Saying thanks

It's Teacher Appreciation Week this week. That's right, all week. Gone are the days when a simple apple would suffice. Or some dusty old pot pourri at Christmas. The US teachers unions have decided that simply isn't good enough any more and demanded a full week of appreciation.

Okay, I'm not sure it was the teachers union. And since this isn't a Hallmark holiday we can excuse the greetings card lobby too. Still, someone somewhere decided it was necessary and so, here we are.

Today Lady P took 3 flowers to school, one for each of the teachers. Tomorrow she will dress as a princess, to make them feel like queens for a day. On Wednesday she will take them handmade cards (with gift cards enclosed). On Thursday she'll dress as a a super hero, because teachers are heroes so that is the theme. On Friday she will wear her favourite teacher's favourite colours.

Some of the more involved (aka SAH) mums are taking in breakfasts and lunches for the teachers too. All of this organized by our parent co-ordinator, who does an outstanding job taking care of the school's desire to enrich everyone's lives and mark every 'holiday', while minimizing demands on the parents. And really although the tasks this week sound like a lot, they don't take much effort.

When I first got the letter (especially the attachment listing our teachers' favourite lunch orders) I was pretty snarky about this whole appreciation week shebang. 'No-one brings me lunch while I'm doing the job I'm paid to do', I grumbled. Though TLOML pointed out that sometimes he actually does. When it comes down to it, I do really appreciate the work our teachers do. They are getting paid to show up and do a good job but they go a long way beyond that and give Lady P an awful lot of love and happiness every day. So if some sweet little gestures this week make them feel valued, I'm all for it. Otherwise it might have ended up with me giving them that lame Christmas gift. Thank goodness for life's organizers, who let the rest of us just show up and go along with it all.

On the same theme, about a month ago Lady P (with my 'guidance') wrote a thank you note to the nurses and doctor who took such great care of her in February when she sliced her head open. She always tells people she was playing on a construction site, which makes us look bad - it was, in fact, the climbing frame at school. Anyway it was a deep cut which has now, thanks to some tidy stitches, healed very neatly indeed. In the UK I think people often write a thank you note to a doctor or nurse. My sister, who is an NHS physio, is always getting presents from her patients. But I don't think it's such common practice here. Is that because in the UK we are all so incredibly grateful for the NHS? Quite right too - but I don't intend to stop with the gratitude just because of the idiotic healthcare funding situation here. After all, US nurses aren't paid significantly more than their UK peers. Some US doctors are coining it in (the specalists and surgeons) but they are burdened with medical school debts which might take some of the joy out of cashing that pay cheque.

I suppose whether or how much someone gets paid is beside the point anyway. Whether its socially prescribed, culturally ingrained, or purely spontaneous, it can't ever be a bad thing to say thank you. Bring on the appreciation weeks and stock up on thank you notes!

Taxpayer funded pins and needles

I'm fortunate to have always enjoyed good health. Which means I've never really got great value out of the NHS. I'm okay with that, being as I am a total leftie. But still, it's nice to feel like I'm clawing something back now. This pregnancy is proving to be a great opportunity to get my money's worth.

It's not just the basic care I'm getting - all those check ups, my flu jab, the fact I can give birth in a lovely birth centre. That's an excellent start. But I'm enjoying the extras too. Remember all those extra scans we got? And I'm going through an industrial size bottle of Gaviscon every week (free, on prescription). It's all gravy.

My Gaviscon bottle - shown here next to a regular London townhouse, for scale

Today I scaled new heights. Who knew you could get acupuncture on the NHS? Well, you can. And I did.

My hospital, the Whittington, offers acupuncture in the maternity unit, for pain relief, to turn breech babies, and to induce labour. I was a little bit sceptical, I'll be honest. Research on the efficacy of acupuncture is patchy at best. But I figure, if it's NHS-funded that must mean someone who knows more about healthcare than me has decided it is worth a punt. According to the practitioner I saw, they believe it's saving them money in reduced C-sections and fewer chemical inductions.

Anyway, even if it doesn't work, it gives me something to fill another long afternoon of maternity leave with. So, at 6 days past my due date, I checked in for my first session. Pins were placed in areas which will apparently help 'with descent' and send extra blood to my uterus. After I mentioned a couple of pregnancy symptons she chucked in a few extra needles to combat heartburn and water retention. My scepticism began to dissolve as I felt weird sensations, almost like electric shocks. Goodness knows what it's doing, but something is definitely happening around those needles.

It's hard to create anything like a calming, spa-like environment in a curtained hospital bay. So on one side of me I heard a long discussion about bowel movements, and on the other a woman made a noisy phone call to her aunty to discuss a funeral. Despite that, I was so relaxed that I almost fell asleep. Not sure if it was the effect of the needles, the hospital warmth, or the fact I could do nothing but lie still and breathe. But for whatever reason I came out of there feeling like I was walking on air.

And did it work? Well, given that I'm 41 weeks pregnant, the chances of me going into labour in the next few days are extremely good - with or without the needles. Still, I got out of it what I wanted: a diverting and pleasant experience. And the satisfaction of enjoying another health service, thanks to the good old NHS.

Rooming in

Being as I am fully pregnant and obsessed with it, I have spent a lot of time reading books about pregnancy and babies over the past few months. It really is a full time job, keeping up with various symptoms, baby fruit sizes, and the many rare but terrifying things that could go wrong.

My main sources have been two very different books. The British  bestseller, Rough Guide to Pregnancy, is irreverent and funny. Every week's chapter opens with a line showing the length of the baby, which I enjoy holding up to my belly and marvelling at.

For better coverage of medical mishaps and physical symptoms I've  been perusing the US classic,  What to Expect When You're Expecting. Every month's chapter starts with a list of what 'you may be feeling', which always includes constipation, flatulence, and 'emotional'.

It's a balanced diet of pregnancy info.

I'm also enjoying spotting the discrepancies between US and UK approaches to pregnancy. 'Rooming in' is one that, as I contemplate the hospital trip that is ahead of me, leapt from the pages. Keeping babies in a nursery while mum overnights in a nice quiet room is still apparently fairly common, judging by this What to Expect story.

I don't think it's nearly as common in the UK. Unless your baby needs special care, they usually do 'room in' with you. In fact, it's not really usual for a woman to stay in overnight in the UK, unless there's something wrong, or there's a need for longer observation of the mum or baby. A few hours after any straightforward birth, once the baby's had a feed and the mum's had a cup of tea, the NHS like to pack you off home asap.

In the US, I gather, it's much more normal to stay in hospital overnight. But then, the whole event is a lot more medicalised. Midwives deliver babies in only 8% of US births - the rest are delivered by obstetricians. By contrast in the UK midwives, armed only with gas and air and pethidine, deliver the vast majority of babies in the UK.

I've  become aware that most of my US readers think I'm a little nuts for imagining I can go into hospital, give birth without a doctor to 'help' me, and be home the very same day. It's fairly normal behaviour over here. So like the crazy Brit I am, that's exactly what I'm hoping to do. Watch this space....

Active Birthing aka Pull Your Socks Up

TLOML and I attended an Active Birth Course at the weekend. Active birthing is the exact opposite of giving birth lying on your back. It involves moving around, saying mantras, and listening to plinky-plonky spa music whilst giving birth in a great big tub.

Active birth, hypnobirth, or just plain old fashioned ‘grit your teeth and bear it’ natural childbirth are fairly popular in the UK. Of the British babies I know, fully 75% of them were born without medical intervention and to women who had no pain relief other than a bit of gas and air. (The other 25% involved emergency C-sections or epidurals administered after hours of agony).

Those are British babies though. And I’m sure there are pockets of ladies in Venice Beach or Berkeley who give birth listening to dolphin music. But the vast majority of US births are managed less like a love-in, and more like a medical event. My US sample size is a lot smaller, but Mr Google backs me up in my instincts: twice as many US births involve an epidural, for example. Epidurals are a bit of a dirty word among the yummy mummies of North London. It’s up there with  admitting you had a MacDonald’s at the weekend.

TLOML and I mused about why this transatlantic difference exists. He has long held a theory that Brits are tougher than Americans. Brits are tough because we are used to putting up with awful weather and crummy service. But Americans will always win the day, because they refuse to put up with anything sub-par: they battle the climate with air-con, and don’t tolerate anything other than good, smiley service.

So it makes sense that most American women will not be conned into thinking that their painful contractions are, in fact, ‘surges of energy’. Nor will they miss a chance for pain relief, and the assistance of extra staff. Just as there are 20% more staff per customer in the average US restaurant, there are probably 20% more staff per birth in the average US maternity unit.

Having seen how Kourtney Kardashian gives birth* I understand the appeal. She lies, blissful and quiet (presumably doped up to her eyeballs), not looking remotely sweating or anxious, being told when to push. It looks very calm and lovely, the model of a medicalised birth.

Meanwhile, with our upper lips famously stiffened, we Brits just soldier on thinking hours of agonising pain is just all part of the process. ‘Pull your socks up, Samantha, plenty of women have pushed out breech babies!’ ‘Stop making such a fuss, Edith, it’s only been eight hours of pain!’.

I hope I’ll handle the birth stoically, if not joyfully... I will update you sometime in February about whether I stayed tough, or went all America and called for an epidural.

*Don’t judge me! It’s good telly. Also we like the shots of LA, Malibu and Calabasas. Sigh.

The most sonographed baby in the world

We had another scan this week. This was our 7th scan. That's right, the seventh. Most women have two scans: one around 10 weeks to date the baby, and another at 20-odd weeks to check the development.

So, why so many for us? Well, neurosis accounts for at least one of them: the 7 week viability scan we had, the week before our wedding. (I just wanted to be sure the noble sacrifice of not drinking on my wedding day or honeymoon was worthwhile.) We've also had to have a couple of extra ones because our uncooperative baby won't get into the right position to provide some critical measurement or other.

Today's scan was not strictly essential. At our last checkup the midwife's tape measure suggested my bump was 1cm too small. Now I know fine well that if I'd eaten a big lunch before the appointment my bump would have been at least 1cm bigger. Maybe more if it was a curry, or beans, or something else, well, gassy. Still, we agreed vehemently with the midwife that we really should get that checked out, and signed up for the growth scan.

We like the extra scans because we like knowing what she's up to in there. She's pretty camera shy, so we never really get a clear view. We see a clenching fist, a kicking leg, a dinosaur-esque spine, and a nose, but rarely are all those parts assembled in a way that makes her look like a human baby. She's more like a collection of perfect but randomly sorted parts.

Last known sighting of our baby in profile, about 2 months (and several scans) ago

All of this slightly unnecessary care and attention make me very glad of the NHS.

When I was researching this post (I know, sounds odd to me too, but I really do do at least 5 minutes research before some of my posts) I looked at some US websites. I wanted to check because I had the impression that in the US most women get three scans - the same 10 and 20 week ones as we get here, and a third one towards the end of the pregnancy.

Silly me. Of course it isn't that simple. It completely depends on insurance provision. So I found women on one chat forum talking about only having one scan as they had to pay for any extras. Presumably lucky ladies on gold-plated plans could be scanned at the drop of a hat, like we are. But ouch, they (or their employer) will be paying a lot of money for the privilege.

So - without wanting to get all socialist on you (I know how TLOML hates that) - I do feel very lucky to be able to exclude money as a factor in my decision making where healthcare is concerned. The NHS really is bloody brilliant.

Admittedly we recently waited for 2 hours to see the midwife because of crossed wires on reception. But when I turned to TLOML and said 'doesn't this level of service enrage you, with your American standards?' he shrugged and said 'I'm just glad it's free'. Me too.

A Whittington Baby

TLOML and I have decided to have our baby at the Whittington Hospital. We started our antenatal care at the Royal Free, a very good teaching hospital that's a ten minute walk from Fox Corner - but have decided to switch, as the Whittington sounds better.

The rooms in the Whittington's birth centre were recently done up, with double beds and nice big plasma screen TVs. So if TLOML wants to take a nap or watch some telly while I give birth, he can. We aren't sure if this is important or not but it seemed like a nice option to have.

The Whittington is named after Dick Whittington, legendary Lord Mayor of London. According to folklore, Dick Whittington came to London to earn his fortune, having heard the streets were paved with gold. Times were tough so he decided to quit on his dream - but as he headed out of London on Highgate Hill he heard bells ringing, and felt sure they were telling him if only he gave it another go, he could one day be Lord Mayor. Thanks to the mouse catching skills of his cat, he did indeed become Lord Mayor.

I'm a bit hazy on the details - quite how the bells told him to turn back, and exactly how the cat helped him become Mayor. But every schoolchild in Britain knows the story, and there's a statue of his cat on Highgate Hill, so it must be true.

The TVs, the double bed, and the cat story are excellent reasons to choose the Whittington. Another good reason is that they have plenty of birthing pools, so the chances are very good I'll get a room with one.

Isn't it marvellous that I can, thanks to NHS patient choice, opt without constraints for the quality hospital I think is the best? And it's all free too. God bless the NHS.

However I will, apparently, need to bring my own sieve and mirror.

Which made draw yet another comparison with life in the US. I know if we'd had a baby there we would have had to pay $500+ a month in insurance premiums, or find at least $10,000 for the birth.

But I bet they throw in a new sieve and mirror for that price.

About those parks... I was wrong

Another retraction... I'm like the Private Eye of blogs. Well, no-one is suing me, but my conscience is pricking me. This time it's those mean comments I made about scrappy little New York parks.

A recent visit from my favourite little sister re-opened my eyes to the magic of Central Park. We walked from the Natural History Museum on the west side, across to the Met on the east, via the Ramble, the boating lake, and its little cousin the model boat pond. Plus we consumed the best icecream my favourite little sister has ever had - those Van Leeuwen dudes know just what to do with a roasted banana.

We also took in the High Line, of course, and enjoyed cups of tea in both Bryant Park and Madison Square Park. Both of which are charming little city parks (if a little over-run).

The lovely Bryant Park.

But most excitingly for the park lover in me - and thanks entirely to my favourite little sister - I have discovered the joys of the lesser known Riverside Park South. It's a relatively new park, below the Trump Place buildings on the West Side Highway, up in the 60s and 70s.

Until recently my riverside runs only took me as far as 55th Street, at which point crippling pain sent me hobbling back home like a lopsided pixie. Then my favourite little sister, who happens to be a brilliant physiotherapist, told me that my gastrosoleus complex was so tight it was not allowing the old tibialis posterior to function correctly. No wonder it hurt.


God bless the NHS! After a couple of weeks of targeted stretching and strengthening exercises, I have added another couple of miles, or twenty blocks, to my run.


Now I get to enjoy the lovely winding paths, interesting public art, windswept marshes, ghost piers and all round envigorating experience of the Riverside Park South. It has a low profile, quite the opposite of the jam-packed High Line, and I suspect it's a park for locals. The rest of New York is missing out.

And I was wrong: New York City has many excellent parks. Sorry NYC...