Headlamps and Wigglepants

Noah is 3 months old now. In stark contrast to his excellent progress, I am acutley aware I have neglected my blogging duties of late and for that I offer my apologies to the loyal fans of The Muse (I'll buy both of you a pint when I'm next on the ramble in town...).

To detail the last 2 months or so into one post will require a whistle-stop tour at breakneck speed so I hope you're paying attention because, as Henry Kelly used to say, you're playing catch-up*.

Location: Coombe Baby Clinic
No. of Visits: 2
Injections Administered: 4
Outcomes: Initial low thyroid level, subsequently restored to 'normal' level. Umbilical hernia detected (impressive 'outy' belly-button to you and I), to be monitored over the coming months.Good physical display on the Physio's benchClean bill of health so far, hurrah!

Location: Crumlin Children's Hospital
No. of Visits: 1
Examinations: 3
Outcomes:3 holes in his wee heart detected, 1 x ASD at 4mm, 1 x VSD at 2mm, 1 x PDA at 2mm. Nothing major to worry about apparently and not due back in Crumlin until March 2009 so fingers and toes crossed the holes will close naturally.

Location: Local GP
No. of Visits: 2
Injections Administered: 2
Outcomes: No major reactions to the 2 month injections aside from a few wails and tears, a rather impressive plaster on each thigh and a squirt of Calpol to ward off the demons.

Location: Coombe Physio
No. of Visits: 2
Outcomes: An A+ in gym class for Noah, he is quote "defying the odds" with his physical progress. Marvellous news and a new workout regime for him to get busy with.

That about covers it from a medical perspective, it may seem like I have down-played this but to be honest it is not really an area that I want to be focussing solely on. Noah is really thriving and I would prefer just for now to talk about Noah the little boy instead of Noah, the little boy who has Down's Syndrome. I don't want this to read like denial (or any other big rivers in Egypt) about his syndrome, its just that at this moment in time it is not wholly relevant as he seems to be in very good shape. He is very alert and has made some great friends in Billy the Butterfly, Percy the Penguin, Sammy the Snail and a whole posse of rattly toys. Billy, Percy, Sammy and the gang all keep Noah heartily entertained and he is more than able to track their movements through the Fisher Price jungle, stalking their every [mummy and daddy generated] moves and strengthening up his neck muscles.

This brings me nicely to the title of this particular blog. Daddy has a habit of conjuring up nicknames for the little man and the first was Headlamps. When Noah first began to open his eyes, we were enraptured by the saucer-like eyes staring back at us, he wasn't the rabbit caught in the headlamps but rather the headlamps themselves. The defence presents exhibit A in support of this assertion:



A penchant for wiggling and not being able to sit still for more than say 8 seconds at a time lead me to coin the monikor of 'Mr. Wigglepants', or just 'Wigglepants' for familiarity. I have also determined that Mr. Noah is the King of the Wiggles and his adventures as such shall be published in due course. These stories shall document the adventures of Noah as he meets such luminairies as the Sneezy Tishoos, the Wakey-Wakeys and the Sleepy Bye-Byes but all in good time dear reader, all in good time. Back to the Wigglepants. Ever since Noah was born, he was like a jellied eel when you held in your arms and instilled the fear of a thousand warlords in me in the early days that I was going to drop him or he would somehow miraculously leap from my arms across the room like a Russian floor gymnast but without the big hoop and inexplicable ribbon on a stick. This wiggliness (its a word, look it up...) has manifested itself in the most wonderful fashion though and has enable Noah to bulk up impressivley in his quest for glory in the Fisher Price jungle floorshow. The below show Noah at his utmost wiggly and I hope you can share in the enthusiam so audible by his doting parents.










What a legend I think you will agree (bear in mind too that he is only 10 weeks old in the above). Apparently, because he has Down's Syndrome, he will have lower muscle tone and it will take him longer to begin rolling, crawling and walking. Ok Mr. Medicine, you have cast your die and I see your pessimism and raise you a Noah. We shall see my learned friend PhD, we shall see...

The second volume of The Muse Gallery shall follow very shortly as well as an honorary shoutout post to the newest friends of The Muse, Mrs T and Mr. Noah. Again, I bow my head in repose and ask for your redemption for my literary absenteeism of late, it won't happen again Sir, the dog ate my homework...

*A virtual prize and online big-up to the first reader to correctly spot the reference...

The Gallery vol. 1

I am using this post to publish a link to one of my Facebook photo albums showing pictures of Noah taken from his birth to six weeks old.

For all childhood Tony Hart fans, play the Gallery music first by clicking on the first link below, this will take you away from The Muse so use the back button on your browser (once the music is playing) to return and then open the gallery link (2nd link below).

The Gallery mood music...

Browse The Gallery...

Another post is on the way shortly so drop in on your worldwide web travels and say hello (just like Morph...).

Hello Noah

After 2 weeks now, I think I can say that my mind has calmed somewhat from the spinning whirlwind I was in and I am able to think reasonably straight enough for another blog post. To say we were caught by surprise would be understating the fact that 12 days ahead of his expected arrival, little Noah decided enough was enough in his womby residence and started knocking on the proverbial door to be let out into the world. I may have previously mentioned that one of my biggest fears for the birth was to be either stuck at work or stuck in traffic once the call came through that the time was upon us, thankfully this passed without incident and I was able to drive Mrs T through the city to the hospital in the relative calm of 8pm traffic. With the exception of the Garda checkpoint literally 100 yards from the hospital (cue lots of frantic pointing to the pregnant belly and shouting from me to the bemused Garda), we made it in good time and were admitted into the Labour ward before you could say "stone me, we're having a baby". Having had a false alarm the previous week, we were both not fully compus mentus that this was really it until the Midwife gave us the reassurance that yes, you have just begun labour. Being a professional novice at this arena, I retreated into the background as the midwives went about the necessary business and tried my best to live up to my primary objective of staying out of the way and not getting on Mrs T's nerves.

A mostly sleepness night passed (well, mostly for me, unfortunately completely sleepless for Mrs T) and the morning found us still sans baby with the indication being the afternoon to meet and greet the little one. For the purposes of weak stomachs and nervous dispositions everywhere, I will fast forward to 12:46pm on 2nd July 2008 when I first saw the face and heard the first cry emit from my son. Actually, I am going to use the powers of retrospective thinking to rewind about 3 minutes prior to that when I first saw the tiniest most perfect little ear emerge which turned me into the blubbering mess I continued to be for the ensuing few minutes. As Noah was handed over to meet Mrs T, to say the sheer enormity of the moment overwhelmed me would be to understate the quite frankly, superhuman efforts displayed by Mrs T up to that point. I remember reflecting that nothing I could potentially go on to achieve in my life would be a fraction as impressive as what I had just witnessed, Mrs T has one-upmanship on me forever it would appear (no gloating if you're reading...). I had spoken to fellow Dads about the moment their respective children arrived and the common theme was one of "there is nothing quite like that moment in the world", this is a hard assertion to quantify but I can now appreciate where they are coming from. I am still at a loss to fully describe the feelings I had as I looked at the first few seconds of life for little Noah but, being the eminent wordsmith I pretend to be, I will have a go so hold your breath and read on...

Imagine a balloon if you will, just a regular party balloon. Now imagine that balloon is released into the sky with a thousand other balloons. Imagine each individual ballon is then filled with so many feelings of joy and ecstasy, the sort of head-exploding, uncontrollable, delirious joy, joy as defined by Marco Tardelli in 1982, joy that consumes your very being, joy that touches the core of your essence and envelopes you in its gloriousness. Imagine each balloon is literally straining to contain these feelings, now imagine every one of the balloons crammed into your head and burst at the same time. Your mind is overpowered by the joy, you cannot think straight, you have tunnel-vision focused entirely on your new baby, everyone else in the room appears to be operating in slow-motion and in a distant blur, you are aware of talk but all you can hear are the cries of your baby, the wails emitting from their tiny lungs in synch with the tears rolling down your face. You attempt to speak but you are drunk with the joy and make little coherent sense. You realised you havent breathed in what seems like a lifetime and with one almighty gasp you are brought crashing back into the reality of the room. Your head is still soaring but you can now interpret the joy in your mind and the first hug, the first kiss, the first hold engross your soul so entirely that you know things will never be the same again. .

The above goes some way to describing the emotions I experienced but there is still a large portion I simply cannot transcribe. It is a surreal image in my head that can only be understood by those that have also seen it. It is Ulysses meets Dali, backwards in a foreign tongue, written in code that is incomprehensible to the nescient but unequivocally clear to the learned. What I can say with confidence is that it is an extraordinary feeling and one that will always stay with me and for that, I am eternally grateful. The ensuing days getting to know our new addition were superb, from learning how to hold and feed him without fear to dressing him in under 40 minutes with steady hands, each little task was strengthening the bond with him. I can now hear his cry in my head and this little sound carries me through my working day and leaves me with an aching to rush home and see him again. To see what is new that day, if he has any new hairs on his head, any new scratches on his face (where are those nail clippers again...?), any new noises he has learnt to vocalise, to see him breathing in the world around him with such curiosity in his eyes makes everything worthwhile. Yes, I am tired...No, I don't care. Life revolves on a new pivot now and the pivot is Noah. My little boy.

There are 2 words I have purposefully omitted from this post so far and, just for this post, I am going to keep it that way. To see Noah in all his newborn glory gleefully swamping down his first bottle and announcing himself to the world with the finest burp I have ever heard, all the stresses of the last few month vanished in an instant and we were able to look at this tiny marvellous creation and appreciate him for just that. We have been through enough up until now, and, with hospital visits scheduled for next week, there is plenty more ahead but just for now allow us this blissful unspoilt joy. For now.

My Son

Noah William Thompson

Born 2nd July 2008 at 12:46pm

Weight of 9lbs 3oz

Instant Farmer

I have been watching it grow for weeks now. Watching the bare soil transform into a wonderful waving field of wheat. Armed with my rather alarming lack of agricultural nous, I initially thought that is was grass that was poking up through the soil and as I am currently engaged in battle with my own lawn, I kept a keener eye on the field than most probably did on the way to and from the train station. It was not until fairly recently that I noticed the grass was sprouting some rather un-grasslike heads and the field was looking more and more like a cereal box (minus the giant bowl and spoon in the foreground obviously). Wheat, of course...you spanner Thompson, of course its a field of wheat. Why would a farmer grow a field of grass when there are no cattle to be seen for miles? In my defence, I am not a farmer, have no real experience of how the countryside works and have never been witness to watching a field of crops (crops?) grow. Why, you might be wondering am I am rambling on about farming and fields of wheat? Well, as I have been watching the wheat grow from seemingly nothing into a magnificent looking field (seriously, I think it looks astonishing as all the plants sway lazily in unison in the breeze like a bunch of teenagers at an Indie gig - I'm odd I know...), I have been drawing comparisons with the growth of my own little baby and watching the bump grow steadily bigger.

The 36 week scan last weekend (incidentally, an honorable mention to The Coombe and Siobhan for weekend scanning - an excellent service) revealed that BabyT is weighing in at a remarkable 7lb 4oz already. Estimates are putting a delivery weight of circa 9lb so we are elated that the wee one is going to be a healthy size at birth. They will need to draw on all their tiny resources until the feeding process beds down (the usual weight-loss will occur perfectly naturally we are assured) so should be more than well-equipped enough to be able to handle it. We spent a great afternoon in the hospital and it is not too often we have been able to say that so for that we are absurdly thankful. We saw tiny feet and toes quickstepping through the womb, we saw tiny fingers playing a tiny imaginary piano, unbelievably we saw a fine mane of hair floating in the fluid like the most beautiful ocean coral, we saw the little ears that hear our words and songs (poor little ears says you...) and we saw the little eyes that will gaze on at us in wonderment and bewilderment as we (read "I") attempt to change the first nappy or succesfully administer the first feed. From my own personal opinion, the feeling of closeness this created between myself and the little one was exceptional. All the recent fears momentarily vanished and, even though the room was far from magical, I felt so touched during the scan I was desperately hoping that neither the midwife or Mrs T looked in my direction until both the lump that had decided to establish itself in my throat, and the water that was encircling my left eye had diminished. I have no idea how I am going to cope at the birth itself, hopefully no-one will be taking much notice of me and my inability to remain non-tearful, and nor should they be in all honesty. Who cares though? It'll all be worth it.

So as we roll towards week 37, my heart momentarily jumps when I see the phone ringing at work from home, the bag is packed and the booze has been suspended. It really could happen at any time now (please Lord, let it happen when I am at home and not tearing through town like a man possessed to get to the hospital) so the batphone is on constant standby. It may sound obvious, but an event such as this provides a level of perspective I have never previously imagined. Daily worries are dwarfed in comparison to the arrival of BabyT, life will stop, change and then continue in a completely new mould in one glorious day. As I see the wheat standing proud and tall clutching ever closer to the low rumbling clouds, I know that it's day of reckoning is almost upon it. One morning it will be there as I pass and when I pass again, it will be gone, destined for a new life, a new form and a new journey. Bring it on...

Heart to Heart

Only old people go to see a Cardiologist, don't they? Old people or people who eat more fried food than perhaps would be advised by one's local general practioner. Or so I had previously thought. Those who visit a cardiologist will almost always be aware of the fact that they are going to get the old ticker checked out and in a number of cases will probably carry with them a mixture of emotions; fear - quite probably, guilt - perhaps (see afore-mentioned fast food warriors), nervous anticipation - almost certainly, but above all perhaps, a mild sense of panic as they comes to terms with the reality that they are indeed mortal, non-indestructible, inevitably destined for the great golden arches in the sky as it were. How one deals with this realisation is uniquely personal and, to my admittedly under-resourced knowledge bank, there is no maunal or user guide to explain this to you. There are no workshops held where a representative in a sharp suit and a nice tie that you could never tie yourself no matter how hard you try, presents a well documented Powerpoint slideshow neatly detailing at what stage you should deal with your emotion [Stage 1 - Acceptance], tick the box and move onto the next set [Stages 2 - 6, Anger through to Contentment via Frustration then coffee break, ] until you reach the finish post [Stage 7 - Confidence] and walk away with a smile and a nicely framed certificate of your achievements. [incidentally if anyone knows of such a course, please email me details]. The very fact that such people get to deal with the storming torrent of emotions that goes with such an experience is the crux of this matter.

My little one (hereafter referred to as BabyT - am not giving away the sex in this Blog...) was quite happy growing away and blissfully unaware of the implication that their little engine was causing in the outside world. I sometimes feel a sense of envy of that state of ignorance, imagine if you will, living in a state where there was no worry, no fear and no panic, a nirvana of perpetual calm almost. It is something we all strive for, count the number of aromatic candles in your current abode for a brief and almost crass example of this, but in all honesty, rarely achieve. I have been attempting to leverage off that envy and turn it into something positive, BabyT is not aware of their heart and the possible problems, therefore they are not worried about it, ergo they are happy still concerning themselves primarily with putting on some more fat. Children with Down's Syndrome are susceptible to heart 'problems'. I use the inverted commas to simply capture the intensly broad range of issues that could potentially occur, there are too many to simply list here so please see here for further details. Due to the dignosis that we had received previously, it was necessary to go through more scans and tests to either confirm the presence of a heart problem or not. This was a particularly damoclean situation to find ourselves in, on the one hand it could absolve the panic and worries we were experiencing and allow us the briefest of respites, whilst on the other hand it could confirm our worst and most tortuous fears. First scan up...


We were forewarned that because BabyT was still very young and the heart was the size of a fingernail (unbelievable, just think about that for a second.....a lifeforce so very very small, incredible), anything that showed up might not be anything after all, it was just a matter of waiting it out. True to form, they left us hanging at the end with the possibility that one of the heart walls was thicker than the other side, "come back in four weeks when we'll be able to get a better view". Oh terrific. Four weeks came and went and we received encouraging news that in fact, BabyT's heart was looking good and pumping vigourously away, all chambers and valves and associated articles were all present and correct and ready for action. This was the point the Cardiologist came in.


The afternoon of the appointment with the Cardiologist is the day I fell further out of amore with Dublin city traffic. I detest it as much as the next frustrated driver but I will never forgive it for making me miss the most important and significant appointment in the little one's life up to that point. For the lovely Mrs T to go through that on her own is something I'll never forgive myself for. The good news was delivered to me as I frantically bowled into the hospital (it had to be the only hospital appointment in history to run on time of course) but not, by all accounts, before BabyT gave us yet another scare. A "raggedy looking valve" turned out to be fine but I swear, sometimes I think the wee one is just messing with our heads, (perhaps something for me to recall upon when pocket money time comes in circa ten years from now....) for their own antenatal amusement.


So all looks good, the chances of having an issue were in and around the 50% mark so we were delighted. There has been a lot of talk recently about the challenges that BabyT will face in their life, well I am taking extreme comfort and confidence from the fact that, when faced with the first real challenge of their short little life so far, they passed with an A+ and left us positively reeling in the wake of this news. It gives me an almost wry smile to think of BabyT in the belly, steadily gaining weight and wondering what all the fuss is about on the outside. Well, this is a personal memo to you BabyT, you just keep doing what you're doing in there and we will have the most amount of fun when you arrive. I am not going to pretend that we are out of the woods yet, there will be a lot more to come and to be honest, I am not sure if we have even entered the woods yet let alone got out of them. To be frank, we haven't even yet been warned to stay away from the woods, perhaps by a scary old-man Withers from the amusement park type character (for further reference see the literary offerings of Doo, Scooby. The Adventures Of...) so this is the start of a very long road. But it is a road that we will travel together, all three of us and I can't wait for that journey.


32 weeks are up on Sunday so a daunting realisation that this is really happening has crept in. It might sound obvious but life begins again in and around a couple of months. Lots more to say, but for now I doff my cap and carry on my way...

Ups and Down's

It's the phonecall that will always stay with me. I often hear people remark that certain things will always stay or be with them, usually some 'life-defining' moment or another, and being the cynic that I generally am, I usually dismiss them privately as the product of the Dawson's Creek / Friends generation where every happening must be accorded a public degree of emotional outpouring and be shared with other folk desperate to define their feelings in a public forum. This has never sat well with me, primarily because I am the aforementioned cynic and, if truth be told, don't generally often ask for the sympathetic ear of friends and family, its not quite the 'stiff upper lip' syndrome of the archetypal Englishman, but you are in the right ball park as our American friends might happen to say. So here I am now, blogging, social-networking, publicly-sharing my private thoughts, the antithesis to my former cynicism you might say, but why? Well, its because of the phonecall. Ay, there's the rub. The phonecall is the rub. The phonecall that will always be me. The phonecall changed my life. [Dawson exits stage left].

The pre-cursor to the phonecall was November 2007 when we found out we were having a baby. We were thrilled by the news and this joy was offset by an overwhelming sense of terror that I was going to be a Dad and had not the first idea about what to do, what I was supposed to and when I was supposed to be doing it. Pregnancy is a funny old fish really, all of a sudden portions of time are no longer refered to in months and everything is now calculated by weeks. When you are not used to using weeks a measurement of time, as I am sure you are not because let's face it, the only other time that weeks are used to significantly measure time is the old six weeks school holidays which seemed far longer than the month and a half it in reality actually was, life takes on a certain distortion but in a tremendous capacity. To slowly see our baby growing and listening to the most perfect heartbeat I ever heard, is an astonishing feeling and allayed the terror somewhat replacing it with a nervous excitement and anticipation. The thought that anything could ever disrupt this picture was frankly never even considered.

Down's Syndrome is not something I knew an awful lot about, in all honesty I was quite happy with that situation. I am not afraid to admit that if something didn't affect me directly, I didn't generally go out of my way to research it. This may sound selfish and in some ways it is, but I think most of us would subscribe to the same if it came down to it, turn the other cheek as it were. To hear the Doctor say the words to me on the phone is not a situation I ever realised I didn't want to find out about. "The news isn't good, your baby has Down's Syndrome - I am sorry." And that's when my life changed. [Dawson looks pensively across the creek].

With twelve weeks (!) to go now, life is good, changed granted, but oh so good. It has been very interesting to reflect on the feedback we have received to the news, the clinical scientific viewpoint from the Medics, the shocked and almost desperate optimism of some and the overwhelming support of all. We have talked to a counsellor that allowed us to slay some of the demons that were plaguing us, it was comforting to know that the selfish thoughts we were experiencing were ok, it was almost as if we were being given permission to grieve the loss of the life we thought we were going to have and start to build for the life ahead of us. We are now members of Down Syndrome Ireland and a whole new world has opened up in front of us. A friend of mine put it best when he said its just about adjusting to a new paradigm which, apart from being remarkably articulate for him, really shows how little of a deal this really is. I am at peace with it now, there are still sad moments of course, the 'why me' and 'its not fair' and all that but there are far more 'up' moments now. Sitting in the newly decorated baby room really hammers home that the little one will be just like all other babies, will need to be changed (must fix the wobbly leg on the changing table while I think of it...), will need lots of colouful plastic things to stay amused and will need it's Mummy and Daddy to be on hand with a regular supply of food, pillows and cuddles. There is plenty more to come, but that's enough for now I think. Twelve weeks and counting....