All grown up.

She's 18 tomorrow. I'm a bit speechless really. I'm the parent of 3 grown-ups - you turn your back for just a moment........................

Em wrote this recently,


22cms of my life.

There are 22 players at the start of any football match.
Superextraordinarisimo is a word with 22 letters it is the longest word in the Spanish language. It means `extraordinary'.

Psychologically, 22 is the easiest number to recognize by the human brain due to its curved shape.

A "Catch 22” situation is one that; no matter which way you go, there is an undesired and negative result or outcome.

22cm is the length of the scar that will be forever on my chest, and 22 is the number of days I spent on life support.

It would be much easier if I was writing this at the age of 22 as it would add great comedy value and witty standing to what I’m about to say but sadly I’m not and I can’t; I’m only at the meek age of 17. God doesn’t want this article to flow properly and couldn’t help me out by shortening the length of my scar, darn you Lord! You’d think if I was addressing God I’d be asking for the removal of my scar and the reasons alongside it – but I like my scar. I like my heart condition. I like who it makes me. Of course I don’t high five passing hospital patients at the genius luck of having a life-long medical issue. But I don’t hate the world for how it made me.

For as long as I can remember my heart has been a hot topic and something to be looked after. I was born with ALCAPA (Anomalous Left Coronary Artery from the Pulmonary Artery; if you want to get clever and Google it!) I’m not going to bore you with its details but in summary my heart is plumbed differently and works harder than other ‘normal’ hearts  (I dislike referring to myself as not-normal or with an ‘abnormal condition’ because as far as I’m concerned, I’m a common Joe – and who the hell is Joe anyway?) I had an operation at a very young age to correct what Mother Nature had failed at and it meant I would be on medication for the remainder of my years and require regular checkups at the hospital – for years I travelled back and forth on the dreaded British Rail networks to see doctors and consultants and specialists. I’ve been poked and prodded and forced to cough and “breath in now for me please”. I’ve had dreaded MRI scans where you feel more trapped than Chilean miners or fitness tests that were clearly devised by a sick health freak to make you run unattractively on a treadmill just to prove how unfit you actually are! I’ve had more surgical procedures than Katie Price.

Yet I still love how I was born and who it made me, my scar is my life, my heart is obviously my life; without it I wouldn’t be here (stating the obvious) but I mean it – my heart works it beats just like yours, it works and that’s all I care about. It’s given me 17 years of none stop entertainment and I will never let it stop me, I live my life just like the rest of you. My heart condition has made me appreciate the life I lead, the people I know, the places I go (starting to sound like a TakeThat song) people try to wrap me up in cotton wool, protect me for the big bad world because Em’s poor heart won’t take it; don’t feel sorry for me. Feel sorry for the children still fighting for a life I’m already living or the fact that the economy and the government are heading down a public toilet; or that you might die in 2012 (very unlikely, I have a holiday booked in 2013) the point of this teenage rant is that as I begin to age, (it’s all downhill from here!) and experience the transition to  adult care, I feel that I’ve had an superextraordinarisimo life so far (see what I did there) not in spite of my heart condition but almost because of it. I have a great life to look forward to; and my 22cm scar will be there every step of the way.

I think it's rather good,

Happy birthday sweetheart.