Of the weird comments that have been coming through lately, one of the worst was that I had killed my son.

The other was that I was now trying to do the same to Ivy.

It’s okay.

While I don’t like to read those things and they hurt, they also help.

When it hurts I have to work through it, so that I am in a position to be able to function in the world

and working through it is good.

Five years on, I know it is.

I wanted to set the record straight though.

I wanted you to see it through my eyes.

In fact, I probably did play a hand in the death of William.

It’s something that I have to live with every single day of my life.

I chose to go through labour and birth, over a caesarean (which I had experienced twice before).

His birth did not help him.

My uterus ruptured during the second stage and this caused him to  be deprived of oxygen.

It didn’t help him because, he was born unwell, fitting continuously. A constant insult on his brain.

It didn’t help him because the neonatologist who was looking after him would not consider anything else, other than a poor birth choice.

His feeling, and those of his staff, were that I had done this to my son too.

Because of these factors, no other issues were explored.

William had an undiagnosed heart condition called critical aortic stenosis.

His valve was fused together, with just a small pin prick hole to let all the oxygenated blood out.

A tiny teardrop, in the middle of the joined tricuspid peace sign.

The cardiologist at the children’s hospital told us that, even if I had had a caesarean and Will had been in theatre as soon as he was able, he would have only had a 10% chance of survival.

10%.

Not good odds, really and things were not the best they could be.

Three days into his life his little body crashed because the doctors had found his patent ductus still open and had set about to rectify the problem. Except it was the problem that was keeping him alive, keeping the blood circulating in his body. Once it was closed, his body tried to revert to normal circulation and found that it couldn’t.

It just shut down.

It was only then that any investigations were done and the real problem discovered.

Still, the guilt of my choices weigh on me daily, they affect my life more than anyone could know.

Most days are filled with berating and blaming myself.

In quiet moments, when I am feeling okay with life, I like to think that William’s birth was a gift to me.

An experience that I had not had and will never have again.

A one time opportunity

but mostly I think about the blood I have on my hands, invisible though it may be to most, it is red and sticky and obvious to me and something that I will never be able to wash away.

I think I must know how an accidental murderer feels.

I have given up trying;

I don’t want absolution anymore.

I accept this for what it is.

As for the thought that I am harming Ivy…

*sigh*

Again, I have enormous guilt that I am unable to stop this process. I am trying everything I can to give her a full and happy life, as I do for all of the kids.

Yes, I balk at procedures and medications and I can become angry because things have no sense of normality somedays.

I’m only one human being trying to do the best I can.

Just so you know, I don’t sit at night plotting my next move to ruin her life.

An example of my thought processes lately go something like this;

I don’t want Ivy to have another GA. Everytime she has another operation, another anaesthetic, it puts her at greater risk of something going wrong. What happens if she has a cardiac arrest? What happens if she just doesn’t wake up? What happens if that is the last time I get to see her alive and it is on a gurney in OT? Is the port the right way to go? I don’t want the immunologist to insist the grommets come out because when the infections come back it will mean another operation and another GA to put the tubes back in. Enough is enough, how much can this kid take…

I couldn’t handle it if anything went wrong.

I made all of the decisions regarding William.

Right down to shutting off  life support.

I know that I am the one making all of the decisions in Ivy’s life.

My choices now, may affect her later.

I have to weigh everything up, decide if it the right thing and then worry that it was the wrong choice until it’s proven otherwise.

Just like I did with William.

Do you know how screwed up  that can make a person?

I second guess everything. I stress over the decisions

but

it’s just the way it is.

It’s motherhood, really.

Everything starts with a choice and ends with one too.

It can be a hard thing to carry and I am far from perfect and I worry all the time.

The last thing I want is for another child to lose her life.

So there it is.

In all its ugliness.

I don’t like being accused of things. I don’t like reading hurtful words but they do help, even if they were meant to harm.

I’ve spent alot of time this last week thinking about William and his birth and alot of time thinking about Ivy and if I am doing right by her.

I think I have settled on a disquiet peace for now.