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The right side of my jaw, cheek and lips are itchy and tingly. Unfortunately the skin is still numb, so I can’t scratch them with any effect. Hopefully in another hour or so the injection from my visit to the dentist this morning, and subsequent filling, will have worn off.

Of course, when it does, I’ll then discover just how much damage I’ve done to my lower lip when I accidentally bit it, and the inside of my cheek, which I realised I’d been chewing for a while, assuming it was a piece of bread I was eating with the soup I had for lunch.

It’s been a bit of a hectic morning as we’ve had the senior nurse practitioner from the health centre out to see Meg, who is feeling very unwell and has probably gone down with whatever Rogan has had. Fortunately Rogan now seems to be in slightly better spirits and we’re pretty certain the worst has passed of his illness, swine flu or not.

We’ve also had the landlord visiting with his toolbox as last night the toilet flush stopped working, and a tap which has been dripping for quite some time decided just to gush and not allow anyone to be able to turn it off at all.

I’ve got a slightly tickly cough a mild over-all achiness in my body and am hoping it doesn’t develop into anything worse. Likewise Maggie’s general cold-like symptoms.

They say trouble always comes in 3s. I’ve never understood that: in my experience it always comes in 17s
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Thursday lunchtime we got a phone call from the high school saying my 14 year old son, Rogan, wasn't feeling well and to go and collect him. He certainly seemed a bit under the weather and an irritiating cough he's had for weeks took a definite turn for the worse.

Last night he slept really badly and spent most of today on the couch feeling miserable. By late this afternoon he was complaining of quite a bad headache and seemed to have a bit of a temperature.

Given the terrifying ordeal Attila the Mom has been going through as her son has been hospitalised over the past 2 weeks with swine flu, and the fact that 9 miles down the road, Kirkcudbright High School has had 1/3 of pupils off school because of it, we thought it time to call the doctor.

I was told to take Rogan up to the Health Centre, but not take him in until I had alerted the receptionist who would make sure an isolation room was set up for him to be seen in.

I wondered if I should start panicking, but thought I should at least wait until the doctor had seen him, just in case Rogan was over reacting and making a lot of fuss about nothing (something, I should say, he denies ever having done).

It seemed odd seeing the doctor wearing a plastic apron, rubber gloves and a face mask, but he didn't seem to be panicking.

Rogan's temperature was taken, chest was listened to and throat was peered down.

"It looks like he's probably got Swine Flu," said the doctor, "with secondary infections in the throat and chest." He said it all straight faced (as far as I could tell behind the mask) but he still didn't seem to be panicking.

I wasn't sure if I should start panicking now. I felt it would only be right if someone started panicking, but Rogan seemed quite calm about the whole thing too. In fact I thought I detected a slight air of "I told you so" smugness about him.

As the doctor typed into the computer then printed off a couple of prescriptions, I thought I should at least find out whether we should be locking ourselves in our house for a month and painting a red cross on the door.

"How long should we expect him to be off school?" I asked.

"Probably until the middle or end of next week, although if he gets any worse, give us a call."

This seemed a bit odd to me. I thought we would be given strict instructions to isolate ourselves, but apparently it's too late for that. According to the doctor it's so widespread that it would be a case of shutting the gate after the horse has bolted.

Apparently 50% of people who have swine flu exhibit no symptoms whatsoever; about 5% will get hit hard by it and the rest are on a sliding scale in between. Despite the high publicity, deaths are still very rare.

The doctor did admit Rogan might not even have it, but he was showing enough of the symptoms to be given the drugs to combat it. The only real way of knowing for definite would be to have tests done, but by the time the results came back the damage would be done, so the official procedure is to play it safe.

So, we're home; Rogan has his various pills to take and an inhaler for when his breathing becomes difficult; and he's to keep drinking plenty of water.

And I'm still not sure if I should start panicking yet.

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"Excuse me, do you mind if I ask what you're up to?"

"Oh, er, yes, er, I'm just, er, filming leaves."

"Leaves?"

"Yes. I was waiting for my wife who's in visiting her father and I was sitting in the car just watching the leaves blowing on the trees and about the car park and was thinking about how hypnotic it all looked and perhaps it would make a nice wee film and... why, does it look a bit odd?"

The manager of the nursing home and her assistant laughed in a tension releasing sort of way.

"That's OK - we just saw you with a camera and wondered what you were up to."

They left me to get on with it, clearly relieved they didn't have to call the police to remove some nutter with a camera, or their lawyers in case I was a journalist trying to do some kind of exposée on their establishment.

Back home I remembered a piece of music I did with a friend back when I was in my early 20s, which I thought might go quite well with the images and would mean I wouldn't have to worry about copyright using someone elses soundtrack.



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Inspired by some of the images that come up when you google Pumpkin Designs, I thought I’d have a go at stepping up a level from the 2 triangle eyes and a zig-zaggy mouth I’ve done before.

It took me a wee while, but I was pleased with the result. It has to be said though, it took nothing like as long as it used to in earlier years when I would hollow out turnips to make a jack-o-lantern, before I gave up on this Scottish tradition and adopted the imported US one of using pumpkins instead.








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The last few days have been spent making updates to my photography website.

I decided to follow the advice I used to give to business about their websites - focus on promoting the main thing you want to sell, rather than trying to promote everything you can.

When we can do more than one thing, our natural reaction is to try and spread our net as wide as possible, so as not to miss out on potential business. Unfortunately, this can have the effect of diluting the message.

Not only can we appear to be a jack-of-all-trades and master of none, we also end up competing with the widest range of people, most of whom are more specialised in their areas.

Let’s face it, if you’d like your car fixed would you rather go to a mechanic who is passionate about engines, or one who would rather be playing golf?

Although I can, and do, do event and product photography, and if I’m being paid, I’ll take the commission and do a good job, given the choice I’d rather be pointing my camera at people’s faces, which I find endlessly fascinating.

So I’ve decided to move from promoting myself as just as Kim Ayres Photography, who does portraits, events and products, to Kim Ayres Portrait Photography, and the events and products are more of a sideline than being on equal footing.

To this end, not only have I changed the heading on my website, I’ve put together a range of portrait package options for customers to choose from. And I’ve even thrown in a couple of seasonal offers.

If you have any thoughts or feedback, I’m all ears. While I find it easy enough to see where other people are going wrong, or getting it right, it’s easy to have blind spots when it comes to your own business.

And, of course, if you know of anyone who would like their photo taken...
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In the news today is a report about how there has been a 70% increase in pregnancies carrying babies with Down's Syndrome (or Down Syndrome - without the 's' - as it's called elsewhere in the world), due to more women having children later in life. But because of the increase in screening, and subsequent abortions, the number of children born with DS has in fact fallen.

This is because improved antenatal screening means more Down's pregnancies are being spotted and more abortions are taking place. Without the improved screening, the number of babies born with Down's would have risen by 48%, according to the study. (BBC News, Tuesday, 27 October 2009)

It goes on to say that the number of couples chosing to abort pregnancies these has remained consistant at 92%

I might not be alone in finding this statistic horrifying, grotesque and heartbreaking, but clearly as part of a couple who fall into the remaining 8%, I am in a serious minority.

Now I am, in fact, Pro-Choice. This does not mean I feel abortion should be a causal, unthoughtout affair, only that I believe it to be wrong that a woman should be compelled by church or state for her body to go through a such a body and life changing process regardless of her own feelings on the matter.

However, a real choice requires access to up to date, unbiased and complete information on both sides, and this is seriously lacking in the medical world. There is an image of people with Down's Syndrome as "other" as "less than" as "not fully human" - someone who looks a bit funny, is mentally and physically useless, dribbles into their chest and probably has a dodgy pudding-basin haircut.

This image was created largely by the government and medical authorities whipping away babies with DS from their mothers and putting them into institutions where they were never given the proper love or stimulation to grow and develop as full individuals. And were given haircuts of convenience.

This image is hopelessly outdated, and yet remains entrenched for many people. And as more pregnancies carrying children with DS are terminated, fewer will be seen and the sense of "other" will only increase.

Rule number one of any conflict - dehumanise the enemy as it makes it easier to inflict harm or kill them.

And so long as people with DS are considered as “other” it will be easier to terminate or prevent their existence in the world.

Of course as a father of a beautiful daughter who happens to have DS, I am continually amazed at what all the fuss is about. Yes, sometimes there are some difficulties. But then show me any child where there are no problems and everything is perfect all the time.

I’ve always maintained that 98% of bringing up a child with DS is the same as bringing up any child. Any difficulties and differences can be worked with and overcome. They are certainly not reasons sufficient in my mind to destroy the life potential before birth.

And if you want to see conclusive proof of how children with DS are anything but other, then do visit the photography blog of Conny Wenk, who takes the most beautiful photos of families, including many children who have DS.

Over on my sidebar, under the "Dash of something extra" category, you will find links to several sites where parents are blogging about their children who have DS. Mostly what you find is it's just parents blogging about their children and the DS is quite a minor issue.

And if you would like to involve yourself and see first hand that raising or helping a child with DS is remarkably similar to raising one without, do visit Tara Marie's blog about her daughter, Emma Sage, who is looking to get postcards from every US State and is happy to accept ones from countries around the world too. My one from Scotland is already in the post.

Finally, about 2 ½ years ago I wrote a very short story, which I intended to publish on this blog, but my wife thought it was a bit too in-your-face. However, in light of the feelings stirred up by the news today, I’ve decided to dig it out and put it up – see below
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Her first pregnancy came to an abrupt end when she was informed the foetus had Down’s Syndrome. Along with 92% of all women faced with her situation, she terminated.

During her second pregnancy she took up the offer to be part of a new experimental test, which to her surprise and dismay determined her foetus had an extremely high chance of turning out to be autistic. Once all the medical data had been logged, she was relieved all the assistance was in place to allow the abortion within 48 hours.

In her third pregnancy, the controversial “gay gene” was discovered. She knew in her heart that she wished to grow old not just with her children, but with her grandchildren in her life, so despite protests from high profile pop stars in the national press, she took her case through the courts and brought her physical condition to an early conclusion.

Her fourth pregnancy ceased as soon as she realised the dates matched up to a brief indiscretion she’d had with a man of a different racial make up. There was no way she could risk the shame of discovery.

Tests during her fifth pregnancy showed that the foetus would have a propensity to obesity. Because of her own struggles with dieting and body image it was inconceivable she would put any child of hers at such disadvantage from the outset. A swift termination followed.

Over the years her partner was extraordinarily patient and supportive, but with all these failed pregnancies she felt she was letting him down. She knew more than anything he wanted a son to play ball with, take on hunting expeditions and inherit the family business. When she discovered her sixth foetus was female, she aborted without informing her husband, so as not to burden him.

Finally, her seventh pregnancy produced a healthy blue-eyed boy. He had his father’s brow and his mother’s smile and was perfect in every way.

Years later, as her son languished in prison, she wished there’d been a test for a tendency towards predatory paedophilia back when she was pregnant.
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And yet, despite this momentous occasion, Google don’t seem to have created a special logo for me!

Ah well, it appears despite the shit the gods like to throw at us, I have survived another year.

43 feels like a fairly non-descript age – it doesn’t have a 0 at the end, it’s barely early-forties, not quite mid-forties. It’s a prime number, but that ceases to have any meaning beyond maths lessons when you’re 12.

However, it does mean I’ve passed the average life expectancy for a man living in Liberia (41.84), Sierra Leone (41.24), Mozambique (41.18), Lesotho (40.38), Zambia (38.63), Angola (38.20), and Swaziland (31.88). And if I live as long as the average British male, I have 36 and half years left.

Elvis was 42 when he died, so I’ve lasted longer than him too.

Among my birthday cards this morning was one from my grandchildren, which included this badge:



And this drawing from my granddaughter, Poppy, which illustrates when I was up taking photos of them last time I was there:



Left to right:
Door, Poppy's mum, her younger brother, me, the camera on a tripod, Poppy herself, her baby brother, and then I'm guessing SpongeBob SquarePants on the TV.

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