This sounds very interesting to me, as I was separated from both my parents minutes after birth.

Due to acute complications, I was in a very critical condition, and was immediately taken to a hospital (by taxi, that was back then!) an hour´s drive away.

Back then a mother-and-child ward was unheard of; besides, my parents didn´t have a car yet and so simply were unable to visit me anyway.

I survived the initial complication, but the infant unit at that hospital was soon struck by a highly contagious infection that then nearly killed me instead. Apparently, in order to make matters worse, my stomach couldn´t handle the food I was given there.

In the end I barely survived, was released from hospital and taken home by my parents almost four months after birth - four months without any contact whatsoever with my mother, and weighing even less than at birth.

Of course, I don´t have firsthand memories of all of this, but many years later was told so by my very trustworthy, loving late parents and my equally honest older sister, who still has very vivid memories of the starving, half-dead little brother she finally got to see, and of the shock that sight gave to her.

When I reached an age when I had lived long enough and had time and peace of mind (and at least some knowledge) to reflect on the way my life has gone, I repeatedly thought that some of my hangups, problems, and peculiarities might have originated back then - although I never use that idea as an excuse for anything.

Whatever happened and shaped me, it is my duty as an adult to handle it responsibly and treat other people (and live with them) as best as I can (which is simply what they deserve) and as if those things had never happened to me.

Just a few minutes ago, reading this post, have I for the first time been given the hint of an explanation for my long-hair fetish as another possible consequence of my traumatic first few months. I have never made such a connection on my own.

What I clearly seem to remember is that that fetish stirred in me at kindergarden or elementary school already, long before I had the faintest idea of sex, and that all through my earlier childhood my loving and beautiful mother (no long hair, never in her life!) was the symbol, center, and source of life for me, and of almost everything life was worth living for.

When she took her daily little nap on the living-room sofa after lunch, I would often stop playing and walk over to her just to check if she was still breathing. (My mother lived to be 95, eventually.)

This is a very personal story, but I think it is worth sharing, as it may shed some light on the things we go through in this life. I honestly think that instead of gossip and football matches, such things should be talked about more often to give each other a clearer idea of what reality means and may have in store for us.

When my wife had a miscarriage, she was desperate - how could such a thing happen to a young, perfectly healthy, athletic woman with a near-perfect, healthy lifestyle? She felt like the only woman to have gone through this; she had hardly ever heard about it. Only when she told other women afterwards did she find out that almost every single one of them had gone through it at least once. And her gynaecologist then told her that statistically only about 40% of all pregnancies end with the birth of a living child. She/we should have known before.

We ended up having two healthy children.