My pregnancy with him (my fifth) was a topsy-turvy ride of joy and terror. After three babies dying in a row, I did a lot of praying. And poking. And panicking.
My obstetrician, who had dragged me kicking and screaming through the pregnancy, helpfully went on holidays towards the end. We had arranged a date to meet at the delivery table in another two weeks. Almost as soon as he left, question marks were being raised about the viability of this baby in utero. My obstetrician's partner, confronted with the enormity of my file, asked me what I wanted to do. 14 April 1989 was a Friday, and most of my obstetric adventures had occurred on weekends and holidays. My answer was unequivocal. "I don't think I would survive another pregnancy loss" were my exact words. His response was just as straightforward. "Fine. We'll deliver you tonight".
He was born at 6.33pm. The first night was a battle. Callum had hyaline membrane disease due to prematurity. Noel French, his wonderful neonatologist, worked all night to try and keep him oxygenated and with me at the private hospital, instead of being transferred to the Intensive Care Neonatal Nursery at the specialist women's' hospital.
Awake at 3 o'clock, I was loaded into a wheelchair to see and touch my baby. Noel was still there. And he was back, checking Callum, later in the morning. I will never forget Noel's care and his skill. I finally had succeeded in having another pink, round, living little human being.
Callum's perfectionism became evident from very early on. From the moment he was pulled out into the world, roaring with indignation, he would refuse to perform any skill until he had mastery. Hence, he spent five days in the Special Nursery and another eight laborious days getting the hang of breastfeeding. We finally were able to go home to his Dad and his delighted big sister.
He was such a beautiful baby. With his wispy blonde hair and super long eyelashes around his glorious hazel eyes, I was always being complimented. He would smile with his whole body when I went to fetch him out of his cot. He was only grisly in the evenings when he would feed almost non stop. I actually believe he was watching and learning all the time. And he was a giant sticky beak.
Walking around furniture from eight months of age, I was convinced he would be an early confident walker. Once more, Callum was determined to learn the skill properly before he let go of assisting devices. At seventeen months, he finally walked unaided. And without a wobble. At three and a half, he toilet trained himself in a day, when he decided the time had come to use the loo.
Alex was born just before Callum turned two. Callum amazingly took to his additional sibling with characteristic good humour. In the years that followed, he became the glue that held our family together. He was very social and loved daycare. That was a relief as he was dumped there regularly during Alex's frequent hospitalisations.
He started pre-primary with enthusiasm and sailed into Year 1. He enjoyed the early years of primary school immensely. He coped with Alex's endless therapy sessions and Vanessa's eccentricities. To him, there were just everyday occurrences. Only once did he question my love and commitment to him.
He handled the adversity of upper primary and high school with perseverance and bravery. He was academically savvy, an unwritten no-no for some boys. He was mercilessly bullied over a number of years. I lost count of the number of times I complained to the schools. They seemed powerless to help him and I was furious with a system that failed him.
With his ongoing social difficulties, he started counselling with a gentle, softly spoken, giant psychologist, Martin Exell. I was concerned about autism in the family. Martin tested him. Autism - no. ADHD - almost for sure. IQ - huge. Medication - a definite no. Martin was concerned that medication would slow down the speed of Callum's thought processes. Instead, he taught him chess, offered himself as a role model and gave him as many strategies as possible to survive.
Two activities became his escape from the relentless bullying. He attended karate with patient instructors who worked hard with him developing self-discipline. He also won a year's scholarship to a ballroom dancing studio. He discovered he absolutely loved dancing. I would drive him every Saturday to his classes. Dancing would give him a sense of worth, a second family and passion, which helped to use his vast reserves of energy.
High school continued to be unsatisfactory for Callum. I began considering another school for Callum, so I went to Martin for advice. He responded "When I was a young psychologist and knew very little, I would have said you can't get away from your problems. Now I'm older, wiser and have children, five years is a very long time to be unhappy. Move Callum".
The move wasn't perfect, but better. He had to make a choice between karate and dancing in Year 11. He chose dancing. Then came a huge decision with lasting implications.
My marriage had broken down. I made the decision to move to Queensland. Callum chose to stay with his Dad and finish high school. I crossed my fingers, as the children's father had a tendency to be volatile and unpredictable, particularly if they voiced their own opinions.
The Queensland experience unravelled almost immediately. And the inevitable happened to Callum - his Dad became unreasonable and aggressive. When I returned to Perth, his father refused to let Callum come and live with me again. We bided our time. Three months later, he tossed Callum's possessions onto my front verge and drove away. Callum returned to live with me.
Callum graduated Year 12 and started primary teaching at uni. He had finally found his niche. Between dancing and uni, he turned back into the social being that he'd been as a young child. He thrived on dancing competitions and he and his partner generally placed well.
He became a contradiction at home. At times he was happy, content, helpful and charming. At other times, he was cranky, miserable and a king size pain. I began to realise that life was too good, too easy for him at home. I had been a tough mother, but he knew how to work me to his advantage.
There was open hostility in the house between my three children. I was constantly negotiating truces that never held. I'd fallen in love with Michael. He was also living in my home. I'd had enough. I announced to my children that the house was on the market, Michael and I were moving to the country and they weren't coming.
The boys returned to their Dad's house, who was delighted that he was removing them from my evil influence. Their stay was not a success and quickly degenerated into another disaster. Fortunately, by this time, Callum had met a gorgeous, strawberry blonde, firecracker of a young woman. Bronwyn refused to put up with any of Callum's rubbish and frequently brought him back to earth.
Callum continued to juggle Bronwyn, uni, dancing and part-time work. They broke up for two days and Callum was inconsolable. They swiftly reconciled, much to our relief.
Callum and Alex shared a unit for a couple of years. It suited both of them - central, quiet, close to transport and facilities. Callum really became Alex's unofficial carer and Bronwyn coped admirably with the arrangement, even though there were difficult moments.
Callum finished university in November 2012. He worked as a support and relief teacher for a year, whilst still dancing and being upgraded to manager status at the cafe. He thought he's hit the jackpot with a twelve-month contract as a full-time pre-primary teacher at the beginning of 2014. He and Bron started planning for their own home.
His teaching position turned very sour, very rapidly. Sixty percent of his students came from homes where English wasn't their language of origin. Some of the children had never been away from their mothers. He had one student with severe language and behavioural issues, and he sought assistance for this child from the first week.
He was working fourteen and fifteen hour days. Teaching, preparing resources, studying, gathering information. His life was unravelling. Dancing, his only escape, went out the window. Then on the final day of Term 1, the principal came to see him, to announce that his teaching was substandard and he either needed to resign his position or come back on probation.
He was devastated. He fell to pieces. I galvanised support for him through a good friend, a pre-primary specialist and the teachers' union. The principal had used similar tactics in the past. Callum decided he didn't have the emotional strength for a protracted fight, even with union support.
He resigned from his position, went on holiday and returned to relief teaching, cafe managing and dancing. His mental turmoil passed. He was working three jobs but he was happy. He and Bron began building their house. Their lives were back on track.
Callum has just returned to part-time teaching this year. What a different experience. He feels supported in his role by his school. He hopes to pick up some regular relief as the year progresses. He and Bronwyn have their home and our grandcat, Ragnar.
Callum asked Bronwyn to marry him on their first night in Venice last July. How romantic! Their wedding is in August. I can't believe that time is galloping towards this momentous event. And I will do my very best as the sweet, demure mother of the groom.
Callum recently had a gloomy spell and phoned me. His anxiety had reared its head again. He was concerned about his perceived lack of achievements at the age of almost thirty. I reminded him of two eternal truths - that he was a fantastic young man and that his anxiety stemmed from his bloody perfectionism.
I also reminded him that his entire family were littered with nutters. Did he really believe he was so special that he would miss all the slashes of lunacy? He got the message...
They are coming to stay for a couple of nights and we are so looking forward to having them in Station Studio, as we call the guest room. And if he wants to add to his achievements, we can aid him in his endeavours. We still have to move bricks, fit a reversing camera on the caravan and a myriad other tasks that are crying out to be completed.
That will teach Callum to open his mouth!
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