It ends here

I remember when I was a teenager and first embarking on a serious sexual relationship when I realised (or was reminded by my parents) that getting pregnant was a bad idea, not least because I was a teenager but also because of the 50/50 odds of VHL. ‘It ends here’ I thought. 

My brother, the other member of the family who had it was dead and my dad,well as you know, he had had a vasectomy as soon as they knew it was genetic. I really felt that I was the only one left, the only person with this horrendous and murderous disease. And that was a decision I made. No babies with anyone, until I met my partner and I really wanted a baby.

And now I have one.

Since the moment she was conceived I felt guilty, my own desire and pleasure of a child and I was certain I had given her this disease. I knew, deep down that she had it, told myself she had it, was waiting to hear it officially but knew. 
You know? 
And there we were, dashing from Euston Square to Great Ormond Street all to hear what I knew and what my partner knew and then the Dr said. ‘I have some good news for you.’ And my gut and my instinct and my Catholic guilt evaded me, left me, put up their strong arms and gave in.

She doesn’t have it, she is free.

It ends here.








Unless I get pregnant again of course and then we play fates game all over again.




PS
once when i was in Rome i walked through a gateway that I seem to remember a nun saying that if you went through in a state of grace you got what you prayed for. I was selfish with my prayer but thank God I was.