Protection

I dreamt about Georgina last night. I don't dream about her very often so it was a little unsettling but nice, all at once.

The Georgina of my dreams is generally herself, as she was in life, an extremely premature baby. Red, thin and bruised. Either that or a strange near-facsimile of her twin sister.

In the dream, Georgina was wading in a stream. It didn't seem unusual to the 'me of the dream' that Georgina could walk, let alone wade. The stream must have been extremely shallow as she was very small. I was concerned that she would slip and fall down in the water. There was a sinister looking fish lurking off to one side and I was worried that he might try to eat her or inadvertently knock her down.

But I didn't pick her out of the water. She seemed to be enjoying herself with the paddling.  So I just leant down and looked her in the face. Her face was so familiar. I thought, I'll just keep an eye on her to check that no good fish doesn't approach her and to make sure that the water stays under her chin.

A thought crossed my dream mind,  'Well Georgina, here you are happily wading in the stream. I thought you were dead all this time.'

Then I woke up.
And I realised that she is dead.
Still takes me by surprise some mornings.

***

30 weeks pregnant. A gestation in double figures that starts with a 3. Unknown and unexpected territory although still, as I don't need to tell you, no guarantee of anything.

It makes me feel so tender and protective of this little one inside and of his big sisters. They never really stood a chance, they were so under prepared. I never wanted my daughters to be born into an ethical and economic shit storm where so many seem to have an opinion on those little lives, on the validity of those bodies, those people.
On how much they cost.
On whether their chances of disability rendered them a poor investment.
On whether I am one of the selfish parents that pushes medical technology further into the outer realms than is appropriate.
I know there is only so much to go around but . . . it is hard to hear people speak about your own children in that way. Particularly when you consider the resources expended on patching up drunks every weekend of the year.

As a healthy 29 year old, I decided to start a family.
I didn't smoke, drink or take drugs during my pregnancy.
I took my vitamins and attended all my antenatal appointments.
I didn't expect anything to go awry.
In fact, I thought that my twin pregnancy was auspicious. A sign that my body could manage two babies. (Laughs heartily at former stupidity)
I thought my body was a fortress, that I could monitor what went in and what was going on inside.
That nothing could harm my children, that I could protect them.
As it turned out, once they were born, I could do absolutely nothing.
Not even make the decision as to whether they would receive treatment or not.

I wish I could blow myself up like some giant inflatable and throw myself around the whole damn situation. Puff up like a bull frog and absorb the impact of all the blows that land on my family as a result of a something that we didn't ask for. Become an ever expanding roll of human bubble wrap and spin myself out around my family. Protect Jessica from the consequences of her prematurity and the judgements that others will make about her worth and her prospects, protect Georgina from myself and perhaps even from the doctors. Wrap myself around her and just let her die in peace. But it's too late.

I always liked this song. But I always wondered why the singer sounded so sad. I thought it was a triumphant song, about a person standing in front of someone that they loved, taking the force of the blow for that person.

But now I think I understand. You can't protect anyone.
I've never felt as protective of anybody as I did over my daughters. Those two tiny, fragile beings.
But you can't fight biology.
Love can't defeat broken kidneys.
Caring can't cure sepsis.
I couldn't overrule those tiny broken bodies simply because I wanted to or felt as though I could.
But those bodies belonged to my children and I loved them. Those people, those bodies.
Not merely collections of disabilities or expense. Not to me.

Love, luck, prayer or hope. None of these things can guarantee a future for their brother either.
It's all a horrible, horrible game of chance.
One in which most people will never even know that they have been a participant.

But the standing in front of them regardless, perhaps that is the trick of it all?
The brave, foolhardy, crazy and futile attempt. Just to say that I tried to protect them.
So I stand here. In front of Jessica and this baby and Georgina's memory.
I stand here uselessly. Watching.
But not running away.