Distilbène - Génocide par Mère Interposée

Il y a quelque temps, six mois à peine, je lisais un entrefilet dans une magazine parents/enfants, avertissant des possibles corrélations entre l'administration d'une hormone de synthèse, le di-ethylstilboestrol (DES), et l'apparition de troubles psychiques chez les enfants nés de femmes ayant reçue la molécule.

Ces troubles du comportement, tels qu'anorexie, boulimie, anxiété, dépression, schizophrénie... s'ajoutent à une liste, déjà bien trop longue, de désordres, de malformations, d'anomalies et de dysfonctions physiques induites par le DES.

Les moteurs de recherche d’Internet se sont mis à tourner à fond sur mon PowerBook. J’ai quinze pages ouvertes à la fois. Je recoupe mes références, je vérifie mes sources. Je ne peux croire tout ce que j’y découvre. Une colère, une angoisse, un dégoût, une tristesse profonde s’emparent de moi face à l’ampleur des dégâts.

Je n’ai pas pleuré, dans l’immédiat, les milliers de femmes que j’ai «rencontrées» au fil de ces pages, d'études universitaires, forums, chats, fils de discussions privées, rapports de procès, d’étude, d’autopsie…

Des nées sans vagin, sans utérus, ou encore avec tout en double, mais rien qui fonctionne, des qui attrapent un cancer, du vagin, du col, du sein, des qui n’auront jamais un enfant et d’autres qui n’auront jamais que des fausses couches…

Désolée pour mon égoïsme, mes Sœurs DES. Mes premières et plus profondes larmes furent pour moi, avec mon anorexie, ma maigreur chronique, mon tératome de naissance, mon col «de petite taille» mes années de stérilité, mes fausses couches à répétition…et pour ma fratrie, meurtrie dans sa chair et dans son esprit, onze enfants abîmés.

Mon frère alcoolique, anxieux, déprimé, qui se suicida pour échapper à tant de mal-être,
Ma sœur avec ses GEU, sa vessie et rein inverses et ses trois garçons autistes...
Cette sœur-ci avec son anorexie, son endométriose qui lui a valu une hystérectomie à 45 ans et son deuxième fils qui est né avec un hypospadias…
Son jumeau, mon frère bipolaire…
Ou encore le benjamin, qui a atteint sa vitesse de croisière à l’alcool et au prozac…

Je ne rentrerais pas dans les détails, c’est de leur vie privée et de leur mal-être qu’il s’agit, suffit-il de dire que mes frères et sœurs présentent un nombre, tellement affolant, de symptômes, désordres, anomalies et malformations, aussi bien au plan psychique qu’au plan physique, suggérant une imprégnation par le di-éthylstilboestrol, qu’il fallait savoir si oui, ou non, maman en avait eu.

Pour en avoir le coeur net, j’ai eu, fin septembre 2006, une discussion téléphonique extrêmement éprouvante, aussi bien pour moi que, j'en suis sure, pour ma mère. Maman reçut, à la fin de chacune de ses 10 grossesses, sa dose de génocide assuré - du Stilbestrol (un des noms commerciaux de la molécule). Elle le recevait pour sécher son lait.

Elle ne pouvait allaiter, d'après les médecins, à cause du forme de ses tétons. Le lait maternisé faisait "rage" et l’on secouait l’épouvantail de la perte de «son joli décolleté» afin de rentabiliser à la fois le marché du lait en poudre et  celui du Distilbène (autre sobriquet).

Dodds & Lawson, dans leur tentative, orgueilleuse comme il se doit, d'égaler La Mère Nature, produisirent une molécule dépassant tout mesure. Beaucoup plus fort que l’original, avec une demi-vie trop élevée, rendant son élimination totale par le corps quasi impossible, le DES fut élaboré à partir de coaltar (goudron de charbon) et, malgré l’évidence des effets néfastes de sa molécule, (certains hommes dans son labo ont eu des seins qui poussaient), Dodds publia sa formule en 1938, dans Nature, afin de coiffer les Nazis au poteau.

Molécule de di-éthylstilboestrol

Effectivement, les laboratoires Schering avaient, eux aussi, un œstrogène synthétique prêt à sévir – l’estradiol.  Soi disant que Dodds aurait soupçonné les Nazis de voulour l'utiliser à des fins de stérilisation forcée, d'où la publication précipitée de sa formule (de magie noire!). Et avec ton DES, Dodds, on a pas été stérilisée de force peut-être?

Dodds l’avait inventé afin de pallier à certains symptômes liés à la ménopause, notamment les bouffées de chaleur et les sueurs nocturnes. Son «cadeau» patriotique à l’humanité, que Dodds savait carcinogène dès 1938, étant libre de brevet, fut copié par des centaines de laboratoires de par le monde pour être ensuite utilisé sur des centaines de millions de femmes dans des dizaines de pays du globe, et ce pour des applications dont son efficacité, sa pertinence et sa dangerosité n’avaient fait l’objet d’aucun test clinique.

A la suite d'une campagne d'intimidation, de pots de vin et de lobbying, orchestrée et soutenue, auprès des representants du FDA (équivalent américain de l'Affsaps), par des labos pharmaceutiques, l'Université d'Harvard met le DES sur le marché en 1948

SANS AUCUN TEST CLINIQUE SERIEUX JUSTIFIANT UNE TELLE AUTORISATION

Dès le début des années 50, les chercheurs commençait à tirer la sonnette d’alarme. Les animaux de laboratoire, injectés avec le DES, développaient des cancers utérins et ovariens. Les mêmes cancers qui commençaient à apparaître chez des jeunes filles dont la mère avait reçu du DES.

Uterus en T

Ces CCAC, (Clear Cell Adenocarcinoma – Adénocarcinome à Cellules Claires) apparaissaient, en général, vers 22 ans, donc dans la période immédiatement poste pubère, même âge qui voit apparaître, chez ces mêmes enfants imprégnés, certains symptômes psychiques, comme des troubles du comportement alimentaire, les premiers échecs de maternité…

Le nombre de cas de cancers chez les «Filles DES» atteignit une telle proportion que les Américains l’ont interdit, pour les femmes enceintes, dès 1971. En Europe, malgré l’évidence clinique et les avertissements sur les dangers, le di-éthylstilboestrol continua à être administré aux femmes enceintes jusqu’en 1978.

Depuis le début, le Stilbos (encore un nom d’emprunt), ayant montré peu d’efficacité pour traiter les indications pour lesquelles on prétend l’avoir inventé - en l’occurrence la ménopause – depuis le début donc, les DES fut prescrit aux femmes enceintes pour prévenir des fausses couches, les nausées matinales et le diabète gestationnelle, pour ces indications aussi, il s’est démontré totalement inefficace.

Afin de rentabiliser tant d’investissement, de fonds et de temps, dans les tests cliniques (j’ironise évidemment), le DES a servi aussi pour tout et son contraire

- arrêter la montée de lait chez les non allaitantes (comme ma maman)
- pilule du lendemain (drôle de destin pour un anti-abortif)
- ralentir la croissance chez les filles «trop grandes»
- traiter des ulcères du duodénum
- traiter des cancers de la prostate
- engraisser les animaux de boucherie
- agréménter des pots d'aliment pour bébé...

 

Cette liste est, malheureusement, loin d’être exhaustive et des «débouchés» nouveaux arrivent sur l’horizon – des projets proposant l’utilisation de la molécule pour émasculer les délinquants sexuels, sont à l’étude.

Parmi les autres troubles, anomalies, malformations, provoqués par une imprégnation, in utero, par le diéthylstilboestrol on trouve:

CCAC (Adénocarcinome à cellules claires)
Cancer du sein
Utérus en T
Utérus en V
Absence d’utérus
Absence de vagin
Utérus de petite taille
Clitoris de petite taille
Absence de clitoris
Anomalies du col utérin (taille, forme)
Mauvais positionnement des organes urogénitaux
Absence des trompes de Fallope
Interruption des trompes de Fallope
Absence d’ovaires
Troubles de la vascularisation utérine
Kystes ovariennes
Endométriose
Spanioménorrhée
Fibromes
Salpingites
Altération des muqueuses vaginales
Puberté précoce
Puberté tardive
Anomalies hormonales
Troubles osseux
Retardement de croissance
Règles abondantes
Règles douloureuses
Absence (inexpliqué) de règles…

La liste est déjà très longue, terrifiante même et ici, toutes les implications physiques et psychiques ne sont pas inscrites… Les troubles psychiques induits par la molécule sont similaires à ceux donnés plus bas pour les Fils DES mais auxquels il faut ajouter des troubles psychiques provoqués par la frustration et le mal-etre liés à l'infertilité.

Les Filles DES souffrent d’une combinaison, un cocktail savant, de ces désordres qui impliquent, quasi inévitablement, ou la stérilité totale et absolue, ou l’hypofertilité, fausses couches à répétition, grossesses extra-utérines…

La majorité des Filles DES doit utiliser les services des PMA (Procréation Médicalement Assistée) afin d’accéder à la maternité et ces pauvres filles, déjà imprégnées d’estrogènes depuis leur stade embryonnaire, se feront injecter et administrer d’autres hormones de synthèse dont l’innocuité totale est encore à prouver. Une grossesse pour une fille DES nécessite, dans beaucoup des cas, l’alitement et le cerclage dès les premières semaines de grossesse.

Moins d’études ont été effectuées sur les effets de l’imprégnation, in utero, chez les garçons, connus aujourd’hui comme «Fils DES», mais des recherches ont déjà mis en évidence les anomalies et désordres suivantes:

Polypes de l’épididyme
Cryptorchidie
Hypoplasie Testiculaire
Hypospadias
Anomalies du Canal Müllérian
Anomalies du sperme
Anomalies de l’appareil urogénital
Psychoses
Toxicomanie/Alcoolisme
Anxiété
Dépression
Suicide…

Des tests effectués par des endocrinologues et neurobiologistes ont démontré que le DES n’est pas éliminé par le métabolisme comme son «homologue» naturel mais est stocké dans les tissus adipeux, ou il s’accumule créant, pour nos «Mères DES», celles qui furent empoisonnées alors enceintes il y à trente, quarante, cinquante ans, des troubles physiques incluant

Cancer du sein
Cancer du vagin
Cancer du col
Pathologies thyroïdiennes
Pathologies Pituitaires
Ostéoporose…

Des études récentes confirment la transmission de troubles physiques et psychiques dans ce qui s’appelle la «3° Génération». C’est-à-dire, les petits-enfants de celle qui a reçu le DES. Parmi les différents troubles notés chez cette 3° Génération:

Hypospadias
Autisme
Cryptorchidie
Hypoplasie testiculaire
CCAC (Testiculaire)
Troubles du comportement

Les premières Filles DES arrivent, aujourd'hui, à l’age de la ménopause. Sous les sollicitations hormonales qu’un tel changement provoque, l’apparition de cancers, notamment du sein, dans une proportion bien plus élevée chez les filles imprégnées in utero, nous remet l’épée de Damoclès au-dessus de la tête. Nos propres filles ont commencé à manifester des troubles menstruels, nos garçons des hypospadias, de l’autisme…

Les laboratoires ont beaucoup de réticence à reconnaître leur responsabilité dans ce qui est devenu l’un des plus gros scandales médicaux, de l’éternité. Dans certains pays il serait pratiquement impossible de demander ni exaction ni réparation.

En Angleterre, par exemple, le system de santé impliquait un «éclatement» de la fabrication et de la distribution de la molécule di-éthylstilboestrol. Il fut fabriqué pratiquement officine par officine. Le nombre de fabricants possibles rend sa traçabilité quasi inexistante. Sans avoir le nom du laboratoire qui fabriquait les pilules que nos mères ont eues, aucun procès ne peut être intenté.

Cela ne m’empêchera pas d’aller jusqu’au bout de la vérité.

Etude de Jeune Femme (terre) - Marie-Odile Gobillard-Soyer

Afin de mieux faire connaître les ravages psychiques créés par le Distilbène, j’ai accepté de faire partie de deux études, sous l’égide de l’association Hhorages. Cette association fut créée par des Mères Distilbène dont les enfants souffrent de troubles psychiques. Les sculptures, qui illustrent certaines de mes poésies sur ce blog, sont l’œuvre de Dr. Marie-Odile Gobillard-Soyer, la Vice Présidente, qui a, elle-même, perdu ses deux enfants, suicidés comme mon grand frère.

Bises

Tantine

Survival

Before blogging a backload of wonderful articles, full of hopes and futures, possibles and projects, I find myself in the obligation of first posting some spit and venom articles.  These should help you understand why I am who I am,  and why I am where I am.

So I'll be talking to you about Stilbestrol, a synthetic hormone that has caused so much physical and psychic damage to so many lives. I'll mention the medical denial and negligence that have brought me to where I am today, after 45 years of struggle to survive and make myself heard otherwise  than as a psychiatric case.  This will bring me to write about my chronic and severe folic acid deficiency (detected three weeks ago!) and my pudendal neuropathy which the doctors have polightly accepted to diagnose after 45 years of debilitating pain.

Hopefully these explanations will make my poetry and other writings more accessible as, for the moment, they are cut off from the context which inspired them and gave them life.

Once I have finished having my moan, we'll be back to a more festive mood.

See you soon

Tantine

Survie

Avant de poster toute une constellation d'articles pleins de vie, de bonheur, de possibles, de projets, je me trouve dans l'obligation - morale? spirituelle? médicale? "journalistique"?... de poster, d'abord, une petite série "sérieux à chier", mais nécessaire si l'on veut comprendre pourquoi je suis qui je suis, comme je suis, où je suis...

Je vais vous parler du distilbène, une hormone synthétique, et les ravages qu'il a perpétré dans tant de vies. Je vais évoquer les négligences médicales qui m'ont meneé là ou je me trouve aujourd'hui, après 45 ans de lutte pour me faire entendre autrement que comme un cas psy. Je vous parlerais, donc, d'acide folique, (dont ma carence sévère, chronique de 45 ans, n’avait été «détectée» qu’il y a deux semaines ) ainsi que d’une neuropathie du nerf «honteux», dont la seule honte est celle des médecins qui ont pris 45 ans pour s’en rendre compte.

Mes poésies, mes écrits, mon venin et mes espoirs vous seront ainsi beaucoup plus accessibles et parlants, coupés comme ils sont, jusqu’aujourd'hui, du contexte qui les inspirent et les insuffle leur vie.

Après ces coup de gueule, place à la fête, et à la vie !

A tout de suite, bises

Tantine

Génocide

On m'a pas finie à la pisse!
On m'a plutôt debuté.
Cette saloperie était dans ma chair
Avant que je sois née.
Avant même ma conception
Elle faisait partie de ma vie
Et me poursuivra après ma mort
A travers ma fille.


"Tête de la Nena", sculpture de Marie-Odile Gobillard-Soyer, en hommage à sa fille, Valérie


Personne ne fut épargné
Parmi mes soeurs et frères
Et le cauchemard n'est pas éloigné,
On est toutes devenues mères.
Mourrir d'un CCAC
Anevrisme ou suicide,
Toute MA famille dénaturée
Ca s'appelle un génocide.



Poésie ................. Sculpture
Tantine ................. Marie-Odile
Fille DES ................. Mère DES

Jean, Fred & Ruth's Story

I was born on the 27th March 1962, in my parents’ double bed, upstairs at 49, Reevy Ave, Buttershaw, W. Yorkshire.

I was two days late!!

The midwife who came to deliver me was a nun. Dad told me he could remember her brown dress and her veil.

I’m the seventh of eleven children, so Mum already mastered the art of childbirth.

She managed to keep the twinnies, born in 1959, right up to the end of the 9th month and had no difficulties for their birth, despite Janet’s breech presentation.

Liz weighed in at 10lbs too, so mum wasn't worried about having me at home.

So, in the beginning, all went well and with one or two “pushes”, my head and shoulders were born. The labour suddenly became much more “laborious” as the bottom half of my body refused to abandon the protection of my mothers womb.

Downstairs in the kitchen Dad is busy with half a dozen bairns. Sue is 5, her sixth birthday is in exactly a week (3rd April); Roger is 4 almost 5, Christopher will be 4 in June, the twinnies, Janet and Jonathan exactly 2 ½ and finally, Elizabeth, 18 months old, all as excited as can be because there’s a new baby on the way.

Susan, Christopher, Mum & Roger


Twins?

Upstairs, Mum can’t understand why her pushing is having no significant results. The midwife goes downstairs to tell my father “Things are not proceeding quite as well as we expected. Please don’t let the children come upstairs.” She left my father, in his own words “biting his fingernails to the elbows”, and went back to my mother’s bedside.

From the waist downwards, my little body was stuck, and the midwife had no “handhold” upon which she could make traction. “We knew she was going to be a big one Jean,” said the midwife, “once the X-ray you had done excluded another set of twinnies”. This same midwife had sent Mum to have an X-Ray done during the second trimester because Mum was so huge and the midwife could feel “two heads”.


Dad said that this midwife was a really gentle, professional and serious woman. She rocked my body gently by the shoulders and eased me out of my mother millimetre by millimetre for over four hours, upstairs, in my parent’s double bed.

She spoke gently to mum during these four hours, and soothed her, and stopped her from panicking and pushing at the wrong moments. Together they managed to get me out from my mother. “I didn’t even bleed. You didn’t even tear me Ruth….”

There's something wrong with your baby

“As soon as I felt you were completely out of me the Midwife covered you with a blanket and put you to one side. She didn’t let me see you, she just said "The reason you were having difficulties Jean is that your little girl has something wrong with her." and she went to the neighbour’s to call the family doctor, Dr. A…

“When Dr A… arrived on the scene he took one look under the blanket, said "Your baby has Spina Bifida, you should get her into an institution". I threw him out of the house saying that no child of mine could be put into a home whatever handicap it might be born with.”

The “lesions” I was born with presented themselves as a very large growth on the region of the coccyx and both buttocks, which was pink, skin colour, and which had an extremely developed circulatory system on the outside. The "lump" was about twice the size of my head at birth.

Your baby sister has a Very Poorly Bottom

Your sister's got a very poorly bottom

For the next five weeks, Mum and Dad continued getting to know me and learned to change my bum using two nappies pinned together, and panicked with the safety pins in case they burst this “lump” which occupied so much space in my nappies. They told my brothers and sisters, “The new baby has got a Very Poorly Bottom, so you have to be very gentle with her. They couldn’t hold me on their knees, it would have been too “dangerous” and in any case, Mum told me I would have been much too heavy for them. I weighed 13 lbs at birth.
(teratoma, obviously, included).

Having already brought 6 babies successfully through the neonatal stage, mum started to realise that I was reacting in exactly the same way as all her other babies had. I wiggled my toes, looked at my hands, started to smile, and did “real poo’s” and did not “dribble” urine as she had understood I should do if I had Spina Bifida. After having remarked these ‘incidents’ several times to Dad, they decided, when I was 5 weeks old, to take me back to see the family doctor. He got an appointment for us with a paediatrician but he made it quite clear that it was only to “humour” my mother and that the only thing the paediatrician could do was to tell them how long I could hold out and the difficulties I would have not being able to walk etc etc…!!!

What she has got is perfectly operable

The paediatrician asked mum and dad loads of questions about me and kept saying he didn’t understand the answers my parents were giving. He even said he must not be asking the right questions. He came and looked at me in the cubicle and came back and said to my parents “It’s no wonder my questions and your answers don’t fit. Your daughter hasn’t got spina bifida. And what she has got is perfectly operable.

Mum say’s that at that particular moment she just felt like nothing else in the world mattered. She had a poorly baby and instead of being “condemned to an early death”, my problem could be operated on and I could get better.

Me, Janet, Susan, David (neighbour) and Dinah

The paediatrician explained to my parents the necessity of blood transfusions during the operation and, unfortunately, the polemic which followed put back the date of the operation quite considerably. My parents felt obliged to ask for a second opinion as their religious beliefs totally excluded transfusion and the possibility for them that I die during the operation and be “excluded from paradise” because I had been transfused was totally unthinkable for my parents.

Great Ormond Street Hospital

My parents were quite poor at the time as my father was capstan lathe operator, Mum was too busy with bringing up 7 infants to have a fulltime job, though she did do cleaning jobs and childminding. They had to cash in several insurances and borrow money from friends and family to pay a journey to London to go and see a specialist in Great Ormond St Hospital. I was now two months old and the teratoma (because finally it had, by now, been correctly diagnosed as an SCT), that was mainly cystic, had grown at the same time as me and had become enormous. My parents continued to care for me at every nappy change and Dad told me they used up around 3 maxi tubes of anti nappy rash cream a week, bright pink, that was “à la mode” during the fifties and sixties.

When mum took me to the mother and baby clinic every week they were astounded by the excellent state of the skin covering the tumour. It was totally intact, no infection whatsoever, no mycosis, no excessive dryness…. (Having seen photos of SCT babies born in the 21st century, I am absolutely astounded and in total admiration for the care my parents took of my bottom during the whole period where one “false move” could have had very unfortunate consequences.

Bradford or London?

At Great Ormond St, the specialist judged that the operation was possible, but obviously riskier, without transfusion, but possible. He proposed to schedule the operation at Great Ormond St, and wrote to our paediatrician to inform him of his opinion on my case. My parents took me back home to think about it.

If I was operated on in London, (we lived in the north of England) my parents would have to find accommodation for the period of my hospitalisation, they would have to have a 24h a day child minder for the 6 infants left at home waiting for us to come back, there would be a long and, for me, uncomfortable journey from Bradford to London and all of that was going to cost money. They had already borrowed quite a large amount that was going to be difficult enough to reimburse just to go for a consultation and even if medical care in England was free at the time, the “hidden” costs rose to such an amount that my parents started to look wider to find financing for my operation.

Before they had to resort to taking out loans they would never have been able to pay back, our family paediatrician contacted them by letter, asking them to allow him to have the honour of performing the operation on me. He accepted implicitly in this missive that he was willing to attempt the operation without transfusion, and later in his surgery he started planning the schedule.

I was now three months old and the skin on my tumour was still as soft as a baby’s bottom! I think it must be at about that age that this photo of Nanna and me was taken.

My nappy is outrageously bulgy. I looks like I have a bustle.

The operation is scheduled, for the middle of the summer, and as I’m going to undergo surgery my weaning is postponed and I stay on an all milk diet until after the operation. But this teratoma on my buttocks is draining quite a lot of my energy and when I’m admitted to hospital for the pre-op period, I am so anaemic that they have to postpone the operation.

A week later they decide that the operation has to be performed immediately. The skin on the tumour had degraded so rapidly and totally during the week without my parent’s total care (and the 3 tubes of Napolene), that they feared a rupture of the teratoma with all it’s terrible consequences.

The operation on my SCT took about three hours (Mum can’t remember exactly) and entailed the removal of most of my left buttock, a muscle in my left leg, several nerves and the reinsertion of my rectum. She says that when I got back from the operating theatre I was really pale and tiny and it made her cry to see me there “all pale and tiny and stitched up”. Daddy has often told me about my eyelashes. He says they looked like two black spiders on my cheeks. I was pale and beautiful and fragile and mended.

A cuddle at last

After the operation I was doing so well and fighting to exist that I was put directly on the paediatric ward, I didn’t even spend 5 minutes in Intensive care. I stayed another week in Bradford Royal Children’s Hospital before going home to be cuddled by all my brothers and sisters for the first time in our new council house in Clayton, where I lived until I was 6 and I learned to live like everyone else, or almost.

Because I’m like everyone else, but I had something special at birth. A something special that is sometimes, even often, difficult to come to terms with. But also a special something which makes you an eternal survivor and an eternal fighter.

Treasure Hunt

Remember those green wellies we got for Xmas? Want to know where they led us? I can't let the cat out of the bag yet, but I can give you a few clues to help you on your way.

Animal




This cute little calf was born on Sunday 7th January just before Our Lass left for school, leaving her with a last little treat for the christmas holidays. He's worth a million, just to look at and he's only part of our treasure.

Vegetable



This heather, of the Erica genus, "A Scopa" in Corsican, is found from one end of Corsica to the other. It's tiny white flowers and leaves compose a herbal tea which is excellent in treating gout (tried and tested on the Big Bear!). It's wood is used for confecionning pipe bowls. Most rural households make a homemade broom from its branches.

Mineral




Dry stone walling is the typical, traditional building method in most parts of Corsica. Houses, garden walls, outbuildings, animal shelters... The stones are held together by the hardening of the dried soil and the pebbles which are used to wedge the stones into place. This wall seems to be in need of a facelift! The orange ribbon was left there by Father Christmas!

Have you guessed what the treasue is yet?

Chasse au Trésor - Quelques Indices

Dans l'impossibilité, pour l'instant, de divulguer tout de ce merveilleux butin, je vous laisse quelques indices supplementaires:

Animale?



Cusi beddu! Qu'il est beau! C'est déjà tout un trèsor, rien que de pouvoir le regarder. Mais ce petit veau, né dimanche soir n'est pas la totalité de notre bonheur!

Végétale?



Cette très jolie plante buissonnante s'appelle A Murza in lingua Cosrsa. Son odeur envoutant, chaud et épicé, embaume le maquis Corse. C'est un trésor médicinal qui résorbe coupures et contusions. Les bergers traditionnels l'utilisent également pour réduire des petites fractures. Son lien avec le petit veau? Sa mère s'appelle Murza.

Minérale?




Le Cruzinu coule dans la vallée la plus étroite de la Corse. Il prend sa source à Bocca d'Oreccia et déscend jusqu'à la mer en partageant la fin de son parcours avec le Liamone, pour se jeter dans la Méditerrranée vers le village de Sagone. Il apporte dans la vallée les fontes de neige et dépose les bienfaits de son limon le long de ses berges. Son lien avec notre histoire? Les bottes en caoutchouc vertes

A Star is Born

Marnie Dunnill was born on the 6th of December 2006 at 34 weeks. Only minutes after her birth she underwent a five hour surgery to remove a very large (1kg) SCT. The biopsies showed her Sacrococcygeal Teratoma to be benign and there is very little chance of what is known as a "recurrence", as Marnie's coccyx was removed during the operation in order to avoid the tumour regrowing.



Marnie amazed the hospital staff by her immense fighting spirit and only six days later, little Marnie was off pain killers, her drip feeds were removed and her very proud and very relieved Mum,
Karen, was able to breastfeed her for the very first time.

Marnie recovered so quickly from her operation that she was able to go home, only three weeks after her birth, with her big sister, Libby, and her Mum and Dad, Paul, on the 30th December, just in time to celebrate the most wonderful of New Years.

The surgeons who helped Marnie perform her miracle created her a beautiful star-shaped scar and Marnie's magic created this poem:

Marnie’s First Christmas

It was the sixth of December,
If I remember,
That little Marnie was born.

Karen had to have stitches,
So now it itches,
Where her tummy was shorn!

Now Marnie, that blighter,
She’s a real little fighter
And despite the lump on her bum,

Decided to pose
For several photos,
So they could be shown to her Mum.

This large teratoma
(This is no misnomer)
Took five hours to be taken away

And our little fighter,
Now one kilo lighter,
In Intensive Care had to stay.

Her Mum and Dad
Are both very glad
That Marnie’s recovering quick

Cos it hadn’t been fun
With the bun in her tum
Seeing as the baby was sick.

She’s now six days old
Outside its quite cold,
And Christmas is not very far,

Our Angels have seen
This “Nativity Scene”
And have marked her birth with a star.

Devine ce qu'on a eu pour Noel?

Bof! Pas tout à fait un MP3. Bien moins rapide qu'un Booster. Ca ne ressemble même pas a des Converses. Le matin de Noël ma Fifille avait la mine un peu defait en les voyant, les bottes en caoutchouc vertes. Y a même eu des larmes. De joie! Il y avait aussi un énigme avec les bottes. On est partie à la chasse au trésor.

Dans quelque temps vous saurez quel trésor elle a déniché.

Guess What We Got For Xmas

Not quite as flashy as an MP3 player, considerably slower than a Vespa, not quite as sexy and à la mode as a pair of stilletto heels, this pair of green wellies brought Our Lass to tears on Christmas morning. I should say tears of joy. The wellies were part of a treasure hunt.

The riddle that went with the wellies was in French, and led us all to the river Cruzinu and the water's edge. You'll soon know why.

In't that just cute?

Our Lass and I took some photos of the little calf this morning. He kept running off and hiding in the bushes, he must be camera shy! It got easier when he found his mum, Camomile.

He's suckling well but keeps changing teats every two minutes. I'm sure he'll get the hang of it quite quickly. I already heard him do the feablest "moo", and this morning he tried to nibble a bit of hay.

He hasn't got a name yet, so suggest something if you like.

See you soon
Tantine

Oh! Qu'il est mignon!

Ca y est, notre Fifille est arrivée d'Ajaccio vendredi soir, alors samedi matin elle a vu le bébé veau pour la première fois.
Nous n'avons pu résister à le prendre en photo. Il se cache beaucoup, alors c'était un peu difficile avant qu'il retrouve Camomile, sa mère.


Il tete bien déjà. Il change de tétine tous les deux minutes, je pense qu'il ne maîtrise pas tout à fait le système, mais il n'a que quatre jours et il est vraiment vif, donc je ne m'inquiète pas du tout.

Je l'ai même entendu meugler aujourd'hui. C'est un tout petit bruit!

Il n'a pas encore de nom, donc je suis ouverte aux suggestions.

A bientôt

Tantine

Jennifer Gwen is an Angel

Jennifer Gwen is the first Angel I met on the Teratoma Support Forum. Like many SCT Angels, Jennifer Gwen lost her fight against her tumour and she passed away in her mummy's tummy, this autumn, on the 11th October. Before leaving, she whispered a message in my heart.

The Rainbow Angel

Jennifer Gwen is an Angel
Who came down from above,
Nestled herself inside you
To teach you how to love.

Jennifer Gwen is an Angel
Who filled your hearts with hope
And despite all the diagnoses
Taught you how to cope.

Jennifer Gwen is an Angel
But Angels can't stay long
And she knew that the road would be difficult
So she helped you become strong

Jennifer Gwen is an Angel
As such, her stay was short.
Just enough to share with you
Those beautiful things she taught.

Jennifer Gwen is an Angel
And Angels cannot die
That is why Jennifer Gwen
Must return to the clouds on high.


My kind thoughts to Keryn and Adrian, mum and dad to their Rainbow Angel, in Australia.

SCT - Angels and Miracles

SCT is the usual abbreviation for a Sacrococcygeal Teratoma. These very rare tumeurs happen in a ratio of 1:35,000 to 1:70,000 live births.

I happen to be one of those rare specimens called an SCT Survivor. Up till October of this year I never knew that anyone else in the world had ever had one. I never dreamed I would find people who could understand the different difficulties and problems induced by it. I thought I would have to go this one all alone.

Jen's Teratoma Support site and the Teratoma Foundation forum have been such a revelation to me, and have helped me enormously over the last two months, and for once in my life I find that I can be really, truly, helpful. Expectant couples who have had their unborn baby diagnosed with an SCT or one of the other, even rarer, forms of teratoma find precious information and very caring psychological support.

I hope that my presence on the SCT Forum, still alive and kicking, almost 45 years after having gone through the same experience, albeit "from the other side", helps them maintain their hope in a situation where the initial prognostics are often very bleak.

The majority of SCT babies are born by planned premature cesarian deliveries, and undergo major surgery only hours or days after birth. Some have even been operated on 'in utero'. Some babies do not manage to overcome their tumeur. These babies become SCT Angels that leave their strength and their fighting spirit to our small, but growing community.

The strength and fighting spirit necessary for a baby born at 33 weeks, and weighing less than 2 kilos, to undergo a 9 hour surgical intervention. The miracle of life triomphing against such terrible odds.

My Angels and Miracles poems relate these magnificent Stories

An Early Christmas Present

Camomile gave us an early Christmas present, by having her calf this morning. When I found her hidden in the bushes this morning, the calf was still sticky. I've already seen him suckling. You'll have to wait for the photos though, as the digicam is in Ajaccio until the weekend.

Il est né le divin enfant

Je suis allée donner du foin au vaches ce matin et Camomile, que voici, n'était pas au rendez-vous. Et pour raison! Son petit veau venait de naître. Il était encore tout mouillé. Maman et bébé se portent bien. Pas de photo du petit encore, vu que l'appareil est à Ajaccio jusqu'au weekend.

Distilbène

Dis, Stilbène, qu'as tu fait à ma vie?
Quarante ans d'angoisses, quarante ans d'abimes.

Dis, Stilbène, qu'as tu fait à mon corps?
Quarante ans affamée, quarante ans de morts.

Dis, Stilbène, qu'as tu fait à mes enfants?
Vingt ans de grossesses, vingt ans d'avortements.



"Tête de la Nena" - Marie-Odile Gobillard-Soyer, en hommage à sa fille Valérie.

Dis, Stilbène qu'as tu fait à ma fratrie?
Cinquante ans de souffrances, cinquante ans de cris.

Dis, Stilbène, qu'as tu fait à toutes ces femmes?
Soixante ans de vies gachées, soixante ans de drames.

Dis, Stilbène, quand vas tu cesser?
Soixante ans de poison sans exprimer des regrets.

Dis, Stilbène, qu'as tu fait avec l'argent?
Soixante ans de bénéfices, sur le dos des innocents.


Poesie.................Sculpture par
Tantine................Marie-Odile
Fille DES..............Mère DES

Stilbestrol

They gave my mum a molecule
“To dry your milk” they said.
They gave it too, to other mums
Because their womb had bled.

And still the beast rolled in her veins
And passed into her son.
Born with a split epiglottis,
Of an aneurism he is gone.

They gave my mum a molecule
After he was born.
They gave it to sell more baby milk
And another life was torn.

And still the beast rolled in her veins
And passed into the next.
He was born for alcohol
And took his own life, vexed.

They gave my mum a molecule
That had never been through tests.
They gave it too, to other mums
And now they lose their breasts.

And still the beast rolled in her veins
And passed into the twins.
One born for anorexia
The other believes he’s a sin.

They gave my mum a molecule
Though the test mice had all died.
They gave it too, to other mums
And our organs are shriveled inside.

And still the beast rolled in her veins
And passed into her daughter.
She has had autistic boys,
So where will end this slaughter?

They gave my mum a molecule
That the body could not shed.
They gave it too, to other mums
And of cancers they are dead.

And still the beast rolled in her veins
And it became my turn.
Born with a teratoma,
In hell I’ve sought to burn.

They gave my mum a molecule
“In very small proportions”.
They gave it too, to others as
A chemical abortion.

And still the beast rolled in her veins
Another sister got her share.
A hysterectomy at thirty-five.
It really is not fair.

They gave my mum a molecule
With a quadruple half life.
They gave it too, to other mums
And now we live in strife.

And still the beast rolled in her veins
Into another child it crept.
My sister lost her babies
And never more has slept.

They gave my mum a molecule
Though the dangers had been proved.
They gave it too, to other mums
Now we have our breasts removed.

And still the beast rolled in her veins
Into her last girl child.
Lost to hallucinations,
Secret terrors in her mind.

They gave my mum a molecule
Between each pregnancy.
It would seem that this suffice
To wreck a family.

And still the beast rolled in her veins
And entered my little brother
Who’s on alcohol and Prozac.
She didn’t have another.

They gave my mum a molecule.
Now they refuse to take the blame
For this poison distributed with
So many different names.

And still the beast rolls in our veins:
Her children’s children show
All the signs and symptoms of
Iatrogens in utero

They gave my mum a molecule
All it’s poison now unfurls
They gave it too, in Australia,
To stunt the growth of girls.

And still the beast rolls in their veins
And her children’s children’s
Children?


Tantine
DES Daughter

My blog is almost ready

As you can see, I've managed to put some photos on here. Haven't worked out for my profile photo yet. So the one under
here will have to do for now.

Oof! Les photos

Je pense que j'ai touvé deja pour des photos, on verra bien, après j'aurais un truc tout flashy.

Anglais or French

I've realised I can separate my messages into English and French, so this is going to be easier than I thought at first. I have to download a "thingy" for my photos though, and with my 52k pedal driven modem this is going to be a bit long. See you. Tantine

English ou Français?

Je pense que j'ai trouvé une solution pour faciliter la lecture de mon blog. Je vais faire des libellés en français et en anglais, comme ça on devrait s'en sortir un peu mieux. Ah, oui, je voulais dire, j'ai aussi trouvé pour les photos. Je dois télécharger un machin pour publier mes images. Compte tenu de la vitesse de mon modem (52k), on est pas encore arrivée! Peut-être des photos de Noël pour Pâques donc. Wait and see!

Bises

Tantine

Blog in Construction

J'ai décidé de recommencer mon 67890° blog, je ne me rappelle jamais comment on fait, je ne me rappelle pas de leurs adresses....

This is my trillionth blog, can't get the hang of them, howeverhard I try.

Je suis beaucoup plus motivée cette fois-ci, puisqu'il y a une copine qui m'a proposé un coup de main. Quand j'aurais compris comment on fait je vous file l'adresse de son blog, c'est très jolie a regarder, on s'y sent bien.

I've found someone to help me get my blog act together and once I've mastered this a little more, I'll put her blog link on here. It's very soothing to browse through.

Pas de photos pour l'instant parce que je n'ai pas encore compris cela non plus! Décidément, Au Secours M!

I haven't sussed out how to get my photos onto the blog either, I really do need M's Heeeeeeeeelp!

Maybe it's cos I'm on a Mac?

Ne me dit pas que ça marche pas sur Mac, après tout ce travail que j'ai déjà fait là!

T'as vu l'heure? Et le Grand'Ours doit se lever à 6h! Oops! A demain

You seen what time it is? The Big Bear's got work tomorrow, so I'd better buzz off.

See you!
Bises

Tantine