We have now had a spring MOT so it is with great pleasure that I announce the result in the epic Battle of Pinkie vs Winter… (enter drum roll here), and this year the winner is PINKIE.
The key to our success has been food. As hard as it has been for Pinkie, she stuck with it and has eaten her way through to spring. She has baked, tasted and sampled. She has drawn up menus and created dishes only a parent would share. She has eaten when there has been no more space in the inn. Don’t get me wrong, she hasn’t gluttoned herself to sickness, but as a person who generally isn’t a big eater she has eaten that last mouthful, and the results speak for themselves. On Thursday at our spring MOT, we were all surprised to see how much her body weight had increased especially as she doesn’t look any different, just perfectly healthy, like summer Pinkie. Maybe its because she usually looks like a wisp at this time of year, like a paper dolly that would blow away on a light breeze.
We have taken precautions and modified our movements to avoid unnecessary risk. Pinkie is a strong swimmer for her age but has never particularly enjoyed swimming lessons so this winter I put her lessons on hold. I know there is little evidence that getting wet and cold in winter does any harm and that the benefit from the exercise counteracts the risk, but as she doesn’t like it I figured a break from the damp environment of the changing room wouldn’t be a bad thing. We have heard nothing from our nemesis Pseudomonas (shower mould), not even a Christmas card.
The week before half term, at school there were two vicious lurgys going round - one was flu like, and the other was a sickness bug. Pinkie’s class mates were dropping like flies, some were fine in the morning and green by lunchtime - I was kacking it I can tell you. After Brownies on the Thursday evening Pinkie was shattered and weepy, she was teetering on the edge of wispness. I was thinking that defeat was on the cards and here was our slippery slope. In the morning Pinkie was much brighter but my Spidey-senses were prickled.
“You are staying here today Pinkie,” I said as I dialled the school. In my gut I knew that with all the best will in the world there was no way of keeping her safe in school, the illness was too rife.
A few days later we went to the English seaside and blasted fresh salt water air through our bodies while doing star jumps and active physio on the beach, even Puppy-Face joined in. Which brings me seamlessly onto physio.
We have increased our physio sessions which has not been a joyful thing for Pinkie who doesn’t love it at the best of times. In the past we have been reactive and only increased when the nasty lung crackle demanded. When we embarked on our battle I got Pinkie to go with me on it just for the winter season, and if it didn’t help no harm would have been done. We have continued with our usual device based physio (Aerobika), but have also squeezed in some fun sessions of wheel barrow racing around downstairs, star jumps, racing Puppy-Face while out walking him, jumping jacks, french elastic, basically anything that would shift gank that might be hiding in a small capillary, a much more proactive approach that seems to have paid off. Pinkie's lung function this week was at its all time highest.
Keeping her chest clear is of upmost importance all year, but as each month on the calendar past our greatest reward grew nearer. We took a family ski holiday. The sun shone every day and the snow was perfect, there were zero excuses for not completing a six hour physio session (ski) each day. The apartment was at 1600ft above sea level so even climbing the stairs was a workout, the air was so clear that it made my CF Mummy heart sing. And then there she was, little Pinkie learning to ski while screaming with laughter and having a ball with her new pals in ski school. It was enough to overload my memory bank such was the quantity of snippets I was filing away for darker days to come.
So now were are in spring and I dare to declare that Pinkie didn’t just beat winter, she kicked its arse.