Grannymar

Elizabeth Munro gave birth at 66 by elective Caesarean section. She had IVF treatment at a clinic in the Ukraine. Elizabeth Munro is divorced, so it is unknown whether or not the baby will have a father figure. In early July, she will celebrate her 67th birthday. These two milestones will make her Britain’s oldest mother with her age exceeding the previous record-holder, Patricia Rashbrook, by four years.

She could not get IVF treatment in the UK from the NHS who have a cut off date of age 40, or privately since the cut off date is fifty. But for £10,000 she was able to buy IVF treatment in the Ukraine. She has no partner, no brothers or sisters and she will be 80 when her child becomes a teenager. Teen tantrums can be difficult enough to cope with for younger parents.

The oldest known woman to have given birth is Omkari Panwar, from India, who had a twin boy and girl last year. She was said to be 70. Her 77-year-old husband paid for the IVF, which the couple wanted to provide a male heir, by selling buffaloes and mortgaging his land.

Maria del Carmen Bousada de Lara, from Spain, previously held the record after having twin boys at the age of 66 following IVF in America in 2006.

On BBC Radio 4 the other night a programme called the Moral Maze (a listen again facility is available for another five days) discussed this topic. 

The first witness was Carol, a single career woman of 72 who is seeking IVF with a donor egg and sperm. She doesn’t have a husband or network of support. She used the term ‘WANT’, not desire, love or need. A child of five will tell you what they ‘WANT’ from Santa and it is never what they need. She actually asked publicly on air for a donor!!

When asked what she saw as the principal duty of a parent Carol said it was to ‘Put the child first!’ I am sorry, willingly setting out to bring a child into the world from a donor egg and sperm at the age of 72 plus, is not PUTTING the child first. I ‘WANT’ cream cakes, I am not supposed to eat them, and if I do eat them only I suffer.

The success rate for IVF in a woman aged 60 and over is ·8% (point eight percent).

Many of us in Ireland have followed with interest the long haul that Xbox and ET had to become pregnant – they are a young couple. So many times they reached the wall of despair, but had each other to lean on for comfort and the support in facing yet another cycle of scans, blood tests and bearing all to strangers.

A young healthy woman of natural child-bearing years can find the nine months of pregnancy difficult, at times stressful and tiring. So what must it be like for an older body?

What I have written so far deals with the female side of the equation.

The male body is a horse of a different colour. Man is capable of producing sperm way into his seventies. They have the fun…. Point and shoot! No morning sickness, mood swings, swollen ankles, painful boobs that weigh a tonne or feeling like a beached whale for several months! If that is not easy enough, when all the deep breathing, pushing, sweating and squealing is done (by the good lady) they are off down the pub with their mates for beers to celebrate the new arrival.

Declaration time here:

I married a man old enough to be my father. We knowingly, willingly and lovingly conceived and brought Elly into this world. Jack was a very ‘hands on’ father playing a full part in her upbringing. They had a wonderful relationship that lasted until his death a few weeks before her 20^th birthday. Elly can tell you about the teasing she faced about having a dad who was older than many of the grandparents of her class mates. She coped well. She may have teased her dad about the history that she was learning being current affairs when he was young, but whoa betide anyone at school who said anything disrespectful about her dad!

Jack had amazing energy and never looked or acted his age. We had each other on the stressful days, and I was half the age with double the energy I have now. I would not like, by natural means or any other, to start a family at the age I am now. Lifting, bending and keeping up with a crawling baby is bad enough without the thought of facing the terrible teens in ten or twelve years time.

What do you think?

This week I cried.

I cried for three reasons.

Perhaps I should rethink watching videos.

This first video made me cry because it might be me tomorrow.  OR it might be you!  [Give it time (Approx. 85 minutes) - Directed and Produced by Shari Cookson and Nick Doob].  If you don’t want to watch all of it there is an article to accompany it.

http://www.hbo.com/alzheimers/memory-loss-tapes.html

Thank you wise web woman for drawing my attention to it.

*o*o*o*o*

The second time I cried was when I watched this video on Will Knott’s blog.  Will explained:

Michael O’Brien, former councillor and Mayor of Clonmel attended the RTÉ programme Questions and Answers on 25 May 2009 and, after Minister Noel Dempsey, the sponsoring minister of the Ryan Commission report in to Child Abuse allegations spoke, Mr O’Brien spoke to the minister and to the panel.

If you have any difficulty with local accent a transcript can be found here

Below is an extract I wrote in reply to an email I received during the week on the topic of abuse:

Here in Ireland and indeed the UK we are knee deep in articles about, and as a result of, this weeks report from the Commission to Inquire Into Child Abuse.  For so many it is an opportunity to now openly and for the first time accept and talk about what happened to them in childhood.

In 1996 the Congregation of the Sisters of Mercy, a Roman Catholic religious order, apologized unconditionally for the ”physical and emotional trauma” its nuns inflicted on children raised in its orphanages and schools.

I attended one of their day schools in Dublin for five years.  It was new.  They called it a College in order to charge greater fees.  I was a slow learner, a fact I constantly admit to.  On a daily basis I was caned, belittled, invited to remove my shoes and socks to use my toes for counting!  I was told I was stupid and would N-E-V-E-R make anything of myself.  I was extremely thin (6st 12ozs by the time I reached 21!) and this was remarked upon regularly in class, it was considered a cause for amusement.

The report this week does not cover abuse by diocesan clergy who are not members of a religious order, that is separate and yet to come.

If that was not enough we were regularly bellowed at from the pulpit with threats of ‘Hellfire and Damnation’!

Alas, the past week has upset me as I think of those whose lives were ruined; and for myself I feel the pull of the dark clouds dragging me back to the darkness of those early years.

Is it any wonder that Ireland is known as a nation of Alcoholics!

I did know some excellent Catholic Clergy but you could count them on one hand.

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The third time I cried was for a very different reason, they were tears of laughter

Patricia, buxom blonde and alter ego of Paddy Anglican will be aided by an item belonging to Grannymar and once the day is over, and the item freshly laundered, it will be auctioned for charity.  So start counting your pennies…

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Saturday should be a day to relax.

When Elly was small it was difficult at times to rest because she was always busy, busy, busy!  It was necessary to keep a beady eye on what she was doing.

At least we didn’t have this problem:-

Yesterday on my Food Monday the topic was sandwiches, and Nancy’s comment gave me an idea….

On a visit to Dublin many moons ago with a very young Elly my sister took her young niece out for a little treat.  Collecting a couple of her friend’s young daughters on the way they headed to the newly opened local branch of McDonalds.   The other young ladies were familiar with the routine and quickly decided on their order.  Miss Elly hung back, she did not know the routine and back then she had good manners, I have no idea what happened in the mean time!!

Not really in the habit of fast food she settled for a Milk Shake.  This slipped down with great ease and enjoyment.  All to soon Elly was drawing in noisy bubbles of emptiness and enjoying the fun of it.  My sister asked the magic question… “Would you like another one”?  Assured that she did not need to drink it right away but that she could take it home to Nana’s house for later, the answer was a definite Yes!

The menu was checked, decision made and the party returned to the counter.  When their turn came Miss Elly piped up with her order, to this her Aunt added in a bag.   Elly froze!  She was used to her dad’s obsessive tidiness and pride in a clean car….

“IN A BAG!” she said incrediously, wondering how anyone could carry a Milk Shake home in a bag.

She learned.  She enjoyed, and was never allowed forget it!

The 28^th December is the Feast of the Holy Innocents or was when I was a child. It was one of those ‘Special Church Days’ in my father’s calendar. It commemorated the memory of those infant males killed by King Herod in an attempt to kill Jesus. Being a holyday we were obliged to attend Mass.

Fasting from midnight before Holy Communion was the norm when I was very young. This meant that we were woken from our sleep very early and ready for 6 or 7am Mass. Can you imagine the job my mother had to waken five young children (it was before my sister was born), wash the sleep from their eyes, dress them and comb their hair and have them all ready to sit in the car just when my father said he was about to leave the house? In his eyes, looking after the children was my mother’s job. She did it well.

My father had a preference for Order Churches so we attended Gardiner Street, home to the Jesuits and where my older brothers sang in the junior choir. The boys always sang during the first mass of the day. Thinking about it now brings on the internal shiver that was partly from the cold air in the large building and partly from the internal shock of being woken suddenly from sleep.

Once the mass was over we returned home for a cooked breakfast. Now hold on a minute…. This cooked breakfast was prepared by mammy and she was with us. So she had to start in to cook bacon, sausage, eggs, tomatoes and mushrooms when we arrived home. Daddy sat with the Sunday papers waiting for the food to appear on his plate.

As you can imagine we youngsters were at times fractious at the table. They were the days before central heating so we were tired, cold and hungry. Sparks flew and arguments flared easily.

On one particular morning the bickering went on at the back of the table. Daddy raised his head and complained about the arguments and asked if we thought that ‘The Holy Family’ behaved like that at the table? Mammy muttered something to him and he pushed back his chair and left the room in a hurry, his breakfast forgotten!

It was years later that we learned what she said:

‘It was easy for them, they had only one child!’

As it was getting near to Christmas a young boy was upstairs praying while his mother sat by him and his father and Grandmother were down stairs.

He prayed thus, ‘Lord please send me a train set and a remote control car and a BICYCLE’.

You don’t have to shout dear says his mother God is not deaf.

I know that he replied but Grandma is!!

Earlier this week Health Minister Mary Harney in the Irish Republic put on the back burner a programme to vaccinate 12 year olds in the recently announced HPV vaccination programme. This is reversing a decision made last August. Read more on the Irish Times website. The vaccine has the potential to prevent cervical cancer.

With decisions like this and no forward planning what hope have anyone of us in:

Ray D’Arcy on his radio show suggested a way to let Mary Harney know what people thought, ‘What if everyone sent emails to the Minister with photos of their daughters expressing their dismay over this decision to deny these girls a vaccine which may prevent them getting cervical cancer in later years?’

The Ray D’Arcy show has a link where you can send an email directly and it will only take a second. You can do it here: Today FM. Or if you’d like to send a photo of your daughter, the address is: minister’s_office@health.irlgov.ie

Having watched and helped to look after a very dear friend who slowly lost her battle with the curse that cervical cancer is, I would never wish for anyone else to face and endure that journey.

Other blogs that I know of who have so far taken up this topic:

Redmum

Paddy Anglican

Gingerpixel

Alexia

Damian

The Cedar Lounge

The following leaflet came through my door a couple of weeks ago and it has troubled me ever since. When something causes me concern I leave it handy so that I can think through whatever it is that disturbs me. The flyer sat on my desk waiting for me to find a few minutes to think about and deal with it.

Now don’t get me wrong, Ruth (and I don’t know her) sounds like a very enterprising young lady, fair dues to her for setting up and running a business from her home. I am sure she will do very well. The other side of the leaflet gives information of the waxing, eye enhancing, manicures, pedicures and facials and the prices seem very reasonable. I have no problem with that.

This is the third such leaflet to pop through my letterbox in recent months. One young lady will carryout the treatments in your own home, while the third carries on her business above a hairdressing salon.

The part that causes me concern is in the centre column - second paragraph;

Pampered Princess Package (Up to ten children 15 years and under)

The little princesses will receive a file and polish of fingers. A Little Piggy mini pedicure including nail stickers, and a mini makeover of eyes and lips. Each child will receive a goody bag. £10 per child

Where did this idea take off? Was it from Television? Are we trying to turn our little-ones into mini Victoria Beckham’s - making them old before their time?

OR

Are we unwittingly grooming them for paedophiles?

Like a child I have not forgotten a promise. This is still October and I did say I would try to colour spot some photos as part of p4oi. Today I have one for you. I have posted fewer of these ’spot colour’ attemps because they are more difficult than I first realised and take quite some time and very steady mouse control. I actually think that apart from my very first attempt that they look like I had the crayons out. I have followed the same instructions each time as far as I can. None of the layout diagrams seem to match the version of photoshop in my computer. It is enough to make anyone give up, but I have no intention in doing so!

I will learn.

This little lady I met with her grandmother as I went in search of men in skirts! A very lucky young lady indeed. This photo was taken the second time I met her that day. Earlier she was in t-shirt and shorts. Here she was sporting a new dress that granny had bought. I wish I had a kind granny to take me shopping for nice new clothes.

As I went on my way I thought of childhood, adults chatter and of promises. Sadly we remember the unfulfilled promises of childhood. Simple things that adults dismiss and say ‘Yes’ or ‘Of course darling!’ and continue with whatever they are doing and never give it another thought.

We adults often carry on a conversation ignoring a child within earshot or in the room. We think they are paying no attention to what we are saying as they play about with their toys or watch TV. They sometimes pick up half a sentence or their own interpretation of what was said and not the real message behind whatever was talked about. We can unwittingly feed them with fear, teach them language that we might not like them to use, or indeed situations way beyond their understanding.

Children Will Listen from Into the Woods by Stephen Sondheim performed by Barbra Streisand puts it into words far better than I can

Good morning from a sunny Dublin.  I am actually weraring a summer top because it is so warm.  Summer has arrived in ernest.

So who wants to know how I am

To be truthful I am feeling rather confused…

I am a Mammy and I have a daughter.  I got that right didn’t I?  Somehow the roles have changed when I wasn’t thinking or looking or listening.  It is all very confusing and upsetting really and for a ‘lady’ of my mature years, not good at all.

Yesterday when I arrived I was dispatched to the shops for a message and then when I got back I had to sit still and be QUIET because she was working.  Needless to say I kept my mouth shut tight but danced up and down like unelegant elephant just to get my own back.

Today I thought that peace would reign since she was going into the office.  Alas, as I was sitting enjoying the lovely coffee that George made for me (not a bad lad that fella!) when along comes little miss with a pen and paper.  Yes I did say PEN & PAPER!  When that happens you know things are serious.  ”I taught that girl well!” I said to myself…. make a list of all that you need to do and that way you won’t forget them.

It was when she started talking and writing like an oldfashioned school ma’am that I began to get worried.

The paper was for a list of chores; to be done…..   BY ME!

You should see the list it is as long as your arm.  One item has 2pm after it!  Talk about time and motion.  At this rate I’ll have no energy for Toyboys tomorrow!

I would eat the list but for the fact I don’t like the taste of paper.  I can’t throw it up on top of a wardrobe ’cause they all go to the ceiling.  There is no fireplace to burn it, so I need your help!

How can I get rid of the list and what should I do to get my own back?