Tag: story

  • This Cleaning Trend Is Getting Ridiculous

    You all want immaculate homes. You want to cover your house in bleach & you want the perfect grey and white show home. I get it, I really do. But this ‘trend’ has become ridiculous. People aren’t sitting with their children at dinner time because they need to wash the pots and pans straight away. Children aren’t playing with play dough because god forbid the cleaning up. The toys are all hidden away in their bedrooms incase you have a visitor. Bed time stories are non existent because the floor won’t mop itself.

    Slow down mummas.

    Soon enough your children will all be grown up, they’ll fly the nest and you’ll be sat alone in your perfectly tidy home wishing for one more day of chaos.

    It’s not just your home, it’s theirs too. I won’t turn my home into an instagram worthy fragile building. I’ll keep tripping over lego, I’ll laugh whenever the children have more chocolate biscuit around their mouths than in it. I will put the tub of ‘pink stuff’ down and I’ll spend my last £2 buying them an ice cream on the beach. You can moan about the state of my home. You can move that pile of toys of the sofa before you take a seat. But I’d rather spend time with my child than make my house immaculate to please you. Love us for who we are 💜

    Your house is a building, that’s all it is. Your home is the heart beats that fill the walls. It’s the laughter as your children hose down their sandy toes. It’s the squeals of excitement as you do the funny voices in the bedtime story.

    Sing to them Mummas. Sing until your throat is sore. Read that story over and over until the pages turn crisp. Pick them up, even if it is the 10th time today, one day they won’t ask anymore.

    Your child’s fondest memories won’t be watching you on your hands and knees scrubbing the floor. You have forever to tidy up. Your children will never be as young as they are today.

    If you’re one of the lucky ones who will wake up tomorrow morning, appreciate it. If you woke up tomorrow and all the people you love were gone, your house would look the same, your home would never feel the same again ✨

    – Niamh Hocking

     

  • Vaginal Breech Birth Story

    🌻vαgínαl вrєєch вírth stσrч🌻

    “I had a big fear of giving birth again after my traumatic experience with the birth of my son.

    I was determined this time around to better that experience and take the trauma and fear of birth out of it.

    I found out at 32 weeks that my daughter was Frank Breech, with that came a lot of anxiety and fear as I automatically thought I’d have to have a cesarean.

    I was so unsure and had a lot of mixed emotions about having a breech baby. As society has made it that it’s not normal having a breech baby and people will tell you it results in a cesarean.

    I had a failed ECV and i was left feeling deflated and I felt all the emotions and fear of my sons birth coming back.

    I was thankful enough to have myself an amazing student midwife who was equipped with so much knowledge and understanding of a breech birth, she reassured me that it was another variation of “normal” and that I could do it! So with that she gave me all the information I needed and I did my research.

    After doing my research and empowering myself I made the decision to try a VBB.

    Let me tell you that I had the most amazing empowering breech birth!

    My birth was completely hands off with no intervention. It is another form of normal and it doesn’t end in a cesarean.

    Vaginal Breech Birth Story
    Vaginal Breech Birth Story

    Our bodies and babies are amazing working together and knowing exactly what to do.

    I’m super grateful that I had an amazing student midwife and hospital who supported a VBB and also an amazing birth team.

    Breech is another normal way to birth your baby! Breech is empowering! I will forever be changed by my daughters birth. The fear and anxiety I once had about birth is gone!”

    Story told by Momma: @laalaa7 on IG

  • I Wish Mummy Didn’t Kill Me

    I wish mummy didn’t kill me!

    This is a story about a young boy with a huge heart. And it’s a story that everyone should read and share.
    The story is about James, but ultimately, it isn’t about him. It is, about millions of other children like James, living the same nightmare across the entire world today.

    This story of James is fictional, its message hit me right in the heart . We must not ignore this issue or message.

    We must not forget James.
    My name is James and I am  6-years-old. I love my mummy and daddy, but I’m also very scared of them. They often hit me and I don’t understand or know why.

    This morning I woke up and went to school. I am good learning and do as I’m told and my teacher likes me.

    I like all my classmates, too, but I have no friends. That’s why I usually stay indoors during breaks. Nobody wants to play with me. I tried to make friends with the other children, but they said No and also said I was disgusting.

    They laugh at me because I wear the same worn-out jeans, t-shirt and torn shoes every day.

    One day after school I went into the coat room and stole a jacket that was hanging there for a long time, nobody seemed to be missing it. Then I went home alone through the snowstorm. I was shivering with cold and it was hard to walk against the strong wind. Suddenly someone pushed me forward, I fell down in the snow and someone pressed my face into it. Then they said:

    “No one likes you. Idiot!”

    They kicked me in my back and in my stomach, then they ran away and left me in the cold snow.

    I cried. Not because I was cold or injured, I cried because I did not have a single friend, even though I liked everyone else.

    As soon as I got home, my mummy ran over and grabbed me by the hair.

    “Where have you been? Why are you so wet and dirty? Bloody kid, no dinner for you, go to your room and stay there.”

    I did as my mummy told me, I went into my room and did not get out until the next day, although I was very hungry and freezing cold.

    My school work got worse and worse, and every time daddy was informed, he hit me hard. Once he hit me so hard that I could not move my index finger, I never got back the movement in my index finger and all the children laughed at me for it.

    Time went by and one day I got a lot of pain in my chest.

    Mummy and daddy did not care I was hurt. In the evening I lay in my bed and I only wanted one thing. I wish I would not hurt more, because I did not want to annoy Mummy and Daddy. I love them so much, I really do.

    The next day at school we were told to paint our biggest dream. The other children painted cars, rockets and nice dolls. I did not.

    Not because I don’t like those things, but because what I wished for most of all was a loving mummy and daddy. So I painted a family. One mummy, one daddy and their son. They played games and everyone was happy. As I painted, I cried silently. I would love to have a mummy and daddy who loved me.

    When it was my turn to show  my painting for the class, everyone laughed at me.

    I stood in front of the class and explained:

    “My biggest dream is a loving family”.

    The laughs got louder. I began to cry and said,

    “Please don’t laugh at me, this is my biggest dream! You can hit me, you can hate me, but I beg you, please don’t laugh at me.

     want parents like you have, that hug and laugh with me, who pick me up after school and are happy to see me. I know I’m ugly and weak, I know I have a crooked finger, but please don’t laugh at me.”

    The teacher tried to wipe my tears, I think some children understood me, but many continued to laugh.

    One day when I got a test back, I immediately saw that I had a bad result. I knew my mummy would be very upset.

    I was afraid to go home, but I did not know where else I would go. I slowly walked home, but I did not want to arrive. My mummy became furious.

    She grabbed me and threw me on the floor, I hit my leg hard on a chair.

    Then she hit me in my head twice. I just lay there, I could not get up. It really hurt. But mummy just left me there on the floor.

    When she came back she told me to clean up the mess, otherwise when Daddy came home he would really beat me.

    I begged Mummy not to say anything to him, but when I looked up, I saw that he was already in the doorway.

    When Mummy told him about the test, he pulled me up from the floor, he shook me and hit my face.

    I don’t remember anything after this. I woke up in the hospital. I looked at my hand, I could not touch any of my five fingers. I looked out the window and cried.

    Outside, I saw parents playing with their children, throwing balls together and hugging.

    Do you know why I cried?

    I don’t know how a hug from my mom feels like. My parents just beat me, but I love them anyway. I’ve always done my best, I’ve been good at school, but they do not like me still.

    One day I spilled some of my water, then they hit me again.

    Suddenly I got pain in my chest again. I told my mummy – but she did not care. After a while, I had to go to the hospital again, no one came and saw me.

    The doctor said that mum and dad would probably come the next day, but they did not. I waited and waited, but nobody came. I love my parents anyway.

    Two days later, James died of his injuries. In his hand the doctors found a letter that he had not written clearly.

    “Dear mummy and daddy, I’m terrified because I’m ugly, disgusting and stupid. I’m sorry because you can not love me.

    I never wanted to annoy you. All I wanted was to get a hug and hug from mummy, and hear that you loved me once. Daddy I just wanted you to play with me, hold my hand for a walk or sing for me.

    I know I’m a shame for you. I will never be those things.“

    Then James’s little heart stopped.

    This story was originally written in Russian. I’m not sure if it’s been true, but I think that matters little. It’s incredibly important anyway!

    All children are entitled to be loved. Still child abuse happens every second, every minute, every hour and every day. In all countries, all cities and all schools.

    A child’s home should be free from violence and a safe place. Children need love, tenderness and closeness, and a hug can sometimes be worth a lot more than you could ever imagine.

    Please share this story with all your friends on Facebook to remind everyone that no child should ever feel hurt or unloved.

    If you suspect a child is being abuse don’t hesitate in reporting it: https://www.gov.uk/report-child-abuse

  • The Police Tried To Save Me From My Mini Abuser

    Police officer: Hi madam, we called around because we were concerned you’ve had a break-in.. are you ok?

    Me: Yes, I’m fine?

    Officer: it’s just that there’s debris all over the front lawn and a child’s bike in your hedge…

    Me: yes officer..

    Officer: and so we looked in through your windows and the house has clearly been turned over, every cupboard and drawer had been ransacked.. it’s carnage..

    Me:

    Officer: and there’s blood on your carpets.

    Me: it’s ketchup.

    Officer: are you sure Ma’am? Only we noticed a lot of fingerprints and smears on your patio windows, and what looks like a full face print..there’s potentially a lot of DNA evidence there..

    Me: it’s ok, really

    Officer: but there’s water overflowing from your taps and the sink appears to have been deliberately blocked with a shoe..

    Me: *blinks*

    Officer: We noticed you laying on the floor in your hallway and so we listened through the letter box, and could hear you begging for a swift death, and asking for the perpetrator to stop hitting you with the vacuum hose.. are you under duress? Please blink to signal you need help..

    Me: I HAVE A TODDLER!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

    Credit https://www.facebook.com/pottymouthmumma/

     

  • Horrific Care Home Abuse Please Help Us Get Justice

    The police have confirmed we are entitled to share our story about Mona Cliffe Care Home, Littleborough and the main abuser Lesley Hainsworth. I will warn you, this may make you cry. No one living with dementia, or vulnerable in anyway, should have to go through this.

    Please help us with our call to action and share this story far and WIDE. Thank you.

    You can help by signing the petition, here: https://petition.parliament.uk/petitions/258498/sponsors/new?token=OktxwPDveFuoiJguB1QP

    “Help me! Help! Help! Help! Help! Help!” he cried over and over again, shouting to try and raise the alarm. “Shut up you idiot! Shut up!” was the only response he got as he was roughly assaulted, and pressure placed on the existing sore.

    “Get your legs in bed! Get your legs in bed! If you don’t, I’ll take you downstairs and leave you alone in a dark room. Now get your legs in bed!” The woman eventually storms out the room shouting “Oh bog off” leaving him sat alone in the dark.

    Alone in the dark, he calls out for help “Freda, Fredaaaaaa!” No response. The man takes off his wet underwear, grabs a towel and attempts to clean himself. Eventually someone arrives “Get your legs back in bed!” The man listens and gets his legs back into his wet bed.

    A few moments later he is in such discomfort he gets back out of bed. Another person enters the room and asks if he wants to get up. “Let’s get this wet t-shirt off you” she says, and carefully puts a clean one on. No washing or bathing involved. The woman asks what happened when he was on the carpet and hurt his back. He responds,” She pushed me”. The woman says, “no one here would you push you”. He responds, “You weren’t here when it happened”. As she gets him ready to take him downstairs for breakfast, he says he needs the toilet, the woman tells him to urinate where he is “you won’t leak, you have a pad on”.

    Its 7pm, the man is weary, he is distressed, he is cold and can’t get warm, sat alone in a room with no heating as the snow falls outside. He has no drink, no means to call for help, and he cries when his granddaughter walks in “I need to go to hospital”. His granddaughter touches his hot face, his head hangs low, he brings his cold hands and little blanket up to his chin trying to get warm. He shivers. His granddaughter asks if he needs a drink? “Yes please”. She seeks out help and a drink and asks for the GP to be called, she is worried her Grandfather may be displaying signs of wound infection. The carer expresses concerns that the man may have had a TIA. She refuses to turn the heating on, saying “I don’t do heating”.

    That night the GP arrives at 10pm. He enters the bedroom of the man, with the same woman who shouted at him the previous night. She suggests that the GP was only called to appease family and they have no concerns. The GP checks temperature and pulse and leaves. He doesn’t check the red raw sore covering half of the mans back because the woman tells him its already been checked.

    The man wakes, mutters his bed is wet through and begins calling for support. Forty minutes later the woman arrives. Does she slap him? We’re not quite sure. Her arm is just off the edge of the video footage. The man says he doesn’t want her there. “You can lay in pee for all I care” is the response. She instructs him to move, her colleague suggests using the proper equipment, the woman threatens the man “I’ll get the hoist, shall I?” Eventually he is able to make his unresponsive body, do as he is being asked. “It’s hurting me” he says. “You will hurt!” She responds, “I’m not pissing about anymore, everyone’s too andy pandy with you. Ridiculous!” and she instructs the other woman to ensure the head of his bed is put down “he’s not getting up again!” and they leave him alone in the dark, restrained, once more.

    One hour later he begins to try and get up, but it is a huge struggle because of the position the bed is now in. The restraint of the bed however is not enough to stop him and eventually he manages to sit up. This time the alarm does not sound. He calls for help, but again, there is no response. He uses all of his energy to muster up the courage and coordination to stand, and he stumbles to his door, again calling for help. No response. He falls into his chair, and then sees his commode. He tries to get to his bed, nearly cracking his head against the wall as he crash-lands backwards onto his mattress. Recovering he leans towards the commode, but he cannot open it. Eventually he gives up. He attempts to get himself dressed, spending 20 minutes trying to get his socks on, both socks end up on the same foot.

    After 40 minutes a woman eventually enters the room. “What are you doing?”, “Drying myself” he says wiping his body with the bed sheet. The woman who told him to ‘bog off’ the night before enters and tells him to stand up “You can when you want to!” After several attempts to stand she shouts, “You’re going in that hoist, we’re not messing about!”

    Confused the man says, “Take your glasses off”, “No I won’t take my glasses off, you’re not bossing me around! I’m telling you!” The man tells her to get off “No, I won’t get off” she shouts, as he cries out in pain. He shouts “get off me” again and is ignored as she roughly pulls a hoist across the bottom half of his back that is still weeping from the huge sore he has. He cries out again “Give me a minute?”. “No, you won’t do anything we tell you so you’re going in the hoist!”

    The hoist is carelessly and roughly attached. Nothing is placed around his legs to aid his standing and take pressure away from the sore on his back. He cries out in pain over and over again. “Shut up you idiot, shut up!” he begins crying for help. “Help me! Help! Help! Help! Help! Help!” he cried over and over again, shouting to try and raise the alarm. “Shut up you idiot! Shut up!” was the only response he got as he was roughly assaulted, and pressure placed on the existing sore.

    Now she pulls and pushes him using the hoist strap wrapped around his painful sore back that is still a large open wound, a category two pressure sore. She grabs his wrists forcefully and her colleague grabs his legs with no warning, and they swing him around on to the bed. He calls out in pain again. “Shut up idiot!” is the only response. He gives up crying for help, resided by the fact that no one will come. They turn the light off and leave the room in silence. Again, he is left alone.

    He gets up right away. The woman comes back “We’re fed up of you. Everybody here is fed up of you! Get in bed! You’re waking everybody up. GET IN BED!” She leaves and the other woman returns. He gets his legs back in bed, she pulls the cover half over his body and he says, “thank you”. She leaves. “They don’t realise what they are doing” he says to an empty room.

    Much later he is in so much discomfort he calls out in pain. He calls for help, calls for his wife. After 40 minutes someone comes and says she will be back. Another 15 minutes and they return. “Is he asleep, friggin’ leave him!” then immediately pulls all of his bed covers away from his body. He lays there unable to move half sat up, half lay down skewered across the bed with nothing, not even underwear on the lower half of his body. It is dark outside. She turns the tap on “Oh its bloody cold! How are we meant to clean them with cold water” and then proceeds to roughly scrub the man a with the freezing cold flannel. He cries out in shock and discomfort. He is lay on the sore part of his back, his calves hanging over the edge of the bed, his head lifted off the mattress, but he can’t get up. He cries out in pain “Oh shut up! You’re having a wash, because you stink! Because you peed everywhere”. “I didn’t” he proclaims. “Yes, you did!” She proceeds to wash him with the unrinsed and cold flannel, on his face.

    She raises the bed and continues to move him. He calls out in pain, he is in so much discomfort. He cries “you’ve got to get off” almost as if using his last ounce of effort. “No, I won’t get off!”. She surprises him with cold deodorant sprayed near his under arm and he calls out in shock. “Are you a man or a mouse?” she laughs at him, the colleague laughs at him too, and they both laugh at him together while he sits undressed in front of two strangers he doesn’t know with no dignity or energy left in him. “I think the more you andy pandy with him…You’ve just got to get it done, haven’t you?” The colleague agrees. “It’s freezing downstairs” she says as they get him into his wheelchair and shout at him to “SIT” he calls out in pain again and again.

    This was my Grandad. A few days earlier he had been happy at my Nana’s 80th birthday out with all of the family. He got so upset when we had to take him back to the care home, he had been living in for less than two weeks. We as a family had tried to take care of him at home, but his mobility and large physique meant that we couldn’t physically do it. All those years playing rugby for Littleborough had given him some huge muscles!

    My Grandad went in to Mona Cliffe on Monday 14th January 2019. He was walking, talking and happy in himself. Within a week they said he couldn’t walk, and they wouldn’t allow family to use his walking frame with him. We were concerned and so asked another care home to come out and assess him. Due to the snow, they couldn’t do this for another week. When they came out, they discovered a huge pressure sore across half of his back. They immediately reported it to adult safeguarding and requested a GP come to see him right away. The following day when family asked, the GP still had not been contacted. Family did it on his behalf.

    One staff member said he did it to himself, apparently, he threw himself down on the floor in the lounge and shimmied across the floor and caused a carpet burn on his back. Another said he fell off his bed and did it on the floor shimmying across the floor in his room, laughing with his trousers down. The doctor said it was a pressure sore. You can see the sores in the images below. How had this gone unnoticed?

    Our concerns with the home led me to purchase a hidden camera. We had the hidden camera up for less than 48 hours before removing him from the home and taking him to hospital as we had nowhere else to go. The hospital staff were horrified at the bruising and pressure sore my Grandad had. My Grandad told the nurse he had been hit by the staff there. He was severely dehydrated.

    My Grandad died three weeks later. His death certificate stated he died of Sepsis (Blood infection), caused by a severe urine infection. Secondary cause of death was Acute Kidney Injury.

    My Grandad was a great man. He was on the committee for Littleborough Cricket Club for many years. He used to call the Bingo on a Friday night there when I was younger too. My Grandad was a kind, caring, loving Grandad. He was always singing and smiling; he was a very special man. He was so polite, a gentle giant. He isn’t here anymore, and we as a family blame Mona Cliffe for that. The majority of the staff there were absolutely awful, although there were a couple of nice people working there too.

    The main abuser of my Grandad was Lesley Hainsworth, the woman in the photo below. She was suspended from work and interviewed by police. The police took several agonising weeks to determine if they could prosecute her for her actions caught on camera. Eventually they decided that the evidence we had provided on the video (all of which is written above) was not enough to reach their threshold for prosecution. So now this woman is back working at Mona Cliffe with vulnerable adults. Please do check your loved ones are safe. We do not want this to happen to anyone else. We were informed not to speak publicly about this until after the investigation came to completion. Otherwise we would have done it sooner.

    Three months after our first request, and we are still waiting on Dr Sharma the owner of Mona Cliffe to provide us with my Grandfather’s records.

    What is our call to action?

    1) The Police prosecution threshold should not be so high. The abuse my Grandad received falls under four abuse categories as part of the law provided by The Care Act. Institutional Abuse, Psychological Abuse, Physical Abuse, and Neglect. There are more than 25 separate types of abuse reported on my Grandad under the four categories. The Police threshold needs to be lowered.

    2) All care homes should have a booklet provided to families about the minimum expected requirements and who to contact if you are concerned, they are not being met.

    3) Audio recording technology in all care homes to prevent vulnerable people being treated so cruelly.

    4) The CQC should be updating their reports when serious complaints like this are submitted. Apparently, there was a similar serious complaint about Mona Cliffe 12 months ago. If we had known this, we would have not placed my Grandfather in their care.

    https://www.facebook.com/JusticeforGraham/

  • The Worst Surprise Of My Life

    During lunch at work, I ate 3 plates of beans (which I know I shouldn’t). When I got home, my husband seemed excited to see me and exclaimed delightedly, “Darling I have a surprise for dinner tonight.” He then blindfolded me and led me to my chair at the dinner table. I took a seat and just as he was about to remove my blindfold, the telephone rang. He made me promise not to touch the blindfold until he returned and went to answer the call.

    The beans I had consumed were still affecting me and the pressure was becoming unbearable, so while my husband was out of the room I seized the opportunity, shifted my weight to one leg and let one go.

    It was not only loud, but it smelled like a fertilizer truck running over a skunk in front of a garbage dump! I took my napkin from my lap and fanned the air around me vigorously. Then, shifting to the other leg, I ripped off three more. The stink was worse than cooked cabbage. Keeping my ears carefully tuned to the conversation in the other room, I went on releasing atomic bombs like this for another few minutes. The pleasure was indescribable!

    Eventually the telephone farewells signaled the end of my freedom, so I quickly fanned the air a few more times with my napkin, placed it on my lap and folded my hands back on it feeling very relieved and pleased with myself.

    My face must have been the picture of innocence when my husband returned, apologizing for taking so long.

    He asked me if I had peaked through the blindfold, and I assured him I had not.

    At this point, he removed the blindfold, and twelve dinner guests seated around the table, with their hands to their noses, chorused, “Happy Birthday!” 🎂

     

  • Savage Mouse Attack On Man

    So after our landlord getting someone out to do work to the house to stop mice getting in, we have been terrorized by one for the past 2 days. Constantly on edge. Anyway tonight me and james walked into the livingroom and james started going buck daft saying the mouse was up his trouser leg, pure freaking out. I’m screaming, he’s screaming, kids are crying.

    All we can see is the wee bulge of the mouse at the bottom his leg.. he’s holding his leg so it can’t crawl up any further.. he wants me to open the bottom of his trouser cuff to get it out and im like ‘nah mate, im out’. I then get the great idea to get him outside so we can let it run free. So he hobbles outside and hes trying to get me to open the cuff, im crying saying ‘nooo I cant, I really cant’.. then it dawns on us that there’s building work going on next door.. I know, ill ask a builder… james is standing there like ‘hurrry upppp😭😭’.. so I sprint in next door.. builder man opens the door and I start panic shouting in his face to open my boyfriend trouser leg to get the mouse out.. he’s in stitches.. walks into our garden to help.. I flee the scene cos yano, phobia of mice n all… im standing in the hall listening, heart going a dinger.

    James screams and the builder starts laughing.. then james laughs. It was his car key.. he’s got a hole in his pocket. I’m fucking traumatized.. kids have ptsd.. james needs new track suit bottoms.. and i need a fucking drink! Jesus christ 😂😂

    Credit Rachael McRobbie

  • How I Met My Son-In-Law.. Funny Story

    Daughter’s Vibrator

    A mother was walking down the hall when she heard a humming sound coming from her daughter’s bedroom.

    When she opened the door she found her daughter naked on the bed with a vibrator.

    What are you doing?” she exclaimed.

    The daughter replied, “I’m 35 and still living at home with my parents and this is the closest I’ll ever get to a husband.”

    Later that week the father was in the kitchen and heard a humming sound coming from the basement.

    When he went downstairs, he found his daughter naked on the sofa with her vibrator.

    “What are you doing?” he exclaimed.

    The daughter replied, “I’m 35 and still living at home with my parents and this is the closest I’ll ever get to a husband.”

    A couple of days later the mother heard the humming sound again, this time in the living room.

    In there, she found her husband watching the Super Bowl on television with the vibrator buzzing away beside him.

    “What are you doing?” she exclaimed.

    He replied…………”Watching the game with my son-in-law.”