I think insight and help to find strategies made all the difference for my daughter
Hi, my name is Mette and I am the mother of a wonderful girl who now is 22 years old.
My daughter fell ill when she was 13.
Hi, my name is Mette and I am the mother of a wonderful girl who now is 22 years old.
My daughter fell ill when she was 13.
What do we do when we go through a living nightmare? When the people we love the most; our own children, fall seriously ill? If anybody had looked into the future and told me what my child would be going through, I would have said “I will never be able to deal with that”.
In the spring of 2017, our daughter came down with a fever, sore ears and was so weak she was unable to attend school.
Anxiety. Fear of the future. Sorrow. Insecurity. About three years ago, I did not know much about what these words could mean. We went to Greece on autumn vacation as a regular family of five in September 2017. A week later we were no longer a regular family, we just did not know it ourselves yet.
This is my story as a mother of a sick child. She had Borrelia and meningitis. Then ME, but she recovered.
I wish someone would have given me the knowledge that I have today, that someone would have normalised my condition 13 years ago and said: “You’ll be fine. We have a support network that will help you get back on your feet.” Instead, I was left alone, left to stumble through an overwhelming amount of advice on what to do when you’re a CFS/ME sufferer. It cost me 13 years of my life and my children missed out on their teenage years. At this conference organised by Catosenteret rehabilitation centre, Anette tells her story. It’s a story that touched many people.
Author: Mother of a 12-year-old daughter I just got home from work. Our daughter is in school, at an activity day (!), and the house is quiet. Now is a good time for me to tell our story. It is … Continued
If your own brain, that part of the brain which you can’t access, is convinced that a bit of movement is very dangerous, what chance do you have without the right tools?
It is January 2015. The youngest boy in the family is 12 years old. Following a slightly unsettled period after the children and I moved from Oslo to Mo i Rana, our son has settled down and made new friends that he likes.
I first became ill at the age of 13 with severe Glandular Fever. The lymph nodes on my neck were severely inflamed and I was hospitalised due to an abscess developing on one.
As parents, we are eternally grateful to the friend who made us dare believe it’s possible to recover from ME!
Life changed completely for our 10-year-old son in January 2018. He had always been a lively and happy boy who loved physical activity, a boy who loved playing football and hanging out with his friends.
Celina became ill in the autumn of 2017 at the age of 12. Until then she had been a very active young girl with lots of friends at school and at home. She was a keen footballer and active on the running track. Celina was always cheerful and happy with an infectious laugh.
Today Emil is a happy 18-year-old. He is in his last year of upper secondary school and is active in sports, which also includes coaching younger athletes. He has passed his driving licence and found a girlfriend, and as for what we, his parents, say and think, he cares just about as much as he ought to. This hasn’t always been the situation, however.
I’m Tina Røe Skaar, I’m 24 years old, and I am living a life slightly outside the norm.
Our daughter contracted ME when she was only ten years old. We vividly remember the despair we felt as parents; that her life was put on hold for one year; the worst-case scenario that she would become just another number in the queue at the national welfare center; a bedridden teenager hibernating behind blackout curtains in a dark bedroom. Luckily, we managed to find a way out of the nightmare.
To Mammi…
The infection came suddenly – like a bolt og lightning out of the blue. The Chronic Fatigue Syndrome, however, came tiptoeing, slowly but surely. It came to take away from me everything you might call an identity. And it succeeded. In the end I was no longer myself. I “was” a fatigue syndrome.