You are not alone…..(For Christine, with love)

As we pulled into the car park, I remember seeing lots of other people.  Our chalet was ok.  It came complete with an ashtray by the side of the toilet…… and it was while I stood looking at it like it was some sort of relic that I heard a noise.  It got louder and louder and LOUDER, I realised it was a plane (those of you that know me will appreciate my hysteria regarding planes landing on my head…) so I dropped to the floor like a lunatic.

"We're on the end of a runway Dom, it's fine." (Craig calls me Dom)
FINE? No it wasn't fine!  We were stuck in Tenko, there was an ashtray in the toilet and now we were about to get flattened every 30 minutes by the latest EasyJet plane.

Making our way over to where the Conference was being held, I can remember the feeling of dread rising up from my stomach so violently I thought I would vomit.  The girls however thought it was so exciting.  On entering the building, we were greeted by a smiling lady on reception who gave us name badges, and told us that the Welcome Meeting was already taking place and we were shown into a large room.

The door opened and I remember seeing a wall of beautiful teenage girls.  Each one an individual but with similar facial features as Meg.  My eyes grew wide with acknowledgement that she had in fact definitely got this syndrome, it was a moment of pure clarity.

I looked around the room in amazement.  Realisation pouring through both Craig and I, that this was it.  Grief consumed me to the point of numbness, it took all my strength to hold it together. I remember very little details of the meeting,  other than an award that was being given out to one of the teenagers for bravery regarding her heart surgery complications.

Later, we were separated into 'Mums and Ladies with Turners'  and a separate session for the Dads (held in the bar…..) for a 'Heart to Heart' session.  I walked blindly on my own over to the room.  People were getting tea and coffee before they went in. Big, fat, hot tears were beginning to build up, and the more I wiped them away the more they came splashing on my cheeks.   Turning away from everybody, I faced a large plant in the corner of the reception area, I couldn't hold it in anymore.  Huge sobs engulfed my chest I - was frozen to the floor, and then another first time mummy joined me and her name was Christine.  We cried together thinking that nobody would see us, when of course they could, and we were gently coaxed into the room.

Sitting in a large circle it was obvious we were the newbies.  Mascara pouring down our faces and snivelling like we had just come out of a CS gas attack, we introduced ourselves.  How could I tell them my fears and worries without frustration and raw indignant fury about the whole unjust of it all?  We needn't have worried when about five of the older ladies with Turners, who obviously hadn't been given any growth hormone, hopped off their chairs came over to us and hugged us with all the love in the world and said, "We wish we'd of had the treatment and support your girls will get.  And we wish we'd had mummies like you."

Christine and I were glued together from then, her gorgeous daughter was a delight.  We learnt a lot that weekend, (mainly that we didn't like the food at Pontins and that the sausages looked like a body part and the bendy toast left a lot to be desired) other families embraced us and welcomed us into the Turner fold with open arms and nonjudgemental outlooks.  These people knew exactly how we felt.  The grieving process had started.

Coming away from our first Conference I was still heavy in my heart, but I had a different perspective. It was going to be okay.