How indeed do we keep our dignity while suffering a mental illness?
As a 48 year old woman who suffers from depression, I'm speaking from my own experience but I can imagine it can be somewhat like this for others too.
Depression for me began when I hit puberty, at about ten years of age. Ok, so I had a parent that was angry and aggressive due to his alcohol issue and his behaviour made me afraid. I didn't know how to deal with this fear as a child, so I hid it for the most part. I was able to go about my duties as a child with my friends and appear normal. I did cry when there were difficult times at home and I did wish I was dead by the time I was 14, and I even contemplated taking my own life then to escape the fear.
But nobody knew I was depressed, not even me. I was able to get on with things. I appeared to be a normal, happy, boisterous, teenager on the outside. I looked normal (albeit an ugly duck). I didn't look depressed. I was young. My face hadn't learned to be haggard with depression at that point in my life.
My behaviour changed dramatically after I had my first child at 22 when I was either crying inconsolably or extremely angry. I suspected I could be depressed but couldn't see that any of these emotions were related to depression. I just thought I was a horrible person. My doctor encouraged me down the road of self help, rather than medication at the time and it was the right thing to do, as I needed to learn about myself.
I worked really well in the self help program and I definitely improved. I was a very busy young woman at that time with working full time, but I seemed to be managing.
When I had my second child six years later at age 28, I again went into a depression. It was fear based. I was irrational. I spoke about a trip away to Majorca in 1996 with my husband in my book (My Beautiful Flower) without the kids, where I was convinced Saddam Hussein was going to blow up Ireland while I was gone. I still remember the two kind Scottish ladies faces when I told them, while I was waiting anxiously for the news. They must have thought I was mad!
I was full of fear. But once I was home safely in Ireland, I was able to perform again and appear to be normal to the outside world. I knew I was struggling with something inside me, but I wasn't sure what it was.
From the age of 34. I began to be less and less able to control or hide my outbursts. I found everything difficult; The workplace, my relationship with my husband and my relationships with my kids. By the time my last child came along 11 years ago, I was 38 and I knew I was suffering with depression. I couldn't function and I now had a huge hatred for myself and my face was beginning to tell the tale. I was haggard looking. I also felt physically ill and I had no interest in my appearance. Because I was aware of all this, I didn't want to see anybody, nor talk to anybody. I couldn't even face the doctor at my worst. I had to wait till my emotions recovered a bit. No matter how mentally ill I was, I couldn't go to the doctor looking and acting the way I did. (This is important because the doctor is not getting a real record of your illness, because of your infrequent visits!)
This is more common than you would imagine. The last thing any person wants to be seen as, is some mad women sobbing out of control and looking a wreck and having to sit and wait in a waiting room exposed to all.
This is the reason why doctors don't diagnose depression correctly. They misread the patient. If the patient looks presentable, it must mean they are well enough. They don't listen to the patient. They are unsympathetic to the patient. They send them home with, 'Ah you're grand' attitude. That's why sometimes patients may go and take their own life. They feel there is no help. They hate themselves. There is no escape.
I think the worst thing for us sufferers of Depression is that your personality is exposed or the very worst side of it is exposed. Despite your mental illness, you still feel embarrassment and shame. You dislike yourself. And because of the sensitivity of the nature of your illness, you're easily put off from getting help by insensitive administrators, nurses and doctors. You also have to divulge innermost thoughts to the Doctor in order to get proper help and most of us don't want to do that or can't.
Hospital staff's insensitive behaviour towards me only confirmed my feelings of unworthy-ness to myself by treating me with no dignity. I was an unworthy person. I hated myself.
My experience of these nurses and doctors would prevent me from going there for future help. And that is the pity. That will just give you an idea of how many people could be in my position......
Amazingly enough I found the ambulance men, during my spell of panic attacks, more understanding and knowledgable, so I must commend them.
I, like many others was prescribed medication, which I'm still on, but for me, it helped clear the clouds. It didn't have any nasty side effects, so it suited me. But I also had a lot of work to do on myself. I had to find my way out of the clouds completely.
I had to figure me out. I asked God for help.
I did get fantastic guidelines from one very good therapist, Linda Keen from the UK, who was in Ireland for a few years, but inevitably, I was going to have to help myself. I looked at my personality and I could see where I was letting myself down. I had to start being good to me, respect me, accept me.
I apologized to my family for the way I behaved while I was depressed and I worked hard on changing. I changed. I didn't go back to that person.
I began to practice positive thinking and gratitude. I focused on myself and released my mind from negative resentments. This really started to turn my life around. I took fresh air walks everyday and I truly felt God's guidance. I ate well and slept well.
I began to fell happy. Secure. Confidence in myself.
I am also conscious of treating people with compassion, respect and dignity.
Because I know for a fact, that it would make a huge difference to people in pain.
Jean xx
Wednesday, 7 October 2015
Friday, 2 October 2015
Young killers!
Blatant Young killers are storming our television's screens daily. No country or city has escaped their brutality. They have blown up airports and planes during flights, terrifying passengers in their final moments of life. They have shot innocent people unaware of their imminent demise. They have run people over in their huge trucks like dirty cockroach's whilst all the time shooting them to make sure they have not survived.
They are able to get their weapons easily and their qualification to shoot, but it's the complexity of these young killers minds that gives them the justification to kill another human being that is so scary. Their lack of conscience. Because this young breed of men can end the world with their plague should they choose. And like any terminating disease, it's almost impossible to find the source.
How are these young men attracted to the killing organizations that justify their murderous actions?
The human being's weakness is security, inclusion. And the leaders of these organizations know what type of young man to target and how. It's almost as simple as luring a child with sweets. They pull these young men in with complements and promises of success, while gently brainwashing them in the process. Brainwashing is a way of changing one's mind. It doesn't need to be drug induced to do so, or bashing a person's head in. On the contrary, it's working on a mind that may have some belief or awareness of a certain plight and then filling it with reassurances and examples.
So, before they know it, these young men are in too deep and they can't escape even if they wanted to. They are sent on a killing spree with bombs tied around their waste waiting to detonate. For someone else's hate.
The leaders of that hatred will not put their face's nor bodies in the firing line, for fear of recognition.
There will be no dying young for them.
The ownership of power soon leaves the young man's face as realization dawns on him.
But then it's too late for all.
Jean xxx
They are able to get their weapons easily and their qualification to shoot, but it's the complexity of these young killers minds that gives them the justification to kill another human being that is so scary. Their lack of conscience. Because this young breed of men can end the world with their plague should they choose. And like any terminating disease, it's almost impossible to find the source.
How are these young men attracted to the killing organizations that justify their murderous actions?
The human being's weakness is security, inclusion. And the leaders of these organizations know what type of young man to target and how. It's almost as simple as luring a child with sweets. They pull these young men in with complements and promises of success, while gently brainwashing them in the process. Brainwashing is a way of changing one's mind. It doesn't need to be drug induced to do so, or bashing a person's head in. On the contrary, it's working on a mind that may have some belief or awareness of a certain plight and then filling it with reassurances and examples.
So, before they know it, these young men are in too deep and they can't escape even if they wanted to. They are sent on a killing spree with bombs tied around their waste waiting to detonate. For someone else's hate.
The leaders of that hatred will not put their face's nor bodies in the firing line, for fear of recognition.
There will be no dying young for them.
The ownership of power soon leaves the young man's face as realization dawns on him.
But then it's too late for all.
Jean xxx
Wednesday, 23 September 2015
An Uneducated Author....
A lover of books all of my 48 years, I'm trying to remember when that first gifted moment was that I discovered the joy of reading. As a four year old girl, I adored picture story books where the colorful characters told most of the story. I thought I would miss those types of books at age seven as I moved on to those without pictures, but as my own imagination developed, the pictures in my mind were beautifully explicit, leading me on to my real love of reading.
My Dad, an uneducated man, loved reading and he would encourage myself and my five sisters to read the newspapers, telling us the importance of current affairs. He also liked to play a 'Capital's' game with us, where every Friday he would ask each of us the names of the capital cities from around the World. He would then go and buy us our favorite weekly magazine that he had pre-ordered in our local shop. The beautiful glossy magazines would have each of our six names written on the covers.
I was happy to leave school at sixteen and get a job as a hairdresser. There wasn't an option to go to college. It just wasn't the done thing in the north side of Dublin city, so I didn't feel I missed out on anything.
I gave hairdressing my best shot for almost thirty years, but something didn't feel right. I just couldn't be successful at it and I wanted success in my life. Success in the sense of a secured income from my own job. I couldn't get that from hairdressing.
Towards the latter few years, I found myself writing thoughts down on little scraps of paper and popping them into my bedside locker. I didn't know exactly what I intended to do with them but the thoughts or words were the inspirational kind. Sometimes they were words that my little girl Yasmin would say that made me smile, or sometimes it was information I had just heard from someone on the radio. Sometimes they would be words and thoughts of my own that I had to write down immediately, in case I lost them from my memory for ever.
I knew after I had read a great book, in the back of mind I would think 'Wouldn't it be great to be able to write like that?' But I knew for sure that I wouldn't know where to start. That I didn't have the skill nor the education.
Until one day, three years ago almost to the day, I got all of my pieces of paper and notebooks from my bedside locker and I began.
One thing that I noticed about me through my life was that I always had an opinion about things. The Human Being's plight had an impression on me. I was and still am, truly touched by the unfairness of racialism, the suffering of the poor and the destruction of their life at the hands of their murderous leaders. I would often phone radio hosts with my opinions until I realized, that I should probably write these communications down as I also would have the chance to express my words properly.
One of the things that had prevented me from writing in the past was my technology skills. Where would I start writing on my computer? What section? I didn't have 'Word' on my apple, so I chose I-writer. I found that I was able to type chapters and then save them onto the computer. Fab! I couldn't believe my luck! It was working! I kept re-checking the files to be sure I hadn't lost any of my precious words and it was all systems go. I wrote about my own personal struggles and growth in my life. The words flowed and I was quite amazed at that. I was amazed also to find that it wasn't a bad story. In fact, it was a little good!
When it came for me to copy my story onto a disc and send it to a publisher, I unplugged my whole computer and brought it down to a very amused lad in the computer shop in my local mall saying "Please copy this for me!"
Three years on and my writing and my computer skills have improved!
I've found my passion in life is now writing and as I write my stories, I'm doing so from the eye of a reader. I feel in my gut if something is repetitive and unhelpful.
I also know how to use 'word' and my only delay from attaching and saving files is our sometimes unreliable network!
It's true what they say about learning from your mistakes and the computer is such a great tool in that words are easily erased and re-written, unlike the hand written books of past authors from not too many years ago!
I can see that I'm improving with each piece I write and I aspire to be a great writer. My regular blogs are about life in general and are informative and sometimes even funny!
There is a whole world of talent out there and it's hard to get your work noticed, but there's room for us all. I like to take note of some inspirational quotes to keep me focused and motivated and one of my favorite is Walt Disney's (shortened version) "When you do something, do it well! Do it so well, that people will want to re-visit it time and time again!"
Jean Murray
My Dad, an uneducated man, loved reading and he would encourage myself and my five sisters to read the newspapers, telling us the importance of current affairs. He also liked to play a 'Capital's' game with us, where every Friday he would ask each of us the names of the capital cities from around the World. He would then go and buy us our favorite weekly magazine that he had pre-ordered in our local shop. The beautiful glossy magazines would have each of our six names written on the covers.
I was happy to leave school at sixteen and get a job as a hairdresser. There wasn't an option to go to college. It just wasn't the done thing in the north side of Dublin city, so I didn't feel I missed out on anything.
I gave hairdressing my best shot for almost thirty years, but something didn't feel right. I just couldn't be successful at it and I wanted success in my life. Success in the sense of a secured income from my own job. I couldn't get that from hairdressing.
Towards the latter few years, I found myself writing thoughts down on little scraps of paper and popping them into my bedside locker. I didn't know exactly what I intended to do with them but the thoughts or words were the inspirational kind. Sometimes they were words that my little girl Yasmin would say that made me smile, or sometimes it was information I had just heard from someone on the radio. Sometimes they would be words and thoughts of my own that I had to write down immediately, in case I lost them from my memory for ever.
I knew after I had read a great book, in the back of mind I would think 'Wouldn't it be great to be able to write like that?' But I knew for sure that I wouldn't know where to start. That I didn't have the skill nor the education.
Until one day, three years ago almost to the day, I got all of my pieces of paper and notebooks from my bedside locker and I began.
One thing that I noticed about me through my life was that I always had an opinion about things. The Human Being's plight had an impression on me. I was and still am, truly touched by the unfairness of racialism, the suffering of the poor and the destruction of their life at the hands of their murderous leaders. I would often phone radio hosts with my opinions until I realized, that I should probably write these communications down as I also would have the chance to express my words properly.
One of the things that had prevented me from writing in the past was my technology skills. Where would I start writing on my computer? What section? I didn't have 'Word' on my apple, so I chose I-writer. I found that I was able to type chapters and then save them onto the computer. Fab! I couldn't believe my luck! It was working! I kept re-checking the files to be sure I hadn't lost any of my precious words and it was all systems go. I wrote about my own personal struggles and growth in my life. The words flowed and I was quite amazed at that. I was amazed also to find that it wasn't a bad story. In fact, it was a little good!
When it came for me to copy my story onto a disc and send it to a publisher, I unplugged my whole computer and brought it down to a very amused lad in the computer shop in my local mall saying "Please copy this for me!"
Three years on and my writing and my computer skills have improved!
I've found my passion in life is now writing and as I write my stories, I'm doing so from the eye of a reader. I feel in my gut if something is repetitive and unhelpful.
I also know how to use 'word' and my only delay from attaching and saving files is our sometimes unreliable network!
It's true what they say about learning from your mistakes and the computer is such a great tool in that words are easily erased and re-written, unlike the hand written books of past authors from not too many years ago!
I can see that I'm improving with each piece I write and I aspire to be a great writer. My regular blogs are about life in general and are informative and sometimes even funny!
There is a whole world of talent out there and it's hard to get your work noticed, but there's room for us all. I like to take note of some inspirational quotes to keep me focused and motivated and one of my favorite is Walt Disney's (shortened version) "When you do something, do it well! Do it so well, that people will want to re-visit it time and time again!"
Jean Murray
Saturday, 19 September 2015
The plight of the Irish Homeless....
Listening to Pat Kenny this morning on Newstalk on my way to feed our pony in Broadmeadows Stables, they were talking about the disturbance the new Luas line is causing in Dublin city. The Newstalk reporters were interviewing people on the street and they came across this homeless woman. She was pointing out in her broad North side accent that the government should put the 360 million euros into providing homes for the homeless. I smiled when she went on to say she wasn't long out of prison for armed robbery and now she was living on the streets again. The reporter obviously not in touch with poor people's reality, (and I'm not holding this against him) asked her 'Was she proud of her herself?' To which she replied, "No, I didn't get a Blue Peter badge for my behavior! Duh! But I did what I did to provide for my children."
You know, in this woman's uneducated life full of poverty and addiction, she still tried to provide for her children in the only way she knew. And what happened to her children while she went to prison? Obviously they ended up in care. Who paid for all this prison and children's care at a very high cost? The government.
So where are the government going wrong? And why is the Homeless situation so bad that women have to live on the street with their children?
Deeply effected by the conditions that the homeless people live in, I wrote a poem about it and it's in my book 'My Beautiful Flower' called Under the Great Gates of The Bank of Ireland.
Unfortunately, most of the people I see homeless are effected with addition problems. I deeply sympathize with people with addictions as I have experienced family members with addiction in my life also. And I know it's almost impossible to live with an addicted person, that there is very little you can do for a person who is addicted to drugs or alcohol. They have to want to tackle that issue themselves.
This is a harsh one, but people who are addicted end up on the streets because they can't conform to living a regular life either with a family member or especially on their own. They may have a better chance of not being homeless if a family member can tolerate everything that comes with addition. They can't perform as a responsible person in the home, going to bed at a normal time, they have no interest in their appearance, they don't contribute to the household, they don't clean their surroundings. And often with addiction comes a soiling problem. Despite love, it would take a very strong person to be able to cope with an addicted person.
An addicted person cannot live in a home by themselves for all of the very same reasons and unfortunately their main goal is to feed their addiction, leaving no money to pay bills or feed their children. They end up homeless. Even the homeless centre's have restrictions. They won't provide a bed for a person who is intoxicated or drugged. They also have to be in by 9pm which doesn't go well with the addicted person's lifestyle choice. At this point in the addicted person's life, they unfortunately are the only one's who can change their dilemma.
The other percentage of young people homeless are those who have been abused by addiction in their family home and they are forced to live on the streets. I can imagine it is a huge struggle for them to stay sober in the harshness of an indignant life on the streets.
This is where the government is to blame. In my book, I go into great detail proving that children who's emotional and educational needs are not met in their early years leads them to depression or/and addiction. When these children are going to school and it is soon apparent that they have learning difficulties, the resource should immediately be available to these children and instead it's not. The government do not provide enough resource's fro the teachers in the schools to help these children. The children often suffer with low self esteem as young as five years of age and then the problem grows as they get older and they have to struggle through the educational system. The government is failing our children in our schools. And they know this. They've known it for a long time, even as far back as when I was a child, (I'm 48). There were kids in our classes that were left down the back and got no help. Our government has always been educated to know this, us ordinary people are only catching on.
It is only parents with money who can afford the high prices of private assessments and tutoring who meet the needs of their child with learning difficulties.
Can you blame the other parents for being resentful? They love their child just as much but are not equipped to help them.
The other reason people may end up homeless is the huge cost of mortgages and rent. We all know during the crash many people had to leave their dream home because they couldn't meet their payments. Did the government give them a hand? No. Maybe they could have given them their 60,000 euros stamp duty they had paid on buying their expensive property. No, the government didn't do that either. They put these Father's and Mother's and their four children out of their home and onto the street. Into hotels that the government paid their rents for. Really? Come on Government! Didn't you think? Would you leave your beautiful homes? Oh no, you don't have to, because your humongous salary met your needs, your children's needs and indeed all your mortgage repayments.
You can't help people being resentful and angry. Of course we appreciate the construction of modernization for our city and the tourists that come. But can't you see you're doing just what Maria Antoinette did in the French Revolution all those years ago?
"If they have no bread, well let them eat cake!"
Jean xx
You know, in this woman's uneducated life full of poverty and addiction, she still tried to provide for her children in the only way she knew. And what happened to her children while she went to prison? Obviously they ended up in care. Who paid for all this prison and children's care at a very high cost? The government.
So where are the government going wrong? And why is the Homeless situation so bad that women have to live on the street with their children?
Deeply effected by the conditions that the homeless people live in, I wrote a poem about it and it's in my book 'My Beautiful Flower' called Under the Great Gates of The Bank of Ireland.
Unfortunately, most of the people I see homeless are effected with addition problems. I deeply sympathize with people with addictions as I have experienced family members with addiction in my life also. And I know it's almost impossible to live with an addicted person, that there is very little you can do for a person who is addicted to drugs or alcohol. They have to want to tackle that issue themselves.
This is a harsh one, but people who are addicted end up on the streets because they can't conform to living a regular life either with a family member or especially on their own. They may have a better chance of not being homeless if a family member can tolerate everything that comes with addition. They can't perform as a responsible person in the home, going to bed at a normal time, they have no interest in their appearance, they don't contribute to the household, they don't clean their surroundings. And often with addiction comes a soiling problem. Despite love, it would take a very strong person to be able to cope with an addicted person.
An addicted person cannot live in a home by themselves for all of the very same reasons and unfortunately their main goal is to feed their addiction, leaving no money to pay bills or feed their children. They end up homeless. Even the homeless centre's have restrictions. They won't provide a bed for a person who is intoxicated or drugged. They also have to be in by 9pm which doesn't go well with the addicted person's lifestyle choice. At this point in the addicted person's life, they unfortunately are the only one's who can change their dilemma.
The other percentage of young people homeless are those who have been abused by addiction in their family home and they are forced to live on the streets. I can imagine it is a huge struggle for them to stay sober in the harshness of an indignant life on the streets.
This is where the government is to blame. In my book, I go into great detail proving that children who's emotional and educational needs are not met in their early years leads them to depression or/and addiction. When these children are going to school and it is soon apparent that they have learning difficulties, the resource should immediately be available to these children and instead it's not. The government do not provide enough resource's fro the teachers in the schools to help these children. The children often suffer with low self esteem as young as five years of age and then the problem grows as they get older and they have to struggle through the educational system. The government is failing our children in our schools. And they know this. They've known it for a long time, even as far back as when I was a child, (I'm 48). There were kids in our classes that were left down the back and got no help. Our government has always been educated to know this, us ordinary people are only catching on.
It is only parents with money who can afford the high prices of private assessments and tutoring who meet the needs of their child with learning difficulties.
Can you blame the other parents for being resentful? They love their child just as much but are not equipped to help them.
The other reason people may end up homeless is the huge cost of mortgages and rent. We all know during the crash many people had to leave their dream home because they couldn't meet their payments. Did the government give them a hand? No. Maybe they could have given them their 60,000 euros stamp duty they had paid on buying their expensive property. No, the government didn't do that either. They put these Father's and Mother's and their four children out of their home and onto the street. Into hotels that the government paid their rents for. Really? Come on Government! Didn't you think? Would you leave your beautiful homes? Oh no, you don't have to, because your humongous salary met your needs, your children's needs and indeed all your mortgage repayments.
You can't help people being resentful and angry. Of course we appreciate the construction of modernization for our city and the tourists that come. But can't you see you're doing just what Maria Antoinette did in the French Revolution all those years ago?
"If they have no bread, well let them eat cake!"
Jean xx
Wednesday, 16 September 2015
Being a rule breaker myself.....
I got a great giggle from my daughter Sarah and my nephew Ryan who shared their tales of their job as ride attendants this Summer in Roller- Coaster parks. These poor unfortunate 20 year olds had to do special training against the most unwelcome visitor of the parks, 'The Mother'. Yes, 'The Mother' is the most dreaded customer of a Rollar-Coaster Park. The young employees were warned,"Do not back down, nor give in to 'The Mother' at any time! If you need back-up, call security!
Do not underestimate 'The Mother'. Because 'The Mother' will do anything to skip the queue!
She can also harvest the seven most deadly emotions at any one time: Agitation, Impatience, Sensitivity, Stress, Anger, Aggression and Tears and fire them at you like missiles, one after the other. She won't stop until she has, A. accomplished her mission to skip the queue and B. get future free admission to The Roller-Coaster Park.
Now we can all get a little bit frustrated with these gorgeous young ride attendants. They could probably go a little bit faster themselves to help things move on a bit quicker, oh yeah, but then we'd have to wake them up! Or we might have to interrupt their flirting with Josephine or Mary across the next line.
The Mother in the mean time has already broken her first rule of The Roller-Coaster Park as she doesn't like to pay the full cost of entry for her ten year old twins. They will be shoved into a buggy with soothers in their mouths and told to say they're nearly three, they're tall for their age! When they get to their ride of choice, she will lift them up to reach the required height, saying, 'They are twelve!'
She will sneak pets in, not wanting to leave her little doggy home alone. She'll hide him under the jacket of little Susan just to give him the life threatening experience of his first Roller Coaster. If the ride attendant is awake and comes over to investigate, The Mother will roar, 'Get your hands off my child!'
She will sneak food into the Park saying if caught, 'My children have lots of allergies and can't eat that Park food crap!'
If the ride attendant is not chatting with 'The Mother' and her little angels while she's at the top of the queue, because the attendant is too busy doing selfies and checking her pose in her IPhone 6, She will immediately call the manager and complain about the whole day! The price! The service! The ride attendants attitude! The queues! The heat! The rain! The people! The seats, not enough of them or too many that she's banging into them! The kids! And don't forget the lockers! The Mother hates to put her bags into lockers, she insists on bringing them on the Roller-Coaster!
And God help you if you're the attendant who has to weigh her family for the latest four seated rubber tire that can do double flips and dives for the modest family combined weight of 700 pounds. If they weigh over the 700 pounds, they'll have to go in twos. "What do you mean we weigh over 700 pounds? Are you saying we're fat? That scales is wrong! We are not over weight! Bring me another scales! Get me the manager!'
And if you are neck and neck in line with 'The Mother' don't even think about skipping her because she will come up to your face and threaten to kill you, kill your mother and kill all of your family! And she is not joking!
When the ride attendant's shift changes three times and 'The Mother' is still in the queue and the tired and over worked attendant lets the next person in before her by accident.....
He may just run for his life!
'No Shauna! The Mother is not me!'
Jean xxx
Do not underestimate 'The Mother'. Because 'The Mother' will do anything to skip the queue!
She can also harvest the seven most deadly emotions at any one time: Agitation, Impatience, Sensitivity, Stress, Anger, Aggression and Tears and fire them at you like missiles, one after the other. She won't stop until she has, A. accomplished her mission to skip the queue and B. get future free admission to The Roller-Coaster Park.
Now we can all get a little bit frustrated with these gorgeous young ride attendants. They could probably go a little bit faster themselves to help things move on a bit quicker, oh yeah, but then we'd have to wake them up! Or we might have to interrupt their flirting with Josephine or Mary across the next line.
The Mother in the mean time has already broken her first rule of The Roller-Coaster Park as she doesn't like to pay the full cost of entry for her ten year old twins. They will be shoved into a buggy with soothers in their mouths and told to say they're nearly three, they're tall for their age! When they get to their ride of choice, she will lift them up to reach the required height, saying, 'They are twelve!'
She will sneak pets in, not wanting to leave her little doggy home alone. She'll hide him under the jacket of little Susan just to give him the life threatening experience of his first Roller Coaster. If the ride attendant is awake and comes over to investigate, The Mother will roar, 'Get your hands off my child!'
She will sneak food into the Park saying if caught, 'My children have lots of allergies and can't eat that Park food crap!'
If the ride attendant is not chatting with 'The Mother' and her little angels while she's at the top of the queue, because the attendant is too busy doing selfies and checking her pose in her IPhone 6, She will immediately call the manager and complain about the whole day! The price! The service! The ride attendants attitude! The queues! The heat! The rain! The people! The seats, not enough of them or too many that she's banging into them! The kids! And don't forget the lockers! The Mother hates to put her bags into lockers, she insists on bringing them on the Roller-Coaster!
And God help you if you're the attendant who has to weigh her family for the latest four seated rubber tire that can do double flips and dives for the modest family combined weight of 700 pounds. If they weigh over the 700 pounds, they'll have to go in twos. "What do you mean we weigh over 700 pounds? Are you saying we're fat? That scales is wrong! We are not over weight! Bring me another scales! Get me the manager!'
And if you are neck and neck in line with 'The Mother' don't even think about skipping her because she will come up to your face and threaten to kill you, kill your mother and kill all of your family! And she is not joking!
When the ride attendant's shift changes three times and 'The Mother' is still in the queue and the tired and over worked attendant lets the next person in before her by accident.....
He may just run for his life!
'No Shauna! The Mother is not me!'
Jean xxx
Tuesday, 15 September 2015
A New life
As I lay in my bed tonight I just thought that tomorrow will be my first born's 26th Birthday. I was remembering all the funny details of his birth and I had to get up and write this down. Isn't it funny how you can remember your first child's birth with such clarity? I don't remember half the details of my girls births now aged aged 20 and 11!
I was just 21 years of age when I became pregnant. I wasn't married but I was engaged to my boyfriend Anto, (now hubby). We were madly in love and we were at it as often as young people in love and lust can be at it. I was actually one of those girls who was on 'The Pill', believe it or not, it happens more than you think!
We had been away in America working and had come home for a visit when I realized I was caught! Anto was in shock to say the least. I guess boys don't get good sex education in school as he kept saying, 'How did it happen?' I would say, having loads of sex had a big part to play in it! I actually took the news very well. I was in love. All would be well. Women are more mature like that....
I remember telling my poor Father who became traumatized and horrified that his young daughter was to be an 'Unmarried Mother' as we were called in the day.
We were soon back in America and me and my bff shared an apartment with our lads. There was a big crowd of us Irish in Naples Florida and we had lots of fun. We loved the Florida weather and we would spend every weekend on the beautiful gulf beaches, everybody laughing and tanned. I forgot how young and carefree we were.
I had a very healthy pregnancy and had no need to go to the doctor till I was about seven months. We had no insurance over there and I wasn't sure if I was going home to Ireland to have the baby. I think I was waiting for my dad to say, 'When are you coming home?'
Anyway the doctor decided for me, it was too late for me to fly, I would have to check into a hospital.
Now my Ma had already been sending me over bottles of liquid parafin. Does any body know what that is? Well neither did I, but my Ma said take it every day, it'll help the baby come out easier. 'Holy Mother, this didn't sound good. What did she mean?' My poor Mother. I can only imagine the worry she went through then over me. Her first child giving birth and she not being able to be there for me. To be honest, I wouldn't have wanted my Ma to see me in such pain.
Because the pain came. Oh dear Lord Mother of Jesus! Like a hot poker up your bum! Theres no really other good way to explain the excruciating pain that is Labour. Oh my God.
I had been in Labour all day on the 15th September 1989. To be fair, it was all very bearable till 12 o'clock that night, when the real pain came. It was so funny because my Ma's advice was, 'not to go into hospital till the third stage, they'll only be fiddling with you!' So I had been reading the book on the stages and the feckers got it wrong, because my first and second stage didn't happen. There was no mucus, there was no plug, there was no water, just Mother of Devine chronic burning pain. Eventually, at 5.30 am, I let Anto wake the others to bring us to the hospital.
Everybody was so excited, but I was just counting the minutes till I got to the hospital for that thing that took all pain away, 'The Epidural'. My other pal Teresa and her fella decided to come along too, so John drove and I was in front beside him and Anto and the other three were in the back. I didn't feel like pushing at all but I did feel an overwhelming pain in my groin. I told John to drive faster and he speeded through the early morning dawn to the Naples Community Hospital. It was 6am when we arrived (thankfully alive) and my friends somehow got me into a wheelchair and rushed me in. I still had no leakage so the first thing I asked for was the Epidural. Because in my reckoning, I was still in my first stage of labour!
The nurses took me away to have a 'Look' at me. I knew then what my Ma meant by fiddling with me. (Not for the faint hearted) At that the nurses got very excited, "You're ready to push! Aren't you great? Very quick you are! Fab!" As they wheeled me off to delivery. "But my waters didn't come, there's no mucus! Can I have the epidural please?" I whimpered in pain. "It's too late for that! You're baby will be here in a minute! Push!"
Well I checked the clock and it was 10 mins past 6 when I went into the delivery suite and at ten mins to 7, I was still pushing! (And make sure you have a good clear out, otherwise pooh comes! It's all very embarrassing!)
Then the mean old nasty Doctor came in to have a look, "Needs an episiotomy," I heard him say. "Whats an episiotomy?" I asked as I found out to my horror as the knife cut me open down below, (without anesthesia). "Aghh!" I screamed as I heard a gush of water come out, (There was my stage 1) with blood and mucus, (My stage 2) and a baby's cry. It was a boy! He looked perfectly formed and he had ten fingers and ten toes and he was the most beautiful thing that I would ever see in my life. A new baby.
A new life.
Jean xx
I was just 21 years of age when I became pregnant. I wasn't married but I was engaged to my boyfriend Anto, (now hubby). We were madly in love and we were at it as often as young people in love and lust can be at it. I was actually one of those girls who was on 'The Pill', believe it or not, it happens more than you think!
We had been away in America working and had come home for a visit when I realized I was caught! Anto was in shock to say the least. I guess boys don't get good sex education in school as he kept saying, 'How did it happen?' I would say, having loads of sex had a big part to play in it! I actually took the news very well. I was in love. All would be well. Women are more mature like that....
I remember telling my poor Father who became traumatized and horrified that his young daughter was to be an 'Unmarried Mother' as we were called in the day.
We were soon back in America and me and my bff shared an apartment with our lads. There was a big crowd of us Irish in Naples Florida and we had lots of fun. We loved the Florida weather and we would spend every weekend on the beautiful gulf beaches, everybody laughing and tanned. I forgot how young and carefree we were.
I had a very healthy pregnancy and had no need to go to the doctor till I was about seven months. We had no insurance over there and I wasn't sure if I was going home to Ireland to have the baby. I think I was waiting for my dad to say, 'When are you coming home?'
Anyway the doctor decided for me, it was too late for me to fly, I would have to check into a hospital.
Now my Ma had already been sending me over bottles of liquid parafin. Does any body know what that is? Well neither did I, but my Ma said take it every day, it'll help the baby come out easier. 'Holy Mother, this didn't sound good. What did she mean?' My poor Mother. I can only imagine the worry she went through then over me. Her first child giving birth and she not being able to be there for me. To be honest, I wouldn't have wanted my Ma to see me in such pain.
Because the pain came. Oh dear Lord Mother of Jesus! Like a hot poker up your bum! Theres no really other good way to explain the excruciating pain that is Labour. Oh my God.
I had been in Labour all day on the 15th September 1989. To be fair, it was all very bearable till 12 o'clock that night, when the real pain came. It was so funny because my Ma's advice was, 'not to go into hospital till the third stage, they'll only be fiddling with you!' So I had been reading the book on the stages and the feckers got it wrong, because my first and second stage didn't happen. There was no mucus, there was no plug, there was no water, just Mother of Devine chronic burning pain. Eventually, at 5.30 am, I let Anto wake the others to bring us to the hospital.
Everybody was so excited, but I was just counting the minutes till I got to the hospital for that thing that took all pain away, 'The Epidural'. My other pal Teresa and her fella decided to come along too, so John drove and I was in front beside him and Anto and the other three were in the back. I didn't feel like pushing at all but I did feel an overwhelming pain in my groin. I told John to drive faster and he speeded through the early morning dawn to the Naples Community Hospital. It was 6am when we arrived (thankfully alive) and my friends somehow got me into a wheelchair and rushed me in. I still had no leakage so the first thing I asked for was the Epidural. Because in my reckoning, I was still in my first stage of labour!
The nurses took me away to have a 'Look' at me. I knew then what my Ma meant by fiddling with me. (Not for the faint hearted) At that the nurses got very excited, "You're ready to push! Aren't you great? Very quick you are! Fab!" As they wheeled me off to delivery. "But my waters didn't come, there's no mucus! Can I have the epidural please?" I whimpered in pain. "It's too late for that! You're baby will be here in a minute! Push!"
Well I checked the clock and it was 10 mins past 6 when I went into the delivery suite and at ten mins to 7, I was still pushing! (And make sure you have a good clear out, otherwise pooh comes! It's all very embarrassing!)
Then the mean old nasty Doctor came in to have a look, "Needs an episiotomy," I heard him say. "Whats an episiotomy?" I asked as I found out to my horror as the knife cut me open down below, (without anesthesia). "Aghh!" I screamed as I heard a gush of water come out, (There was my stage 1) with blood and mucus, (My stage 2) and a baby's cry. It was a boy! He looked perfectly formed and he had ten fingers and ten toes and he was the most beautiful thing that I would ever see in my life. A new baby.
A new life.
Jean xx
Sunday, 13 September 2015
A Beautiful Sunday morning in Ratoath village Co. Meath!
As I drove over to Broadmeadows Stables early this morning to feed Yasmin's pony in preparation for her first SJI registered event today, it is a beautiful mild September day. The sun is up and there's not a breath of a wind and there's no rain! There is a buzz of excitement in the air. I couldn't help being happy at my surroundings.
We moved to Ratoath village 13 short years ago, along with many other Dubs who could afford a bigger house during 'The Celtic Tiger' boom in Ireland. Us snobby lot settled here with the rest of the fast moving career people of our time. Life was very busy. We spent a lot of time shopping for designer brands to keep up with the proverbial Jones's as one might say. We wined and dined in all the new and fancy places. We could afford to pay ghastly prices for food in Shanahan's on the Green! Oh those were the days! Those of us who narrowly escaped being raving alcoholics have lived to tell the tale of how the Irish people changed during that short wealthy period in our lives.
You see, us ordinary Irish people weren't used to having money. We are called working class and we lived week to week just paying our bills and providing for our families. Who could blame us for getting excited when extra cash graced our doors after a hard week's work?
What happened was and what most people chose to forget is that our country was graced with 'foreigners'.
They may have started with asylum seekers in the 1990's arriving on our shores but because the rest of the world saw how us lovely Irish people helped their neighbor, ordinary people from all over the world began to settle here. They wanted to raise their children in a country that wasn't biased nor racist.
These people needed accommodation and so began the need for more apartments and houses. Irish trade workers now had more money in their pockets so they were now buying new homes to live in. Climbing the ladder of a property owner away from renting or living in a parent's corporation dwelling.
Then we changed. As what mostly happens with us ordinary folk, we forgot who started us on the road to wealth, 'the foreigners' and we began to resent them and blame them for taking our jobs. Us resentful Irish during this wealthy time forgot our good manners and good raising and judged people and resented people. We stopped helping our neighbors.
When the crash hit in 2007, we all had a lot of egg on our faces. But I will say one thing about the Irish, when we are wrong, we admit it and we see the damage of our wrongs and we realize that life's value is not all about the money, it's about living life with the other human beings on our planet.
We began to have sympathy again at people's losses. Especially when we realized people were taking their own life in shame. That is so sad. If only they knew there is no shame in having no money.
So what did we all do with no money? We stopped eating out in fancy restuarants' and we all embraced ourselves in Sports. All sorts of sports. Us Irish have always loved our Gaelic football and hurling, a fab game and indeed soccer. But all of a sudden we had these once wealthy Rugby guys teaching our kids Rugby. We had extra Mams and Dads coaching the soccer kids and the GAA kids. And cycling began to become a very popular past time.
Ah yes, as I saw the local Centra packed with early morning sports Mam's and Dad's filling their coffee cups and water bottles, relishing their breakfasts rolls and heading off in comrade-ship this morning, I thought this is what it's all about. The yellow jacket guys were lining the Ratoath road to Ashbourne in plenty of time for the arrival of 3000 cyclists coming our way this morning.
Of course it's Sunday morning and I'm sorry Father Gerry, I know us Catholics should be in mass this morning, but don't you worry your head off, God is happily sitting in our kitchens witnessing the normal goings on of our families! Supporting us as we take our children off to their sports of passion. I can see him nodding happily as I find all the missing items of my roaring kids (and husband) this morning.
Gone is the traditional Sunday roast that my children only get in Granny's on a rare Sunday visit now, replaced by packed picnics. Because the mammies aren't staying home to cook any more. They want to see their kids in action too!
Sure isn't this what's all about?
Jean xxx
We moved to Ratoath village 13 short years ago, along with many other Dubs who could afford a bigger house during 'The Celtic Tiger' boom in Ireland. Us snobby lot settled here with the rest of the fast moving career people of our time. Life was very busy. We spent a lot of time shopping for designer brands to keep up with the proverbial Jones's as one might say. We wined and dined in all the new and fancy places. We could afford to pay ghastly prices for food in Shanahan's on the Green! Oh those were the days! Those of us who narrowly escaped being raving alcoholics have lived to tell the tale of how the Irish people changed during that short wealthy period in our lives.
You see, us ordinary Irish people weren't used to having money. We are called working class and we lived week to week just paying our bills and providing for our families. Who could blame us for getting excited when extra cash graced our doors after a hard week's work?
What happened was and what most people chose to forget is that our country was graced with 'foreigners'.
They may have started with asylum seekers in the 1990's arriving on our shores but because the rest of the world saw how us lovely Irish people helped their neighbor, ordinary people from all over the world began to settle here. They wanted to raise their children in a country that wasn't biased nor racist.
These people needed accommodation and so began the need for more apartments and houses. Irish trade workers now had more money in their pockets so they were now buying new homes to live in. Climbing the ladder of a property owner away from renting or living in a parent's corporation dwelling.
Then we changed. As what mostly happens with us ordinary folk, we forgot who started us on the road to wealth, 'the foreigners' and we began to resent them and blame them for taking our jobs. Us resentful Irish during this wealthy time forgot our good manners and good raising and judged people and resented people. We stopped helping our neighbors.
When the crash hit in 2007, we all had a lot of egg on our faces. But I will say one thing about the Irish, when we are wrong, we admit it and we see the damage of our wrongs and we realize that life's value is not all about the money, it's about living life with the other human beings on our planet.
We began to have sympathy again at people's losses. Especially when we realized people were taking their own life in shame. That is so sad. If only they knew there is no shame in having no money.
So what did we all do with no money? We stopped eating out in fancy restuarants' and we all embraced ourselves in Sports. All sorts of sports. Us Irish have always loved our Gaelic football and hurling, a fab game and indeed soccer. But all of a sudden we had these once wealthy Rugby guys teaching our kids Rugby. We had extra Mams and Dads coaching the soccer kids and the GAA kids. And cycling began to become a very popular past time.
Ah yes, as I saw the local Centra packed with early morning sports Mam's and Dad's filling their coffee cups and water bottles, relishing their breakfasts rolls and heading off in comrade-ship this morning, I thought this is what it's all about. The yellow jacket guys were lining the Ratoath road to Ashbourne in plenty of time for the arrival of 3000 cyclists coming our way this morning.
Of course it's Sunday morning and I'm sorry Father Gerry, I know us Catholics should be in mass this morning, but don't you worry your head off, God is happily sitting in our kitchens witnessing the normal goings on of our families! Supporting us as we take our children off to their sports of passion. I can see him nodding happily as I find all the missing items of my roaring kids (and husband) this morning.
Gone is the traditional Sunday roast that my children only get in Granny's on a rare Sunday visit now, replaced by packed picnics. Because the mammies aren't staying home to cook any more. They want to see their kids in action too!
Sure isn't this what's all about?
Jean xxx
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