleed would have been so catastrophic that Martin's brain would have started to shut down in a few minutes.
The brain haemorrhage caused Martin's death, but that was caused by the AVM, something he was born with. He could have collapsed at school or out with his friends, but he happened to be in bed. I'm grateful for that because I hope in his last thoughts, he knew I was there.
It's now four years since Martin died, but life never goes back to normal. The pain never goes away, but you learn to cope with it.
At first, I couldn't remember Martin's life; I could only remember the death.
It was a long time, maybe a year, before I could think back to the good times. But memories are there for ever. Now I remember Martin with a lot of smiles. He was that sort of a person."
For more details about the Donor Family Network - a charity run by donor families for other donor families - see www.donorfamilynetwork.co.uk.
Here is the link to the article, http://www.dailymail.co.uk/pages/live/articles/health/healthmain.html?in_article_id=478232&in_page_id=1774&in_a_source=
Or here is it in full...
My son reeled into the room and I knew something was horribly wrong...
On this day four years ago, 16-year-old Martin Burton died suddenly from a brain haemorrhage. His parents, Nigel, 48, and Sue, 47, donated his organs for transplantation, saving one boy's life and helping many others. Here, Sue tells SARAH EBNER the tragic story of what happened to her son...
"Martin was hooked up to tubes and monitoring equipment, but he seemed peaceful. I couldn't believe we had lost him, even though I knew he was brain dead.
He was pink and warm, and looked as if he were asleep. I sat and held his hand for hours and hours.
We had decided to donate Martin's organs and were asked if we wanted to take him into theatre. I declined. I'd been there for 36 hours and at some point we had to make a break. But the hardest moment for me was walking out of that hospital. I knew I was leaving my son behind.
Martin's death was the most profound loss, something you cannot imagine until it happens. Losing a child is the wrong order of things. All your hopes, your plans, your dreams of their future and your future are shattered.
You have to get used to a new life with a big part missing for ever. And that's the hard part to accept: that it is for ever.
Immediately after Martin died, I was too upset to think about the boy who received Martin's heart. Now I do think about him, particularly on days like today, the anniversary of Martin's death. It's as important a day for his family as ours, and I don't doubt that his parents give thanks every day for our decision.
It was the school holidays. Martin was his usual boisterous self. He'd gone to bed fine, but in the early hours of August 27, I heard a thud. It sounded like he had fallen out of bed.
Martin was often noisy, so I didn't thud. It sounded like he had fallen out Martin was often noisy, so I didn't worry. But the noise continued, like a banging. I realise now he was probably staggering and hitting the walls and furniture.
I sat up in bed and shouted: 'Martin, what are you doing?' The banging continued, so I called out: 'Are you all right?' He appeared in my bedroom doorway. 'Are you all right?' I repeated.
He looked at me with a glazed, confused expression. I realise now his brain was shutting down; he probably couldn't see or hear me, and he certainly couldn't speak. I've re-lived the expression on his face millions of times.
Martin staggered towards the bed and collapsed on it. I thought it was concussion, so I shook him.
He then rolled over and fell on the floor. I didn't realise it at the time, but he was in a deep coma.
I now feel naïve that I didn't realise how serious it was, but he seemed fine when he went to bed.
When I couldn't wake Martin up, I rang for an ambulance and it took us straight to Grantham Hospital. Nigel, my husband, was working in the RAF in Las Vegas when this happened, while my elder son Chris was staying with his girlfriend. When we got to the hospital, Martin was whisked away and I was left in reception.
I was in a daze - it seemed unreal. After a while, a nurse told me Martin was really ill and suggested I phone somebody. I rang my parents.
When they arrived, we were taken to see Martin, who was on a life support machine. We were told he'd had a brain haemorrhage (bleeding in the brain) and were advised to tell Nigel to come home.
Martin was transferred to the Queen's Medical Centre in Nottingham at 5am. Three hours later, the consultant said the extent of the bleeding was so great that there was nothing they could do. He then asked if I would consider donating Martin's organs.
I immediately said yes. Although we had never discussed it, I was sure Nigel would agree. I think Martin would have wanted it, too.
He was young and healthy. He'd had no illness, no medication and no injuries. The only part of him that was damaged was his brain. I thought that if I could save one mother from going through the nightmare of losing someone, it was worth it.
And I did save a family from that hell because Martin's heart went to a 15-year-old boy who'd had only hours to live. Hopefully he will now live a long, healthy life.
But while I do think about that boy, there's no comfort for me in the donation. Maybe there is consolation in knowing Martin did not die in vain. But at the moment I still see it as them having what I want: they've got a healthy son.
Martin was kept alive on life support until Nigel got home. It took him three flights and he arrived at 9.30am the next day.
I sat by Martin's bedside for all that time. Apart from a dressing over the pressure gauge which had been inserted into his brain, he had no injuries to his face or body, so didn't look any different. It was as if he was still alive.
When Nigel and I saw each other, we were in floods of tears.
You have to sign an agreement for each individual organ. You can say yes to some and no to others, and you also decide, if the organs aren't fit to be used, whether you want them to be left in the body or taken for research.
We said yes to everything, but no to the research. I've never seen the donation as a violation of Martin's body, but I think I felt giving his organs for research would be.
Because he was a multiple organ donor, we had to wait until all the doctors were ready, which wasn't until 8pm that night. I didn't want to see Martin go, so the transplant co-ordinator accompanied him to theatre for me. Nigel and I then left the hospital. YOU choose if you want to know what happens to the organs and we decided we wanted information.
Martin's lungs, heart, liver, both kidneys and both corneas were donated. All the organs were used that night, or in the early hours of the following morning, apart from the corneas. They were frozen and I don't know if they've been used.
Except for his heart, Martin's other organs went to older people. His liver to a middle-aged man; his lungs to an elderly gentleman; one kidney to another elderly man; the other to an elderly woman.
I would have liked more of Martin's organs to have gone to children because I feel enormous empathy with the mother My Lifesaver of the boy who has Martin's heart.
But when we agreed to donate them we knew we had no say in what happened. They must go to the person who has the best chance of receiving them successfully and that's much more important than age.
Still, we would love to meet any of the recipients. It would be nice if the transplant teams around the country could encourage contact between the families by letter for a longer period of time - perhaps an exchange of photos to make it less anonymous for both families.
Currently, they can only send an anonymous thank-you letter, with transplant co-ordinators acting as go-betweens. But I do realise it must be hard for the recipient families to know what to say.
At the time, we didn't know why Martin had collapsed. He'd always seemed healthy. We now know that he'd had a brain haemorrhage because of an arteriovenous malformation of the brain, or AVM, and that it could have happened at any time. AVMs occur when blood vessels develop in a malformed way.
Blood is normally pumped by the heart to the brain via arteries. When it's in the brain it's nourished by the capillaries before going back through the veins.
When you have an AVM, you don't have these capillaries. This means there's pressure on the blood vessels, which can rupture.
The consultant who looked after Martin described it to me as being like a twig - fine one minute, then snapping. The bleed would have been so catastrophic that Martin's brain would have started to shut down in a few minutes.
The brain haemorrhage caused Martin's death, but that was caused by the AVM, something he was born with. He could have collapsed at school or out with his friends, but he happened to be in bed. I'm grateful for that because I hope in his last thoughts, he knew I was there.
It's now four years since Martin died, but life never goes back to normal. The pain never goes away, but you learn to cope with it.
At first, I couldn't remember Martin's life; I could only remember the death.
It was a long time, maybe a year, before I could think back to the good times. But memories are there for ever. Now I remember Martin with a lot of smiles. He was that sort of a person."
For more details about the Donor Family Network - a charity run by donor families for other donor families - see www.donorfamilynetwork.co.uk.
Saturday, 18 August 2007
‘My Scottish ancestors were heroes’
Hello
This weekend I have a "First person" article in the FT magazine. It is about a fascinating woman called Pearl Duncan, who has a great story to tell about her family history.
You can read it online here, http://www.ft.com/cms/s/6d4f7fc4-4a09-11dc-9ffe-0000779fd2ac.html
Or here....
‘My Scottish ancestors were heroes’
‘Many black Americans are afraid, as I was initially, of finding a slave trader in their family tree,’ says Pearl Duncan
First Person: Pearl Duncan
As told to Sarah Ebner
Published: August 18 2007 00:36
When I started to look into my family tree, I couldn’t have imagined the conflict it would cause. I spent 10 years researching my ancestors, and a lot of people didn’t like what I had to say at the end of it. I’d tracked the cultural history that shaped my DNA in America, Europe and Africa, and discovered that not all white men in the British colonies who fathered children with black women in the 18th century were evil slavers. I found at least one ancestor who was an abolitionist and who did not abandon his children.
My family emigrated from Jamaica to New York when I was young, and I was always fascinated by where I had come from. My parents told me we were descended from the Maroons, or runaway slaves. Years later, when I went to our old family graves just outside Kingston, Jamaica, I couldn’t believe it when I found our birth and baptismal records dating back to the 1700s.
I now know that my roots are incredibly diverse: I am descended from slaves; from free people who worked and bought their freedom; from Maroon warriors who waged military rebellions in Jamaica against slavery; also from British merchants, and European and African nobility.
My Jamaican grandmother’s name was Rebecca Smellie and her ancestor was John Smellie, a Scottish merchant. In 1726 in Jamaica he had a child, George, with a “free negro” whose name was Ann Roberts. Even though there were penalties at that time – huge fines, deportation, imprisonment – for keeping records of black children, John Smellie left birth and baptism records with George’s name on them.
Three of John Smellie’s Scottish descendants settled in Jamaica on land he left them. One of them was called William Smellie and he died in 1800. He was an abolitionist, and when I found his will it showed that he left the maximum amount allowed under the slavery laws to his mixed-race children and their mother. Finding out about both these men changed everything for me. I had thought I was learning about the awful people who owned slaves, but instead I was discovering heroism, and people who stood up for what they thought was right.
I followed up these discoveries with research in Scotland, hiring Scottish genealogists and local historians. It turned out that John Smellie was of noble birth. I sent the records to the Court of The Lord Lyon, the heraldic authority for Scotland, which said I qualified for a coat of arms. I now have one that reflects the diversity of my ancestry.
My research also took me to Ghana. I tracked down dozens of ancestors and collected DNA from Ghanaian families whose names matched nicknames still used in my family. I spent a lot of time on the linguistic research, and DNA confirmed the connection. As far as I know, I was one of the first people in the world to use DNA in this way.
I’ve written a book about my research but publishers seem to think it’s too contentious to publish. Talking about black ancestors who rebelled apparently goes against how Americans see these people – slaves were victims, not rebels. Editors are happy to accept stories about slaves who escaped one at a time, but they don’t like the idea that they grouped together and stood up for themselves. That’s too threatening.
I’ve also learned that many black Americans are afraid, as I was initially, of finding a slave trader in their family tree, so they don’t really want to talk about their European ancestors. I got into trouble with my black friends for saying that John Smellie was a more caring man than many other colonials because he left a record of his child.
When you start looking into your genealogy, you have to come to terms with admirable and despicable behaviour, and that’s what I’ve done.
This weekend I have a "First person" article in the FT magazine. It is about a fascinating woman called Pearl Duncan, who has a great story to tell about her family history.
You can read it online here, http://www.ft.com/cms/s/6d4f7fc4-4a09-11dc-9ffe-0000779fd2ac.html
Or here....
‘My Scottish ancestors were heroes’
‘Many black Americans are afraid, as I was initially, of finding a slave trader in their family tree,’ says Pearl Duncan
First Person: Pearl Duncan
As told to Sarah Ebner
Published: August 18 2007 00:36
When I started to look into my family tree, I couldn’t have imagined the conflict it would cause. I spent 10 years researching my ancestors, and a lot of people didn’t like what I had to say at the end of it. I’d tracked the cultural history that shaped my DNA in America, Europe and Africa, and discovered that not all white men in the British colonies who fathered children with black women in the 18th century were evil slavers. I found at least one ancestor who was an abolitionist and who did not abandon his children.
My family emigrated from Jamaica to New York when I was young, and I was always fascinated by where I had come from. My parents told me we were descended from the Maroons, or runaway slaves. Years later, when I went to our old family graves just outside Kingston, Jamaica, I couldn’t believe it when I found our birth and baptismal records dating back to the 1700s.
I now know that my roots are incredibly diverse: I am descended from slaves; from free people who worked and bought their freedom; from Maroon warriors who waged military rebellions in Jamaica against slavery; also from British merchants, and European and African nobility.
My Jamaican grandmother’s name was Rebecca Smellie and her ancestor was John Smellie, a Scottish merchant. In 1726 in Jamaica he had a child, George, with a “free negro” whose name was Ann Roberts. Even though there were penalties at that time – huge fines, deportation, imprisonment – for keeping records of black children, John Smellie left birth and baptism records with George’s name on them.
Three of John Smellie’s Scottish descendants settled in Jamaica on land he left them. One of them was called William Smellie and he died in 1800. He was an abolitionist, and when I found his will it showed that he left the maximum amount allowed under the slavery laws to his mixed-race children and their mother. Finding out about both these men changed everything for me. I had thought I was learning about the awful people who owned slaves, but instead I was discovering heroism, and people who stood up for what they thought was right.
I followed up these discoveries with research in Scotland, hiring Scottish genealogists and local historians. It turned out that John Smellie was of noble birth. I sent the records to the Court of The Lord Lyon, the heraldic authority for Scotland, which said I qualified for a coat of arms. I now have one that reflects the diversity of my ancestry.
My research also took me to Ghana. I tracked down dozens of ancestors and collected DNA from Ghanaian families whose names matched nicknames still used in my family. I spent a lot of time on the linguistic research, and DNA confirmed the connection. As far as I know, I was one of the first people in the world to use DNA in this way.
I’ve written a book about my research but publishers seem to think it’s too contentious to publish. Talking about black ancestors who rebelled apparently goes against how Americans see these people – slaves were victims, not rebels. Editors are happy to accept stories about slaves who escaped one at a time, but they don’t like the idea that they grouped together and stood up for themselves. That’s too threatening.
I’ve also learned that many black Americans are afraid, as I was initially, of finding a slave trader in their family tree, so they don’t really want to talk about their European ancestors. I got into trouble with my black friends for saying that John Smellie was a more caring man than many other colonials because he left a record of his child.
When you start looking into your genealogy, you have to come to terms with admirable and despicable behaviour, and that’s what I’ve done.
Wednesday, 25 July 2007
Who says single men can't adopt?
I have an article in the Times about single men who choose to adopt. It's really very interesting indeed (trust me!)
Here is the link...
Or here is the text.....
Who says lone men can’t adopt?
The number of single male adopters in Britain is small but growing. Sarah Ebner talks to three happy fathers
Last year 3,700 children were adopted from care. Many more, desperate for a family, were disappointed – but adoption agencies have begun to look farther afield. Unmarried heterosexual and gay couples can now adopt jointly, while another small but growing part of the adoptive parent network is single people. And while it’s true that most single adopters are female, there are some men, too.
Single men are probably the most maligned group of adoptive parents, and are subjected to intense questioning about why they want to become fathers.
Although it is not illegal for a single man to adopt a female child, it happens rarely. Single male adopters tend to adopt boys who are slightly older than the average. As in any adoption, the child’s needs must be paramount.
David Holmes, chief executive of the British Association for Adoption and Fostering (BAAF), says: “It is a myth that single men can’t adopt. The number of single male adopters is small but growing. What children need most is security and stability, and in most cases this is more important than the gender of the carer.
“We know that single people can do just as well as couples, and we encourage adoption agencies to think about what single men and women have to offer. The national minimum standards for adoption state that people who are interested in becoming adoptive parents will be welcomed without prejudice.”
Here, three single men recount how they became adoptive fathers.
— Richard Stuart, 42, lives in Sandhurst, Berkshire, with his two adopted sons, Paul, 18, and Aron, 12. Richard, who also fosters two teenage boys, looks after the children full-time.
“I thought I’d have all the normal things in life – kids, a wife and a dog – but it doesn’t always work out like that,” he says. “When I was 23, a close friend died. I took her loss badly. I got to 27 and hadn’t had any serious relationships since her death. But I’m an impatient person and wasn’t happy. I had always wanted to be a dad, and began to think that I would never have kids.
“I was surprised when I found out that single men could adopt. However, my local authority said that although they were legally obliged to carry out all the checks on me, they had never taken on a single male adopter before.
“It took me three years with different agencies to be approved. Eventually I went to an independent adoption service and they took me on. I had to be thoroughly checked, but that didn’t bother me. If you can’t put up with the checks and intrusiveness then you shouldn’t try to adopt in the first place. I’d have given everything I had to be a dad, so I was prepared to be harassed.
“Once I was approved, I went to a matching panel. Paul, who was nearly 10, had been in a care home and I was his last chance. He really wanted a family, and there was something about him that made me want him. We clicked.
“Everything changed after Paul came. I had no social life and couldn’t go anywhere without him following me. But it was what I wanted. I chose to do it. However, it was an issue that I was a single man. I ran a huge Cub pack, and once Paul came the numbers nosedived. People thought that I must be odd, or that Paul was potentially dangerous.
“I lost some friends when Paul arrived but made new ones, too. I didn’t really care what people thought of me but I did care what they thought of Paul.
“Two years later I got Aron, who was then 6, and I now sit on an adoption panel. I don’t have relationships because I don’t have time, but I don’t think the boys miss having a mum. I’d have liked to adopt a girl but it was difficult enough getting a boy as a single man.
“I’m exceptionally proud of the boys, even though they completely wind me up. They really do complete my life, and I have no regrets.”
— Thierry Lambert, 34, lives in Wiltshire with his adopted son, Liam, 8. He works for Wiltshire police. “I first met Liam in April last year. I walked into the room at his foster home and he looked up and said, ‘Hello Dad, I’m just having a sandwich, I’ll be there in a minute’. It felt incredible. When I left, I shed more tears than I’d ever done in my life. I was so happy.
“I had always wanted children and was in a seven-year relationship where we were planning to have them, but we broke up in 2003. I was just turning 30 and wasn’t keen to start over again. What if I met someone new, then waited more years to have a child, only for it not to happen again?
“I came across adoption on the internet and it seemed like a great idea. For me, the child was more important than the partner, and adoption cut out that relationship completely. I contacted Wiltshire social services and they didn’t think it was a problem. I went on a course which was very female-orientated (everything was about mothers), but I met nice people and no one was especially negative. However, some people did ask if I was gay.
“I also had an in-depth assessment. Every angle was covered – my social group, my work, what support I had, even how a child would cope with me being diabetic.
“It took nearly a year to get approval. I did have relationships during that time but they didn’t last. The adoption was my priority.
“Liam’s father had died and he hadn’t had a particularly good experience with his mother. Because of this he found it difficult to trust women. He needed a father.
“I was sent the forms of 20 possible children, and when I saw Liam I said, ‘That’s the one. That’s my son’.
“Liam moved in last May and I’ve had to adjust more than him – being more tired, more responsible, making sure that he gets fed and bathed and does his homework.
“But it’s completely worth it. Liam makes me laugh every day and I feel I’ve known him since he was born. I adopted him on October 10, 2006 and he says that I’m his real dad. I feel this was meant to be.”
— John Williams*, 47, lives on Anglesey in Wales with his two adopted sons, *Keith, 21, and *Jamie, 20. He also fosters two boys aged 11 and 12, and looks after the children full-time.
“When I was told that I would be adopting two brothers aged 9 and 10, I was concerned. They sounded so grown-up and I thought that they would have missed out on so much. But when I met the boys I couldn’t believe how small they were. I knew they were the ones for me.
“I’ve always loved children but although I was married briefly, we had no kids. After we broke up in 1992 I began thinking about adoption. I wanted a family but wasn’t keen on another relationship and didn’t want to risk getting hurt again.
“I contacted Barnardo’s, who gave me a very thorough assessment. It wasn’t easy but I don’t think that it should be easy. I told my social worker right from the start that I would be open and honest. I had nothing to hide, and wanted to be a father more than anything. However, it is hard when you read so much about male abusers. You want to say, ‘That’s not every man’.
“At that time I worked for the Ministry of Defence, and because I worked I was told that I would have to adopt school-age children. I was expecting a five-year-old!
“The boys had been in foster care for more than three years. They felt very much that they were treated differently from the foster carer’s children and wanted a family of their own. Keith had written a letter saying that he wanted to live in the country with animals, and I was delighted to read that. It was my situation exactly, and he has loved being outdoors from Day 1. Meanwhile, Jamie, who barely spoke when he was with the foster carer, hasn’t stopped talking since he came here! He knew immediately that he belonged.
“I told Jamie and Keith that there were lots of other children who would like to be adopted, but it was important to them that their adoption was special. They suggested fostering.
“I wouldn’t change what I have for the world. I think how empty my life was before and take great pleasure in my sons’ achievements. Yes, I would have liked to have met someone and had children, but that didn’t happen. I haven’t had relationships since getting the boys, but my life is full and we are happy. I definitely feel that the boys are mine.”
* Names have been changed.
Here is the link...
Or here is the text.....
Who says lone men can’t adopt?
The number of single male adopters in Britain is small but growing. Sarah Ebner talks to three happy fathers
Last year 3,700 children were adopted from care. Many more, desperate for a family, were disappointed – but adoption agencies have begun to look farther afield. Unmarried heterosexual and gay couples can now adopt jointly, while another small but growing part of the adoptive parent network is single people. And while it’s true that most single adopters are female, there are some men, too.
Single men are probably the most maligned group of adoptive parents, and are subjected to intense questioning about why they want to become fathers.
Although it is not illegal for a single man to adopt a female child, it happens rarely. Single male adopters tend to adopt boys who are slightly older than the average. As in any adoption, the child’s needs must be paramount.
David Holmes, chief executive of the British Association for Adoption and Fostering (BAAF), says: “It is a myth that single men can’t adopt. The number of single male adopters is small but growing. What children need most is security and stability, and in most cases this is more important than the gender of the carer.
“We know that single people can do just as well as couples, and we encourage adoption agencies to think about what single men and women have to offer. The national minimum standards for adoption state that people who are interested in becoming adoptive parents will be welcomed without prejudice.”
Here, three single men recount how they became adoptive fathers.
— Richard Stuart, 42, lives in Sandhurst, Berkshire, with his two adopted sons, Paul, 18, and Aron, 12. Richard, who also fosters two teenage boys, looks after the children full-time.
“I thought I’d have all the normal things in life – kids, a wife and a dog – but it doesn’t always work out like that,” he says. “When I was 23, a close friend died. I took her loss badly. I got to 27 and hadn’t had any serious relationships since her death. But I’m an impatient person and wasn’t happy. I had always wanted to be a dad, and began to think that I would never have kids.
“I was surprised when I found out that single men could adopt. However, my local authority said that although they were legally obliged to carry out all the checks on me, they had never taken on a single male adopter before.
“It took me three years with different agencies to be approved. Eventually I went to an independent adoption service and they took me on. I had to be thoroughly checked, but that didn’t bother me. If you can’t put up with the checks and intrusiveness then you shouldn’t try to adopt in the first place. I’d have given everything I had to be a dad, so I was prepared to be harassed.
“Once I was approved, I went to a matching panel. Paul, who was nearly 10, had been in a care home and I was his last chance. He really wanted a family, and there was something about him that made me want him. We clicked.
“Everything changed after Paul came. I had no social life and couldn’t go anywhere without him following me. But it was what I wanted. I chose to do it. However, it was an issue that I was a single man. I ran a huge Cub pack, and once Paul came the numbers nosedived. People thought that I must be odd, or that Paul was potentially dangerous.
“I lost some friends when Paul arrived but made new ones, too. I didn’t really care what people thought of me but I did care what they thought of Paul.
“Two years later I got Aron, who was then 6, and I now sit on an adoption panel. I don’t have relationships because I don’t have time, but I don’t think the boys miss having a mum. I’d have liked to adopt a girl but it was difficult enough getting a boy as a single man.
“I’m exceptionally proud of the boys, even though they completely wind me up. They really do complete my life, and I have no regrets.”
— Thierry Lambert, 34, lives in Wiltshire with his adopted son, Liam, 8. He works for Wiltshire police. “I first met Liam in April last year. I walked into the room at his foster home and he looked up and said, ‘Hello Dad, I’m just having a sandwich, I’ll be there in a minute’. It felt incredible. When I left, I shed more tears than I’d ever done in my life. I was so happy.
“I had always wanted children and was in a seven-year relationship where we were planning to have them, but we broke up in 2003. I was just turning 30 and wasn’t keen to start over again. What if I met someone new, then waited more years to have a child, only for it not to happen again?
“I came across adoption on the internet and it seemed like a great idea. For me, the child was more important than the partner, and adoption cut out that relationship completely. I contacted Wiltshire social services and they didn’t think it was a problem. I went on a course which was very female-orientated (everything was about mothers), but I met nice people and no one was especially negative. However, some people did ask if I was gay.
“I also had an in-depth assessment. Every angle was covered – my social group, my work, what support I had, even how a child would cope with me being diabetic.
“It took nearly a year to get approval. I did have relationships during that time but they didn’t last. The adoption was my priority.
“Liam’s father had died and he hadn’t had a particularly good experience with his mother. Because of this he found it difficult to trust women. He needed a father.
“I was sent the forms of 20 possible children, and when I saw Liam I said, ‘That’s the one. That’s my son’.
“Liam moved in last May and I’ve had to adjust more than him – being more tired, more responsible, making sure that he gets fed and bathed and does his homework.
“But it’s completely worth it. Liam makes me laugh every day and I feel I’ve known him since he was born. I adopted him on October 10, 2006 and he says that I’m his real dad. I feel this was meant to be.”
— John Williams*, 47, lives on Anglesey in Wales with his two adopted sons, *Keith, 21, and *Jamie, 20. He also fosters two boys aged 11 and 12, and looks after the children full-time.
“When I was told that I would be adopting two brothers aged 9 and 10, I was concerned. They sounded so grown-up and I thought that they would have missed out on so much. But when I met the boys I couldn’t believe how small they were. I knew they were the ones for me.
“I’ve always loved children but although I was married briefly, we had no kids. After we broke up in 1992 I began thinking about adoption. I wanted a family but wasn’t keen on another relationship and didn’t want to risk getting hurt again.
“I contacted Barnardo’s, who gave me a very thorough assessment. It wasn’t easy but I don’t think that it should be easy. I told my social worker right from the start that I would be open and honest. I had nothing to hide, and wanted to be a father more than anything. However, it is hard when you read so much about male abusers. You want to say, ‘That’s not every man’.
“At that time I worked for the Ministry of Defence, and because I worked I was told that I would have to adopt school-age children. I was expecting a five-year-old!
“The boys had been in foster care for more than three years. They felt very much that they were treated differently from the foster carer’s children and wanted a family of their own. Keith had written a letter saying that he wanted to live in the country with animals, and I was delighted to read that. It was my situation exactly, and he has loved being outdoors from Day 1. Meanwhile, Jamie, who barely spoke when he was with the foster carer, hasn’t stopped talking since he came here! He knew immediately that he belonged.
“I told Jamie and Keith that there were lots of other children who would like to be adopted, but it was important to them that their adoption was special. They suggested fostering.
“I wouldn’t change what I have for the world. I think how empty my life was before and take great pleasure in my sons’ achievements. Yes, I would have liked to have met someone and had children, but that didn’t happen. I haven’t had relationships since getting the boys, but my life is full and we are happy. I definitely feel that the boys are mine.”
* Names have been changed.
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