Erb's Palsy

Ever heard of Erb's Palsy? I certainly hadn't until I saw a television programme last month, about Kaiser Wilhelm.

It was one of those things that feel like fate but in reality was pure chance. Scrolling through the channels in search of something to watch, there was what appeared to be a documentary about the Kaiser from the point of view of his childhood and his status as Queen Victoria's eldest grandchild. I am interested in history and so for want of something better to watch I stayed with the channel.

To start with it was more or less as I had expected - an account of Princess Vicky's marriage to the German Kaiser and Wilhelm's eagerly anticipated birth, during which there were complications rustling in a deformity to his arm. Yes, I knew he had had a deformed arm, but there was something strangely familiar with the story of his birth, and some of the extra details about his shoulder joint being affected made me pay more attention.

But even then it wasn't until a beautiful young Paralympic athlete called Rachel Latham was interviewed, and she demonstrated her own disability, that I realised. Or rather, until my husband pointed out: 'Her arm is exactly like yours'. He was referring to the limited movement and characteristic position at which it rested, with the hand turned backwards and outwards: what I now know is referred to as the 'waiter's tip' posture, for obvious reasons.

But the end of the programme I had learned that the condition which I have had since birth is called Erb's Palsy, that it is a recognised condition and that - sadly, although avoidable, there are still babies being born affected in this way.

My own story is that, like all Erb's Palsy sufferers, I was perfectly formed while in my mother's womb. I was born prematurely and, unlike many Erb's babies, comparatively small at five and a half pounds. My problem was that I was a breech presentation, just like Wilhelm.

Apparently the doctors had already turned me in the womb but just like the stubborn person I still am, I had turned back again so they had no option but to deliver me feet - or rather bottom- first. I suppose a Caesarian might have been an option but Mum was never offered one and I was not at that time in a position to question the medical staff on their decision. I was too busy being born.

So out I came, and Mum tells me I effectively got stuck and had to be helped out. In pulling me out of the womb, somehow my left arm got dragged out of position and I was born with my arms, not crossed in front of me like most babies', but one up above my shoulder.

Once born, I was examined and my parents were given the bad news: some nerves and ligaments in my shoulder had been damaged. This would in turn affect the muscle movement and strength and the result would be that my left arm would be permanently unusable and paralysed.it would fail to grow and instead would wither, the consultant informed them.

To my eternal gratitude, my father refused point blank to accept this diagnosis, and for ever after, while Mum referred to an 'accident at birth', he called it 'a bloody stupid midwife'. In those days, before litigation became the name of the game, no one ever suggested, as far as I know, suing for compensation and while I have nothing but praise and love for how my parents handled things, clearly, from what I now know, he was right and someone should have been held accountable for their actions. If only to stop more babies being damaged in this way. It breaks my heart to know this is still happening today.

Dad did however insist on being referred to someone higher up and I was recommended for physiotherapy. So every week for the next two years, my parents drove the fifteen miles to Norwich and back for appointments, and each and every day, often, they have told me, with tears pouring down their cheeks, they obediently manipulated and exercised my left arm as the physiotherapist instructed them. I still have the small sandbag, about four inches square, which Dad made to put under my arm as I lay in my pram, to stretch it and keep it extended.

I am absolutely convinced that without the work my parents put in during my first two years of life, the grim prognosis made at birth would have been my destiny.

Once I was discharged from physiotherapy mum and dad continued with the exercises until I was old enough to complain, and as I grew they did try to persuade me to exercise my arm myself, but you know how kids are - I couldn't see the point, I was happy with my arm as it was and I resisted. I could blame my parents for not being more forceful about this but I think they wanted me to be as normal as possible, and none of my school friends had to exercise their arms every day, so why make me feel different?

Anyway, the result of their own efforts was that my arm grew almost, but not quite, as long as the other; it won't straighten but only by about 15 degrees, I can't propel it above shoulder height and I can't turn the palm to face the sky.

But I can: live a normal life; drive a car (and a bus!); cuddle my husband with both arms; hold my children; ride a bike; swim; have a career; play the piano and guitar, and type these words with both hands.

I have so much to be grateful for.