Infant sleep apnea can be confused with SIDS...

Infant sleep apnea can be confused with SIDS...

First published at Qondio:

I wrote this a couple of years ago and thought I might repost it here for discussion. I also published a short article about SIDS(Sudden Infant Death Syndrome)in a couple of my blogsites, and after noting the comments of two unrelated bloggers who had each lost a child to the terrible and heart breaking condition, I wondered if there was any connection between SIDS and sleep apnea, both of which cause the stoppage of breathing. As a consequence I have done a little research
and have come up with the following.

Many people think of sleep apnea as a disease of adulthood, and especially of middle aged adults over the age of 50 years. It is also believed to be more prevalent in men. But the truth of the matter is that anybody can get sleep apnea, from little premature babies to aging senior citizens.

It is common among premature infants whose apnea is caused by brain messages failing to reach the nerves and muscles that control breathing. Their respiratory centres are not yet mature; it is also common for them to have brief episodes of apnea while sleeping.

Infant sleep apnea applies to infants over 37 weeks of age and can be a frightening experience for parents because the infants can stop breathing while asleep. They can become very pale or even bluish in colour and the muscles become very limp. These episodes of sleep apnea are often mistaken for the onset of SIDS; they may well be related but as yet there is no proof of this.

From the river to Germany and back again - my nostalgic trip...

Some stories get lost in your archives and need relocating to reintroduce them again elsewhere. Please enjoy this little gem:


From the river to Germany and back again - my nostalgia trip...

It must have been in 1956 - I was about twelve years old then. I was out with my foster family picnicking at one of the Canterbury rivers in New Zealand's South Island. It was mid-summer and it was so hot you could see the heat shimmering and dancing off the river bed stones into the river itself. The water in the rivers in 1950's New Zealand was pristine, quick flowing, cold and wonderful to drink. You just had to make sure that there had not been any wandering sheep drinking at the waters edge.

After roaming around on my own for some time, creating adventures in which I starred, perhaps as the great white hunter tracking some lion through the river bed, I started throwing stones over the river and into the distance. These became bombs - dropping on German cities (only a decade or so before) from a high flying Lancaster bomber. I was the bomb- aimer one minute, and the pilot the next. The bombing of Germany went on for a long time - but I eventually heard shouting from the other side of the river. The bombing stopped suddenly!

On the other bank of the river a rather powerfully built and tall man in his late thirties was screaming at me; and his hand was dripping with blood. "You stupid little bast...d. You could have killed me!" he screamed again.

I suddenly arrived back in 1956, away from my bombing of Germany fantasy, and realised what I had really done. I had been throwing some pretty big stones into the air and they had actually been landing near and at the feet of some fisherman on a hidden ledge. But one had hit this particular fisherman on the hand, and he was after blood - not that of some trout or salmon - but a twelve year old SOB named Peter. Yeah and the fisherman was on the other side of the river too!

The Kiwi Bull Run - gotta get away from this big black bull...

The Kiwi Bull Run - gotta get a way from this big black bull...



Jellen's Blogevolve Writing Challenge - My childhood memory:

After writing my recent post about flatulence from cows and sheep creating most of New Zealand's methane and greenhouse gas, the rest coming from the Beehive, the nickname for the round government building in Wellington, NZ; I suddenly remembered an incident from my childhood:



I used to spend many holidays on the farm of my foster mother's brother (I came from a broken home, but that is another story for another time) 20-30 miles out of Christchurch City in north Canterbury. It was a mixed farm, sheep, dairy cows, a few pigs, some poultry and crops. Typical of the 1950's farms in the area, I reckon, going by my memory.

I used to wander around the farm at times, typical of a 10-11 year old Kiwi lad. But during these particular holidays the farmer had bought and brought a new Aberdeen Angus bull to the farm - a big black devil!

Being young, naive and a bit clueless in some respects, I starting making noises at the big fellow. He started to paw the ground and roar a little. This just excited me more, and I started to make louder noises and the big black devil began pawing even more, and roaring like a bull should roar!

I began to get scared and started running, running, and running. And so did he! The fence was six foot high, but to me it may have been only a couple of feet. This skinny sandy haired youngster who could run a bit, began to prove it. Around the bull paddock fence, across the main paddock towards the milking shed yards I went at the speed of sound, not looking back. The big wooden posts of the milking yard fence immediately came into view, and I scaled that fence as good and as capable as any olypmpic hurdler or high jumper...!

Over that fence into about two feet of sloppy, black and greenish cow manure I went, feet one way, and body another. After hosing myself down in the cow yard, I had to face the farmer. The fact he was furious was the understatement of the year. I knew the big fellow wanted to give me a giant kick up the backside and a few across the ear - quite common in those years of yore. But he cooled down quickly, and realising I was scared witless, he asked me how I felt? "Scared," I mumbled almost incoherently.

"And so you should. That fence just stopped that big black devil. I'll have to repair it, but I'm sure you won't do a stupid damn thing like that again, will you?" he asked demandingly. "Go inside and see the wife to get you some dry clothes." he added further.

I came to that farm many times in the future and remembered the day that big black bull chased me, with only a six foot barbed wire fence stopping him.

Public Domain Pictures/a