The doctor, a cheerful young woman who seemed pleasant apart from a slightly annoying habit of staring fixatedly into my eyes as we spoke, informed me that my blood pressure was very high and asked me had I experienced any swelling in my hands and feet. I answered by showing her my ankles, which at this stage were indeed very swollen. I confessed that they had been this way for a few days but I hadn’t worried about it – should I? She sighed and said, “I’m sorry but I’m going to have to ask you to go straight to the hospital – I think you might have what they call PET and this can be quite serious if it isn’t treated quickly.”

Damn. Maybe I shouldn’t have told my partner to fly off to the UK after all.

I strolled across the bridge in a bit of a daze and phoned my father, who came to pick me up quickly. I explained the situation to him, and we drove back to his house where I numbly put together a bag for the hospital should they choose to admit me. My father seemed a bit peeved at the thoughts of driving all the way to Dublin city centre but I assured him that PET was not something to procrastinate about. When we arrived at the National Maternity Hospital the staff seemed quite friendly – perhaps this was because I wandered in and out of the offices looking a bit like a rabbit in headlights, but no matter. The staff took blood samples, urine samples and checked my blood pressure a few times and at first they reassured me that these were simply routine precautions, but after a couple of hours (and moving onto the offices of more serious-looking doctors) these reassurances faded and instead I was told that I did indeed show signs of having PET and they would be admitting me to the hospital there and then.

I was utterly shocked. I had read many, many pregnancy books over the past months and PET had featured in quite a few of them, but I hadn’t really considered actually developing it myself. My mind reeled with chapters and quotations, things such as “emergency section”, “serious complications for both mother and baby”, and other maternal nightmares. My father was very supportive, knowing by my panicked disposition that the thoughts of staying in hospital alone scared me to death, never mind staying in hospital knowing there was a possibility that I could be staying there until the baby was born or my condition was stabilised (the latter being more of a false optimism than a possibility judging by the way in which the hospital staff spoke to me).

We were shown to Unit 3, where I was escorted to a small cubicle in a room with three other women staying there. They seemed to have been there for quite a while, with many teddybears, magazines and other items from home dotted about their personal spaces. Dad left me sitting on my new bed for ten minutes and wandered off to buy us some dinner. I sat in silence for those minutes, crying and trying to regulate my breathing while my mind twisted into knots. I couldn’t stay here, in this controlled environment, surrounded by strange people and so far away from everything familiar. Surely this was all a mistake and I would be able to go home if I simply explained it properly to the staff. Dad arrived back at my bedside with some ham and chicken pie, which we ate quietly. I could tell he was trying hard to cheer me up so I in turn tried not to burst into tears and beg him to sneak me out the front doors. Eventually though, the evening started to close in and it was time for Dad to drive home. He told me everything would be alright and he’d call me in the morning, then I watched him walk out the sliding doors and tried to smile as I waved.

I didn’t realise it yet, but it would feel like an eternity had passed before I too could walk out those doors into the noisy Dublin streets.

My parents’ marriage of 25 years broke down in April, which has unsuprisingly caused an awful lot of problems for myself and my family. I don’t think I have the time tonight to even break open the shell on this subject, however, so I’ll keep it simple. My mother had an affair, broke many hearts, and then caused months of continued (unnecessary) anguish for us all through her own selfishness. We are all getting on with our lives now, as they say, and things have certainly calmed down in that area hence I now feel able to sit down and start to work my way through the whole messy scenario.

Shortly after the above began, my partner and I discovered we were going to become first-time parents! This news was very suprising – we had been trying for a couple of months but I hadn’t expected results so quickly, especially in light of the amount of stress we both came under due to the drastic change in family circumstances. Nevertheless, when the dust settled we broke the news to my Dad and four younger sisters who were overjoyed to hear good news at such a time. Since then it has all been quite hectic; planning where we will live since the place we rent at the moment is definitely not baby-friendly, working out what we need to buy, attending various family gatherings (stressss), antenatal appointments and scans etc.

My due date as confirmed by the ultrasound scan is the 16th December. So…in 14 weeks or less yours truly will become a mother! How do I feel about this, you ask? Well, to be perfectly honest the reality of having a baby has really set in now and I feel a little overwhelmed at the prospect of having another person’s life in my hands (literally, at first). It seems an impossible task to somehow make sure this baby will have a good life, achieve something with it, and be happy when there are so many unfortunate variables which seem to lurk around every corner, waiting to derail even the brightest young mind.

On the other hand, I look forward to having something solid in my life besides my own wants and needs (although this is not always the way I look upon it – the Aspergers in me grumbles at the thoughts of having to divide my time between interests and a baby – I decided long ago that I was willing to do that but then again we all have our selfish moments). I look forward to teaching this baby what I know, and encouraging his or her own interests as best I can. I have come to the conclusion that, boy or girl, this baby will learn some form of self-defence/martial arts. This idea stems from my own, less than heartening, experience of school life and although I am not saying I want my child to beat up everyone standing in his way, I do think it is important that he knows how to defend himself when the need arises, without having to constantly live in fear of bullies.

I am enthusiastic about this change in our lives, and hope that over the next couple of months I can find more time to write in this blog whilst preparing for the “big day”. Hopefully I may even get in touch with other AS mothers who can relate to these issues and thoughts.

Let me clarify a little on what usually sets off both. Sensory issues are a big part of my life, and always have been. When I was a baby being pushed about in the pram, my mother noticed I was always as she described “rubbing my fingers and hands together in front of my eyes, squinting slightly and making faces”. She wasn’t aware, back then, that this was in fact handflapping, and I still do it to this day (only not so often, and in private unless I really let my guard down). The reason for this was sensory overload – too many noises, bright lights, faces. I couldn’t focus on anything at all because it overwhelmed me completely. In my opinion, sensory overload is like standing in the middle of a huge shopping centre, with your head wrapped in a blanket, and hearing hundreds of voices rising and falling really loudly, but not being able to seperate one sound from another; feeling distant, completely helpless to distinguish who is speaking and who is looking, what you are doing and what you should be doing. Sensory overload is when there is just too much stimulation to process – whether it be physical, emotional, auditory, visual, or all of the above. For me it is normally auditory and visual issues – loud music, scraping cutlery, a sudden loud noise such as dropping a plate or slamming a door, flourescent lights that flicker and buzz constantly. So as I said above, being prepared for these scenarios really helps me get on with in day to day life. Bring earplugs if you are going on a journey (obviously not if you are driving however!) or an mp3 player with your favourite music, and buy suitable eyewear. I have a pair of glasses with reactive lenses so that they tint according to the level of brightness/UV rays, and this really is helpfull in general to lower the ‘neon’ feel to daytime if it’s really quite bright and busy out.

Now, on to Meltdowns. I am still getting to grips with what actually triggers them, much less explain them fully, but I will give it a shot. The most recent meltdown incident for me was last week, when my partner was doing the dishes while I was having a shower, and decided to turn on some music quite loudly. I am as I mentioned very sensitive to loud noise in general, so when I entered the room I immediately knew to stay focused on getting ready to go out rather than the noise. It worked well for a few minutes, but I could still hear it in the other room and so I started inadvertantly to become rather angry. This is what really annoys me about the whole situation though – I actually enjoy this music, it doesn’t matter what is playing just the noise level of it, and without any warning I find myself pacing about like a caged tiger, snapping at my loved one and feeling close to tears. It is impossible to control the waves of anger and upset, so I tend to go somewhere far away from people, somewhere quiet, and wait until I feel ready to cope again. This can take anything from 5 minutes to an hour, depending on the level of stress and length of ‘exposure’. With reference to this incident, I am quite certain there is another very important aspect to what triggered the meltdown – loss of control of my own environment. This revelation has annoyed me, because I refuse to be so control-freakish that he cannot even listen to music without me snapping his head off! And so, I have endeavored to overcome somewhat this particular trigger. I have explained to him very carefully what my thoughts are on the matter and instucted him to simply not speak to me while his music (or indeed any) is playing, at least for a little while. This ensures I don’t snap at him (and feel terrible later), and that I have quiet in my head to deal with the barrage of emotions until they are under control. I wonder if it will make a big difference.