Yes, I am quite aware that I bang on about it too much. I'm also very aware that my whole life is now dominated by it. And yes, I know she survived and I am thankful. But...there are some things that cannot be unseen. There are words that cannot be un-heard. There are feelings that cannot be forgotten.
Of course, the bloody great scars are a constant reminder. I could pretend it didn't happen. But the chunk of flesh missing from her hip, like a bite from a small but voracious shark is a big neon sign, every day. And when I made her, when I pushed her out of my body, she was whole. Please do not ever think I hate her scars or think her any less perfect. I love her scars. Because they show she survived. She has never known herself without them, and loves them to the extent that she wants to refuse further surgery on them. I hope she is always as confident, and that she is always strong enough to ignore the superficial, looks obsessed media, and be true to herself. Of course, there's a quandary. Accept her wishes for no further surgery, then when she's 16 have her rail against us, or insist, and make her feel we don't accept her?
There are some of you who, sadly, will know only too well what it is to see your child being kept alive by machines. It's something no-one should see, least of all a parent. You sit there surrounded by wires and everything you hoped and dreamed for your baby is dust. Of course, shock is a wonderful friend, and, at the time, doesn't let you digest the words of some of the world's top paediatricians when they tell you that "It doesn't look good". Which I have since learned is The Code for "Your child is dying". I cannot, however hard I try, I cannot un-hear that.
Of course, I feel so guilty for feeling this way when, ultimately, we had a good outcome. My heart breaks so much for those who didn't make it. The little girl in the next ICU bed choked to death on a bloody meatball in her school dinner. So awfully, bloody random. Elizabeth came out of her coma the same day that little girl died. I have thought of her and her family every day since. Her family donated her organs and I remember her mother saying to me that "Five other children have a chance now". Such grace and compassion, to think of someone else at that time.
We were surrounded by such wonderful kindness during those days. I remember my youngest brother, white-faced and almost shaking, made his way to the hospital when the news broke. Then when we were setting off for Great Ormond Street, he took his jacket off, plonked it on Husband's shoulders, put money in the pocket and said "There you go mate, you'll need that where you're going". That kindness has never left me, and never will. My other brother and his wife cooked a weeks worth of meals for us and struggled up to and across London with them. My mum and mum-in-law made their way up to London at first light to be with us, bringing PoggyDoggy who had been my cuddly toy as a child, and who had guarded all of my babies. I couldn't let Elizabeth go into this battle without PoggyDoggy.
My cousin made her way across London every lunchtime to be with us, would bring us essentials and care; Then after a long day's work then commute, would go to our flat, feed the cats and generally keep on top of things. All of these kindnesses and more - I don't know how I can ever repay them; Which is probably why I keep giving their children silly little presents. It's also probably why I've started giving blood, joined the bone marrow register and got a donor card, and support lots of charities - the overwhelming NEED to give something back, to try and repay the karma and kindnesses shown to us. I owe a massive debt to so many people and organisations, and I pay back gladly and with a smile in my heart.
So yes. For me, at least, my life is very much Before and After. But I have never ever thought "Why Elizabeth", because why not Elizabeth? These things happen. Of course...this is probably why I find it hard to leave the house, too. Because these things happen. Stupid oversensitive me has been consumed by it, and I'm a complete nervous wreck most days and freak out at the slightest drop of a hat. I am going to start counselling, as it's pretty likely that as well as being infected with philanthropy I've also contracted PTSD, which I always thought was something only Vietnam Vets got.
Who knew?
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