”As soon as I pull up outside the beautiful old buildings, I feel a wave of calm and peace wash over me. It’s a place where I can breathe. Where I can breathe at a rate that is good for me. Not the huff and puff of frustration at a beeping machine that has alarmed for the umpteenth time for no particular reason. Nor the holding of my breath while another clinician tries and fails to take bloods from my little one while I pin him down in restraint. It’s a place where I can be me again. The me that I thought I’d lost to booking medical appointments or ordering more feed and syringes and meds or fighting with the pen pushers to get what my son needs. It’s also a place where memories can be made. Like the look on his face when the therapy rat’s whiskers tickle his cheek or the first time that you realise these people understand and get it too”