My Daughter’s Fight with a rare autoimmune disease.

Brambles - a small space for prickly speculation

My daughter is allergic to and cannot absorb iron, hence her iron levels are constantly low and she is constantly fighting severe anaemia and all the resulting side effects. This is a condition that effects .02 percent of people and very little is known about it. The immunologic basis of allergic hypersensitivity to iron agents is not known. Last year she was given an iron infusion, which sent her onto anaphylaxis, even with the use of  large doses of antihistamines.

The doctors can’t get to the bottom of her health problems and have said she cannot have another iron infusion unless she is near death as the risks associated with infusion are too high, the anaphylaxis may cause her heart to stop. So, iron agents will only be used if the benefits are clearly judged to outweigh the potential risks.

If she were younger, I would know how to be…

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Memory – William Wordsworth

A pen–to register; a key– That winds through secret wards

Are well assigned to Memory

By allegoric Bards.
As aptly, also, might be given

A Pencil to her hand;

That, softening objects, sometimes even

Outstrips the heart’s demand;
That smooths foregone distress, the lines

Of lingering care subdues,

Long-vanished happiness refines,

And clothes in brighter hues;
Yet, like a tool of Fancy, works

Those Spectres to dilate

That startle Conscience, as she lurks

Within her lonely seat.
Oh! that our lives, which flee so fast,

In purity were such,

That not an image of the past

Should fear that pencil’s touch!
Retirement then might hourly look

Upon a soothing scene,

Age steal to his allotted nook

Contented and serene;
With heart as calm as lakes that sleep,

In frosty moonlight glistening;

Or mountain rivers, where they creep

Along a channel smooth and deep,

To their own far-off murmurs listening.
by William Wordsworth