Monday 22 June 2009

What are the Odds?

Before all this happened, I worked as an analyst for a healthcare organisation.

I don't really know how I fell into the world of statistics, I have no natural aptitude for maths at all. But in some ways statistics is more of a dark art than a science. I always feel that, as a field, it is a bit fuzzy around the edges. Perhaps that is why I like it. There is always wriggle room if you make a mistake. What generally results from all the numerical manoeuvring is an answer something along the lines of "hmmmm, I am x% confident that the true value of this particular variable lies within the region between y and z".

Occasionally, I do get the feeling that I might be a bit of a charlatan who will one day be exposed with cries of "ha, she never really understood what she was doing " but in the land of the blind, the one eyed man is king. Some of the people I work with don't believe that they can calculate a percentage change (they can, but they just don't believe that they can) so I feel pretty confident in my royal, one eyed status continuing for at least a while yet.

Sadly, this means I am a bit of a data geek. There is nothing I like more than a freshly constructed database full of nice, complete fields. Hmmm, I can smell all the initial analysis, charts, scatter plots, models. Yum, yum.

It also means that I can't help looking up all the numbers related to what happened to me and my girls. I'm not going to quote them here as I'm using some pretty dubious sources. Ends with -paedia, first bit rhymes with icky.

My chances of conceiving fraternal twins in the first place were pretty low. I don't have any of the risk factors for conceiving twins. I'm not very tall (5ft 8), my BMI is not over 30, I fell pregnant when I was 28, there are no other fraternal twins on my side of the family, I didn't have fertility treatment.

Jessica and Georgina were non-identical twins with separate placentas and separate sacs. I was reassured time and time again that these are the 'safest' type of twins to have.

Once I had made it past 12 weeks, I felt so relieved. I knew that the chances of having a second-trimester miscarriage were much lower. I started to relax. I started to talk about the girls after that point. The costs of two of everything. I even bought a double buggy, two cots, two chairs. Oh dear.

I honestly don't know what the odds of babies of such early gestation even surviving a natural birth are. I shouldn't think they are great. The girls were very large for their gestation (my dh is 6ft 4) but large is relative.

I don't know what the odds of Jessica surviving at all were. Again, I am thinking that they weren't good. I remember 50:50 being mentioned to me at one point. And that is 50:50 chance of surviving, not the odds of surviving without any serious consequences. Now, that sounds horrifying. At the time, it seemed pretty good given that Georgina's chances were always described as small to vanishing.

So very unlucky, so very lucky. Perhaps lucky and unlucky don't really come into it.
All these outside bets, all these strange chances, all these long shots.
It is so very tempting to try and read a meaning into them.
But I really should know that long shots do happen. I would call them outliers if I was analysing the course of events that led up to this. A bunch of outlying events occurred. Triggered by conceiving twins which raised the chances of all the subsequent events happening.

There is the person who dies of lung cancer who never touched a cigarette.
It is all just a matter of risks, tipping the balance one way or another.
There are no certainties. But I can't help asking, why me? Why me? But why not me?
The outside bets have to happen to someone.
I just wish they hadn't happened to my Georgina, my sweet determined little child. My eldest child. My first born. My girl.
I'm not even sure how to describe what happened to her. Did she die? Or did I have a miscarriage? In my mind, she died. She was a very palpable little person, she moved, she looked around, she held my finger. She existed for a few days. And then she didn't.

But I want another child. There, I said it. I love being a mama, to both my girls. I used to have so many doubts, would I love them, would they love me, would I look after them properly, would I know what to do, would I be able to stop them crying, would I be bored sitting at home all day. All those doubts evaporated, the moment I saw them lying in their incubators.

I know that I can say I want another child a million times but it doesn't mean that it will happen. I want doesn't get, as my mother used to say. Everyone I know who hasn't lost a baby says, you are just trying to replace Georgina, you are just trying to fix it, you should enjoy Jessica.
Maybe I am. Maybe I should.

But it feels like do or die. I feel like I've never been pregnant, it was all over so quickly. I don't think they understand what fuels my desire for yet another child.

Will I ever fall pregnant again? How long will it take? Will I have another miscarriage? Will the 12 weeks ultrasound reveal twins again? Will I have to spend months in the NICU again? Will I have to agree to switching a ventilator off again?

I want certainty. If this, or some other horrible permutation of events, happens again. It will break me.

I suppose that I only really, really, really want another child when I'm prepared to take that chance. And would that just be foolish? Perhaps I should call it quits. I don't know.

13 comments:

  1. People who say that you are trying to replace Georgina are speaking from a place of well-intentioned ignorance. We all love a bit of armchair psychiatry, but anyone can see that it's always going to be more complicated than that.

    It certainly isn't the way I feel about boy unborn. I have no doubt that it is true for some babylost parents, that they are looking to regain what they lost, but so what? Who can blame them? And why is that a bad thing? To want to love and hope and feel excitement again for all the fear and trepidation... doesn't seem so bad to me.

    We all know that we can't wholly rediscover who we were before. We may find slivers and fragments of our old selves as time goes on, but the only way we can change how things are for us in the present is by looking forward.

    Gawd, that sounds like I've banged my head in the 'self-help' section of Waterstones.

    I don't mean that any of us should 'move on' or 'get over it', I just think that you have articulated beautifully what a fraught process it is for you to think about another pregnancy, more babies, potentially tough choices. You are already so far ahead of any outsider's reasoning or logic. It seems to me like there is no easy solution. Stats are stats are stats. They're sort of meaningless until you find yourself on the 'wrong' side of them.

    What a rant. I'm so sorry. Sending you tons of love. I hope I haven't spoken out of turn.

    ReplyDelete
  2. "Did she die? Or did I have a miscarriage? In my mind, she died. She was a very palpable little person, she moved, she looked around, she held my finger. She existed for a few days. And then she didn't."

    She died. Just like my William George died. She was here, in this world. She was here...the world has known here presence and will never be the same because of it. As you know, you will never be the same again because of Georgina. She died because she lived. her life can never be undone or cancelled out or erased.

    Each person is a stone tossed from nowhere...the edge of reality, maybe...into the stream, the river, that we move through, and each stone stirs the waters as it enters. The waters can never be unstirred.

    Here in the States, yesterday was Father's Day. I never even felt his breath on my cheek and miss my son...so...much...just so much. He was here, he left his mark...in the world and on my life and heart. But he will never grow into a boy, a youth, a man. I never had that, yet I miss it so much.

    I get angry, very angry, even destructively angry. That's the way it is with men's grief. A couple of weeks ago someone waltzed into our garage and stole our riding lawn mower...in the middle of the night when I was sleeping just 40 feet away, with my children sleeping closer. I couldn't care less about the machine, but the invasion of my territory, my space... This happened on my watch, in my territory. So did my son's death the day before his birth. I don't know what would have happened had I heard the lawn mower thieves and got my hands on them. I'm not certain if I'm grateful or sorry I didn't catch them.

    There is no winning in the end, and we will all die. That's unavoidable, the right order, reality. Still, something is not right. I failed my son and wife and family. I know in my body and heart and bones that there are no accidents, that all things have place in this world, and that life has been for ages and will go on for ages more after my son and I are no longer even memories. I struggle, though...there is something wrong with the order of the universe now...and I can't fucking fix it.

    Still, I can't help but feel him as a gift. I feel gratitude, and I don't understand how that is so. Sometimes I hate this feeling of gratitude for tempering my anger and destructiveness.

    I know, as sure as I know the best things, that he fulfilled his purpose, but I wanted his mission, his purpose, his reason for being in the world, to go on long after I am dead.

    I'm impossibly proud of William for living his life, and doing what he came here to do.

    So many things don't make sense and feel out of order now, since William's death. I know I have to heal and grow to hold it all, to hold whatever new order I'm being asked to contain, but there are moments that I just don't think my heart can get big enough.

    William's Father

    ReplyDelete
  3. Oh honey... Georgina was born and died. She was and remains your precious little girl. Not a miscarriage... A preemie who tried so hard to pull through.

    I think it is perfectly normal that you want to mother lots of children. Having our babies has made me want an even larger family than I ever dreamed of. I love them so much that I want to share that love with as many kids as we can feed.

    I only just clicked on your blog. I thought you were someone else in your comments to my blog, and I'm sorry I didnt come over sooner. Thank you for your kind comment on today's post. If you email me, I can send you the mp3 for Stones. The vocals are mine and the track was mixed by my husband. The music was recorded and mixed by a friend of his who likes the same video game that the song is the theme for. michele (dot) haytko (at) gmail (dot) com. I'd be happy to email the track.

    Sending hugs...

    ReplyDelete
  4. I've learned not to listen to anyone who hasn't lost a child no matter how well-intentioned the advice or insight may be. They're clueless and I hope they remain so. Sending you much love.

    ReplyDelete
  5. We kept saying to ourselves "We need to bring a baby home". We need to bring a baby home and have everything be okay.

    Honestly I can not believe we are taking this chance and having another baby. But it was just something we felt we needed to do.

    I'm so sorry about Georgina. I can't believe people have told you that you're just trying to replace her. Babies aren't replaceable! But voids can be partially filled, and old memories can blend with new ones.

    ReplyDelete
  6. Georgina was a living breathing baby, if only for a little while. Her existence has touched the lives of many people around the world. She will always be your little girl.

    I am right there with you. I long to have a child that lives but know all too well that there are no guarantees. I toy with trying again but we are both afraid. I don't think I could survive if I were to lose another little one. If only there were a magic pill or some other way to guarantee success.

    Sending love...

    ReplyDelete
  7. Thank you so much everyone. I don't know what I'd do without you, writing and reading out here in internet land. It is so good to know that I am not losing the plot!

    @afteriris - aw, I've obviously gone one too many rounds with the Waterstones self-help section as you made total sense to me! I suppose that I always knew academically that statistics are completely useless for predicting any one individual outcome but now I really, really know it.

    @aegeus - thank you so much for your comment. William's poem was beautiful. You are right, there is no unstirring the water. Not for your William, not for my Georgina.
    I'm glad that you feel William as a gift. Sometimes I feel that I am in danger of losing sight of that aspect of Georgina. It is hard to hold the gratitude and pride that we owe to our children and that terrible, terrible anger simultaneously.
    I don't really 'do' angry as a rule but since Georgina died I sometimes feel like I am about to explode. I don't know if you have heard 'The Message' by Grandmaster Flash & The Furious Five? You may well be too young! It goes through my head on a loop some days. Completely inappropriately as I am a puny, white, middle-class, suburban British woman whose world is certainly not like the proverbial jungle of the song. If you were to push me, I don't quite know what terrible threat I am going to carry out. A bit of mild queue jumping perhaps? It just sums up that feeling of being wound up too tight and looking for an excuse. If you had caught the anonymous thief who stole your lawn mower I wouldn't have been in his shoes for love nor money.
    I also get the feeling that something is wrong, it doesn't make sense, that the time is out of joint. But William and Georgina were here. That is a gift. Thank you for reminding me.

    @Michele - Thank you for your kind words about Georgina. I've only recently started this blog but I've been lurking on yours for ages! Will send you an e-mail.

    And now I've written a really long comment on my OWN blog. What is it with me and really long comments?

    ReplyDelete
  8. I am visiting for the first time, after you left a comment on my blog. I am so sorry to hear about the loss of another precious life -- your dear Georgina. Your posts are beautifully written. I can definitely feel the intensity of your love for your girls. I have so little time right now to read and comment, but I'll be back.

    BTW, I am a data geek too. I do despise being the statistic now.

    Sending you hugs.

    ReplyDelete
  9. Catherine,

    Just popped by again to read the other comments and I have to tell you that 'The Message' is one of my favourite songs of all time and oddly I've been listening to it loads this past year. Isn't that a strange coincidence?!

    Jess x

    ReplyDelete
  10. Oh Jess. That did make me laugh. Glad to know that I am not the only one stomping around listening to The Message!

    ReplyDelete
  11. Catherine, I feel like a proper tit not knowing you've had a blog all this time. I'm so sorry I didn't keep checking and rechecking your blogger name to see if you'd started. Just wanted you to know I've been by and have been thinking of you and your girls. Hugs

    ReplyDelete
  12. Like the others here have said, those who tell you you are trying to replace Georgina are at best clueless. Are their children replaceable? Why should yours be?

    I had one before, and I've had one since. Neither replaces, makes up for, or otherwise fills in for their brother. And I don't take kindly to people implying that they should.

    ReplyDelete
  13. I’ve known of the song, and of the group, but have never heard it until you mentioned it. Heck, Catherine, I’m a 41-yr-old (so, not too young for your song reference) white American middle-class suburban guy who plays blues harmonica…and an Aqaurian. I’m fairly blind to racial and socioeconomic barriers.

    If the song is close to you most days, if it moves you, then it’s important. It’s an incredibly powerful song. I understand. We don’t need to take “the jungle” literally. This grief and experience is a wilderness, and it’s wild, and far beyond our control. The death of my son is a wild thing and it has touched something wild in me...and most of the time my life, my daily life...work, keeping a home, raising my living children...I feel like a caged animal pacing to find an opening into the wilderness where I can do what I need to. It’s bigger than us and impossible to contain. There are times when I feel you at that edge in your writing. It contains us. It swallows us. You can’t control something that swallows you, and you can’t just let go of something you’re immersed in…it’s a fire that consumes us until nothing is left but hollow bones…and ashes.

    This goes on inside us, in even the most stoic people, and in the people in deepest denial, even if we don’t see it…even if they don’t see it. How do we continue to walk through the world without being pushed and losing it? Some days we don’t.

    All the stories I know of other cultures tell me that when something is stripped to the bone and reduced to ashes new life arises form it and is remade form the bones and ashes. God, I pray that’s true.

    ReplyDelete