Ty Ewup

The cheese does not wear me.

Another exciting day of physiology. I'm starting to become annoyed at different parts of the body having the same name (colliod, ampulla) and the same thing having three different names (vessopressin, AVP, ADH), its a great big ball of suck. The party is coming soon, SO SOON. I can smell it. If anyone starts puking at my party, I think I may have to ask them to leave. I hate the smell of vomit, and usually if you're puking, you usually have all the co-ordination of a blind goat (the cerebellum is first affected when drinking alcohol) and that means missing the freaking toliet. That measn puke stench.

I refuse to clean up someone elses puker. Sans Babysitting at my party!

Carly if you still don't know where I live. Call me and leave a message, I'll check it before thursday. see you all there.

You would think I would get my ass kicked for saying something like that.
Ofcourse that's a Office Space quote, therefore a pop-culture reference therefore I am infinitely more cool. Ofcourse I didn't use a penis or fart joke so the gateway would give me a bad review. Somehow given a bad review by the gateway makes me feel better about myself.


Studied it up old school!

having more landlady problem she wanted to get cheques, cheques for july and august. Sadly, I will not be here for August and July. She called me yesterday (sunday) and said she was going to pick up these cheques on monday morning. Funny thing, I havn't been home today, morning or otherwise. So she left a message this morning, saying "I hope you got the message".

So she probably woke up my Roomate, which I bet he was happy about. Mike is a lot of things, but patient (especially in the morning) is not one of them. He was still sore about her calling 5 times at 6:30 (three times on my phone and twice on his cell) I hope he tore her a strip.

Lets review the facts
1- I never signed a lease (sub lease or otherwise) and therefore am not legally bound to do...well anything.
2- I'm leaving in may and am still paying for june, by any law in Canada if Im breaking a lease (which I never signed) you give a months rent
3- I gave 30+ days notice that I was moving out at the begining of May (now leaving sunday night on the 8th, yay!)

So to sum up, she's up shit creek sans paddle.

But its fun watching her struggle to get these rent cheques out of me. She said she'd "cehck the kitchen counter" for these "cheques", sadly all she will find is Mike's half eaten bowls of alhpaghetti.

She also wants to do a "moving out" thing, but I never did a "moving in" thing, therefore again, she can't do shit.

Luckily though, shes so stupid I doubt she'll do much but complain.

Turn out the red light! (I had this song stuck in my head since I woke up...I just may go insane).

It's a beautiful Sunday morning, the sun is out and I'm up at 9 O'clock. I have no idea why I'm up this early, I never get up early. Maybe my body is reacting to the fact it knows early mornings are status quo from now on. King off sleep-in will have to wake up early, the irony is palatable. I already spoke of this but now Im gonna talk about my hair. I think its currently longer than...well ever. I'm halfway to hippie and it turns out my hair wants to go 'fro, and Im not sure how I feel about this. Maybe my hair is just naturally ghetto, and has street cred I could only dream of. I wonder if it knows any gang signs? I guess it would be part of the west side crew...Albertan is westish. Manitoba is more centralish, but less people, people have to visit.

You all must visit, I promise to not let my leacherous military friends at you, they're really gentlemen deep down. Callous, oofish, and crude, but gentlemen none the less.

Carly would could go car shopping, and you could pick out the car that would be nice to have but I could never afford. I mention Carly because she is willing to drive that far, because she loves driving that much.

I could take you to all the winnipeg hot spots, which are actually 2 hours outside winnipeg, naturally. The beaches in winnipeg are actually really nice, no really, I'm serious, they are.

Two more! Just Two more finals and Je suis finis. That means I'm drunk, which also works, while I am finished I am gonna get "finished" shortly there after. I don't think we could expect less from the language we stole "double-entendre" from...er...bastardized into our own...whatever.

so now that I have my pre-requiste passive aggressive burn against the french, I can continue on with my day. My day will be filled with physiology, and what fun it shall be. I will hopefully be able to warn future generations against taking this course, a cumulative final for a year long course is crappy crap crap. Anyway, off I go.

that's the verdict. I explained to her each and every one of my points, backed it up with direct quotes from my essay, and she stll felt my entire essay was "vague and unclear".

I didn't introduce the difference between matt and mark, until the 2nd page, or she didnt have a handle on it till then.
The ending was "aburpt and vague" when clearly I even underlined the important parts to take home.

Oh well, Im offically pissed. Its a 15% essay, and I shouldn't care, I really and truly shouldn't. I left her office defeated.

Atleast I know for sure that I'm a hack now. Foolish Jayson thinks he could write, formulate a story, and convey it on paper.

Oh well,

cya later kiddies, chem 102 awaits.

So there I was...in the jungle (that is my room). I hear a sound, a loud sound, a siren!

INCOMING! No wait, it was just my alarm, its O-dark-thirty and I have a trip to the base.

I stagger awake and realize I need to shave, after trying to make Mike's work (after cleaning it, he hadnt emptied it out in what seemed like years) I decide to shave the ole' fashion way.

The blood bath the ensued was not suitable for children. Anyway I stagger out the door and I MAKE It, and ride the bus all the way to the base.

GUESS WHAT, the clerks are doing PT, you get to wait an hour! yay!

When they arrive, they ask you a few questions, and then tell you can go. WHAT?
I can go? Why the fuck am I here then, I didn't sign anything, give you anything, WHY THE FUCK DIDN'T I SLEEP IN TODAY.

You know IRP? Apparently I don't need them, I have an email specifically stating otherwise.

I wasted how many hours getting everything ready, scaring my land lady, FOR NOTHING.

Needless to say Im glad the ordeal is over, but Im annoyed I had to get up.
um
p.s. whine whine bitch bitch.

So I finished the body paragraphs of my paper!

Yay right, I don't want to do anymore! I hate it, I don't even want to read it over for accuracy! I dont want to study for finals, GAH.

Okay I'm done, Im better, I have to look forward to steak tonight! Yay!

Wow am I looking forward to 28th around 5ish, when all this horror is done. Do you realize I have spent 4 years of my life learning crap I will never EVER use?

MAybe some of the math, but really, not enough to justify 32 months. I could have walked out of basic and into a cockpit and I would be the same! Maybe even better, because it would have meant more training. Yay for wasting four years of my life. I wonder if this is how an artsman feels like fortified with his Double Major English/Philosophy fills like. Full of knowledge, but none of it applicable to his future endevours. I'm glad I got to have good friends through it though, couldn't have done it by myself.

Its saturday night and thats alright right for fighting. Or so the legend has it.

I'm dispatching again, they promoted me. Well not really, they mostly just took off to have fun and left me here to sit and stew. Well not stew so much as be alone, with my paper. Normally that's a good thing, but I got a lot done on my paper today. Im done page 4 of 5. Is it supposed to be that long? no, he said min 3.5 pages and make sure you say everything.

I havn't a clue what that means, but I shall try to explain worm sex in 5 pages (single spaced). Im glad I didnt become an arts student because it takes me FOREVER to write a paper, days and days.

got my essay back, the prof didnt like it, Im gonna go talk to her about getting me a higher mark. I really liked my paper, but apparently it was a little too risque. Maybe I am a hack writer, who knows.

Things got busy for a while, and now I lost my train of thought. Off to doing nothing

That's pilot in french.

I just wish being a pilot wasn't so far. I wish it were more hereish and not thereish.

But fun times ahead. I have to write more paper, I have to write more paper!

Thanks everyone for the drinks and the little toys and the many well wishes.
Offically I am now 23 years of age, weee.

What does this bring? Finals! Moving! Leaving everyone I like to fly planes.

IS being a pilot this important? I guess so, it had better be. I'm here (I think) till the 8th of may, so that means I can spend time with you all and we can do whatever.

That's right, I have big plans, "whatever" could mean anything, it could mean minigolf. I like minigolf, its a good sport, well not really a sport, but a fun afternoon in any case. "Its the putt-putt, you either putt or putt." I never liked that walking thing that golf ensues. Walking is fine for work and getting places, but for enjoyment? I could rent a Golf cart sure, but with Carly about, I'm not sure I could explain how the cart managed to stick itself at the top of a tree.

"It wanted it this way, there was nothing I could do. Yelling at me won't make it come down any faster".

Whatever could also mean West Ed "Galaxyland" (forever known as FANTASY LAND to me, fucking disney), we could ride the roller coaster and it would be keen. Amusment park rides don't really "thrill" me like they would say...a gopher, but I like them none the less.

The British prof in my phsyl class calls quotation marks "inverted commas", I swear the brits are completely mad. Well you'd have to be mad to fight wars in Bright Red Uniforms in the middle of Broad Daylight.

The workers are downstairs, making noise, I'm awake thank god. Nothing quite like hearing a cement drill go off at 8 to make you feel alive.

Well class beckons and I'm debeating on turning my CD on FULL BLAST, see how they like noise pollution.

So I got L.A.M.B and I like it. I'm not sure why I like retro 80's Japanese Pop music, but dammit I do.

The convocation/moving/paperwork trial is going along just great, I've sent dozens of emails and many a phone call, and I've actually made some progress. Not a lot mind you, but some. I have about 3 more phone calls this morning to make before I scurry off to class, but I am not in the mood to be talking to folk. They be queer folk they be, asking all manner of question I havn't a clue on.

Armed with my Genetics Degree and my Basic Flight instruction, I am completely useless in the "paperless" world we now find ourselves in. I will be getting better at these though, the army runs on food and paperwork, god knows our machines don't run. I should make a pool, and have bets on where I will get sent overseas. My pick is London, a tid hopeful, but hey, I have hope.

I checked the blogs and no ones looked at them since yesterday, so don't forget to read my previous blog as well on the exciting adventures of PAPERWORKGATE 05

Hey all guess what, I missed a memo!

that's right an all new round of running about like a chicken fetching this and that.

Last week I had no idea what or who IRP was. Now I hate them.

This untop of exams, I have to make a trip up to the base, when its convienent for them ofcourse. I have to contact seperate agencies of the military (who sit TWENTY FEET APART) and have them reach eachother through Trenton, ONTARIO. that's right, only in the military could you have long distance charges within the same room.

the info I need to get isn't really that hard: lease, void cheque, pay stub, posting message, vehicle registration, letter of lease termination, plus some particulars about me and how socially adjusted I was in 4th grade (last one in triplicate).

this doesnt take long and I'm happy to do it, but everyone is talking to me LIKE I'm RETARDED.

"Why havn't you contacted us before now" (I didnt know you existed)
"Oh thats only a month thats not much time" (over three weeks to book me a flight? wow I had no idea)
"did you fax us your posting message?" ( I DIDNT KNOW YOU FUCKING EXISTED)
"Oh now you have to fax these people your posting message as you failed to contact us after 5 days you recieved your posting message" ( I re read my posting message, there is NO mention of these IRP people, just some web-site Im supposed to look at, it doesnt work nor does the IRP website- I had to listen to her voice mail, its 10 minutes long...5 minutes in each offical language)
"well you can come in twice a day and check for updates" (I'm going to unversity you dumb cow, I don't have the time to visit you for tea twice a FREAKING day)
-after hearing Im going to unversity and that I DONT live on base her voice takes on an air of pity-
"oh...well you better contact your orderly and see if they will help" (as if Im doomed and that phoning people will give me something to do before the apocalypse finally descends upon my poor ignorant body)

GAH! so now I'm in the process of calling the orderly, and its been fun fun fun, she's not in.

Needless to say, I'm going to be playing phone tag for quite some time. WEEEE, convocating is fun.

I love my girlfriend, and I really like my roomate, but they're morning people.

nothing wrong with being a morning person, I'm sure it had selective advantage over the other people snoozing and they were better able to hunt.

something about a worm and a bird, I forget, regardless I am not one of these people. My ancestors obviously knew the benefits of sleepin' in a bit, letting everything warm up and then when everyone is tired from they're already full day, we could club them and take all they're hard woked roots and small animals. I'm sure it was a good life, preying on the work of others, a good life indeed.

Now, we are civilized, and it is no long acceptable to bonk people on the head to fetch more ill-gotten goods, but the wanting...no...need...no Biological Imparative that I sleep-in remains.

the irony that I'm in the military and sometimes have to get up at ungodly hours is not lost on me, but I digress.

So here I am in the land of the early risers. things like "lets get a jump on the day" is an interesting saying. Why don't we lull the day into a false sense of security and get it when it isn't looking, perhaps when the day is having a spot of tea. Naturally morning people have no use for logic, just the burning desire to wake me up and say "good morning sunshine, get up and get ready to go!"

I do believe there is only thing more fun than a morning person, and thats a Chiper Morning Person. In the end though, I suppose its best, to let the morning folk wake you up, its far more effective than my alarm clock. I've long since mastered switching it off, or sleeping in 9 minute interverals to wake up exactly right and hit the snooze again. A morning person will take pity on you, and wake you up, you see a late sleeper obviously is sad. We obviously have a problem, what with needing to sleep in so late, we must be sad, we need cheering up. You can't very well cheer someone up if they're sleeping can you? That blissful look on contentment whilst they sleep is obviously just a clever ruse. It is the duty nay the Privledge, of all morning people to Help the poor poor late sleepers out of their self-destructive cycle of getting the required amount of sleep their bodies so desperately require.

Im glad for morning people, they're trying to help me.

Author's side note: this may sound a little bitter, but I had to get up for a reason this morning and it was a good one. I was more than happy to do it, but that doesn't mean I can't grouse about it. Its the right of all to bitch and moan about every little thing.

Heck if we couldn't bitch and moan what would the internet be used for? Well, besides porn.

If you're interested in puppies, this isn't the place to be right now.

I'd like to remind you of my year end party that wants to last three nights. I know not everyone can make it all the days, but I hope everyone will make it on the thursday!

So you are all invited, please bring your high spirits and your High other spirits too. (In case you didn't get that, Im talking about hooch!)

Instead of going to class yesterday, I studied online, it was quiet. SO quiet, I enjoyed it greatly. I think I should have started doing it a long time ago. No annoying students, no annoyingly slow prof, just me and chem: together forever.

Naturally Im kidding, I wish on everything good and pure that I didnt have to take chem 102. If a more useless course, or a more useless lab existed, I know of it not. One should not be able finish a lab in 42 minutes, what possible use is a 42 minute lab, GAH.

Shouldnt even be a stupid lab with the course. Perhaps assignments or something, like in math 113, something remotely useful to the course. Maybe just another midterm with a seminar, like in 380 or 418. Chem 102, worst class ever...well next to genet 301. Signing off, oh and Carol if you're reading this, Nanni nanni boo boo.

15th December 2004
Matthew came home last night. When we made love, I couldn’t get over my guilt. I think he noticed something was wrong, but he’s a guy, I don’t think he cared. He hadn’t had sex since he left 4 months ago, and thankfully he didn’t last long. I wasn’t up to faking an orgasm.
Naturally, it had been far less time since I last had sex.
I wonder if Matt thought I was just upset about Luke’s funeral. In a sense, I was upset about the funeral, just not for the reasons anyone would expect. Well, almost anyone.
Sure I was upset about Luke’s death, I had known Luke since the program started to get families with Cystic Fibrosis kids together. They later disbanded it, but mine and Matt’s families stayed in touched long after.
Most families didn’t like being reminded of CF in an External way. They wanted to be Normal. Luke and Barbara were atypical though, they wanted to live life to its fullest (which was normal) but could still handle seeing another CF affected Child. Most CF kids don’t want to face the future. They take it “a day at a time”, whatever the hell that means.
So there we were, two CF families: 2 sets of harried parents, and 5 kids, 3 of which were not CF. I guess that’s why Luke and Barb could look past CF. They always had three friends who weren’t CF and who loved them unconditionally. Mark was the oldest out of all of us. He was three years older than Luke and as such, always had to deal with a CF younger brother. Same as me, Barb’s always had CF, and she’s always going to be my baby sister. She’s always had the lion’s share of Mom and Dad’s attention. Maybe that’s why I’ve always felt a connection with Mark. Mark and I have had to baby sit kids who have Intensive needs.
Maybe that’s why I always admired Mark, for his strength. I should know the trying times that a CF sister, or rambunctious brother, can bring.
-The Hospital Trips-
You do get used to it though, acclimatized to having a to be 2nd place to your siblings. You’re sixteen and you want to go out but Barb is sick and needs to go to the hospital. She’s having an attack and you no longer get to meet that cute guy at the movies. I love my sister to death, but sometimes when I was a teen, I really wished she would die…or once, JUST ONCE finally get better and stay that way.
-Restricted Diets-
Our parents having to explain to them constantly why I or Matt can eat whatever we want, and they can’t. Imagine the whole “she got more than I did” situation and multiply it by a 100. You’d never think you could get sick of steak until you live with a CF sibling. When Mom and Dad harped about vitamins, it wasn’t just “good for you”, it was life and death. Barb’s life, Barb’s death.
Mark was never like that it. He always shouldered the responsibility. He was Matt’s babysitter every time Luke got sick and needed another trip to Our Lady of Hope.
Mark was always a lot older than me. When Barb and I joined the “Cystic Fibrosis Families Together” program I was 15 that would have made Mark 19.
That’s ancient. That’s far too old.
That’s entirely besides the fact I immediately developed a crush for him. Matt, however, was my age. Matt, however, was a gangly 15 year old.
It wasn’t until we were 18 when I finally agreed to go to the prom with him. It wasn’t until we were 22 when we got married and he started med school. It wasn’t until he was 27 when I slept with his older brother.
This is why when Matt held me tonight, and told me he loved me, I couldn’t look him in the eye. The tears weren’t of Joy to see my husband after four months or grief for having lost my brother-in-law Luke.
No, the tears were of guilt, the tears were for the betrayal of Matt’s pure unquestioning love. You see, Matt has always loved me. Not the puppy love you expect from teenagers but love love. That kind of devotion can eventually make you believe you love the devotee as well.
Don’t get me wrong, I love Matt, I do. He’s a sweet and gentle man, and a wonderful husband. Matt’s was a slow built love. What happened with Mark was lust; long developed; long anticipated; long ignored lust.
I can’t believe I cheated on my Husband.
25th December 2004
Merry Christmas, I’m pregnant. I can’t believe I’m pregnant. The stick’s blue, actually, all seven of them were. I guess I didn’t notice I was late, what with Matt getting back, my adultery, Luke’s wake, and the sobriety of losing a loved one. Last night, laying in Matt’s old bed, Matt softly snoring next to me, it finally clicked. I was over a week late. I’m on the pill, I’m not supposed to be late, and I’m NEVER late. Wait a second, I’m on the fucking pill and I still got Pregnant! I should have been having my period the night Matt got home. I CAN’T believe I’m pregnant! Maybe it is Matt’s. I read in Elle that you can get pregnant any time during your period.
Maybe my adultery didn’t have an obvious consequence.
Maybe this child is my husbands.
Maybe the Pope isn’t Catholic after all.
1st January 2005
Got sick this morning, even thought I didn’t have a drop to drink last night. Matt asked about why I wasn’t drinking, I lied, I said I wasn’t feeling well. You know, maybe the flu or something. That’s true, I wasn’t feeling well, but if I could, holy shit would I be drinking right now; upset stomach or not. At least my getting sick won’t raise any suspicions; the problem with being married to a doctor is that they know too much about the female body. I don’t know how much longer I can keep this a secret; I have to tell him eventually. He’ll never buy me just gaining twenty pounds over winter, not if that fancy piece of paper is worth anything in his office. I will have to tell him I’m pregnant, I just won’t tell him the baby is his brother’s.
Or do I have to tell anyone? – What about Abortion?
Who am I kidding, I couldn’t, I love kids too much. I’m a kindergarten teacher for God’s sake. I couldn’t stare into their innocent little eyes again, not without thinking about what I had done. I’ve never been so tempted though. It was one moment of weakness, one night. Matt can do the math though; I’ll be two weeks early. Maybe I could have a premature baby? What’s two weeks? That’s nothing; people have two week Premature babies all the time. Ha ha! I’m so screwed.
Wait, what if Mark’s a carrier and I’m a carrier? What if my Child has CF? Things could not get any worse. If I wasn’t already nauseous, I would be now.
6th January 2005
Told Matt. He’s elated, and why shouldn’t he be? I’ve never seen him happier. He looks like the cat that swallowed the canary. If only he knew, he wouldn’t be smiling then. I knew I couldn’t hide morning sickness symptoms from a doctor for long. I just about broke down again when he called this pregnancy “a miracle” and that God “wanted this to happen”. He’s a good Irish Catholic; birth control has always been a contested issue ever since we started sleeping together. He likes the benefits, of course, he’s male. He just doesn’t like the apparent theological ramifications of my taking BC. He sees this pregnancy as “God’s Will”. Maybe it is God’s will, He wants the world to see me as the Cheating Bitch that I am. I can’t believe I cheated on my husband, with Mark, his own damn Handsome Brother.
I’ve been dwelling on the chances of my baby being CF since New Years. I’ve been a wreck. I’m trying to hide it, it’s helped that Matt’s been busy with work and everyone’s still upset about Luke’s death.
Luke had finally died after losing the last in a string of bouts with P. aeruginosa. His immune system is what actually caused his death. The white blood cells inflamed his lungs, causing them to degrade. Heavy mucus and damaged lungs are the feeding grounds for P. aeruginosa. The bacteria used Luke like a God Damn all you can eat buffet. Luke knew once he got it, he’d keep on getting infected with it. I can’t imagine how it must feel to know how and why you’re going die.
Luke wanted to be normal; we all wanted Luke to be normal. We all loved Luke, he loved life, and it was infectious. Perhaps he loved life too much, and constantly would forget to complete his physio when he got older; he would rather be outside with nature. When Barb would come down with something, say bronchitis, he would still visit. He knew the doctors advised against it, but he didn’t care. Barb was his friend and by God he was going to comfort her. He knew his life would be short. He knew there was a good chance he wouldn’t make it to his 40th birthday. He had to be active, to keep his lungs healthy and strong, but Luke loved the outdoors. Luke was lucky in that he didn’t have to take insulin. How lungs and the pancreas are connected, I may never know, but they say that he was lucky. That’s the word they used, lucky, like having CF was this great opportunity. As he got older he got sick more and more. Doctor’s called it “Exacerbation”. We knew what it meant. Maybe if he had been more careful? Maybe he would have gotten a few more months, or even years. What am I saying? Luke wouldn’t be Luke if he wasn’t exactly who he was. Sometimes you could forget he was CF. You’d forget right up until another trip to the hospital, another round of even more medication and even longer regimes. Right up until another round of coughing, and another hour of wheezing.
Luke’s death was hard enough; if Barb died I don’t know what I would do. If my OWN child died of pneumonia because I had crappy genes, what then?
I’d never be able to forgive myself.
When I saw Mark at the funeral, I saw him inside. He was strong on the outside, that’s what he had to be, but I could see through to the pain. On the outside, he was an ever-present pillar of strength, holding his Mom as she shuddered with tears. I wanted to be held, Luke’s death reminded me of Barb’s condition, hell it reminded me of my own mortality. When Mark held me that night, it was the first time that I forgot. I forgot about Luke, I forgot about CF, I forgot about the world. One blissful night, I forgot.
Now, I’m pregnant. Some day will I be my own mom? Religiously avoiding the fact that my baby will be lowered into the ground before her time?
No parent should outlive their children.
25th January 2005
Week six plus two. Week six is how far along Matt thinks the baby is, “plus two” is how old the baby actually is. I went to school this morning and saw my twenty wards. Sure, half of them had runny noses, but overall they are all healthy. None of their mothers stay awake at night, wondering if the next cough, next infection will be her baby’s last.
My mother always tried to put up a brave front, she always tried to be strong for all of us. I knew she felt guilty about Barb. Here I was a beautiful healthy girl and now she has a baby girl who constantly has colds, constantly has phlegm built up, and constantly has to watch out for “opportunistic bacteria” - Another doctor term for a cough that kills. My mom had no choice but to cope, there was Barb, and she had needs. If those needs weren’t vigilantly met, Barb would die. It was just that simple. Mom had bad days though. Hell, bad weeks, after a particularly bad summer my Mom got prescribed some pills. Only later did I learn they were anti-depressants. I don’t want to have to take pills to be a good mother.
My parents knew something was wrong, especially after my first year of being alive had gone so smoothly. Firstly Barb was tiny, she still is, so was Luke, all CF kids are tiny. Immediately after Barb’s birth, there was another sign that something was wrong, they probably didn’t imagine “genetic disease” wrong, but they knew something was up. Barb didn’t poop for two days, and when she did, it was foul. When Barb was sick for the first time, my parents took her in to see the doctor. They took her in every time, and for a long time, it was just brush off as “the flu” or “a cold”, but babies don’t have that many colds in a row. Not without something being seriously wrong. To their defense, the doctors simply weren’t thinking of CF, it was the late 70’s, no one was. Hell, even now, CF awareness isn’t exactly at a premium. When Barb was officially diagnosed, my parents saw it as relief. Finally their baby girl could be treated. Finally there could be an end to the constant fear of not knowing how to fix Barb. With this relief, my Mom told me once, came guilt and doubly so. My mom knew Barb was going to die prematurely and surprise – it was her fault.
I guess I didn’t really know what she was talking about, until now that is. I’m feeling that guilt, on top of everything else. I wonder if this is what Mom felt during the daily CF grind. I don’t even know if my Baby will have CF. I have to get her/him? tested. I have to know. I won’t have an abortion, I can’t, I couldn’t go back to work if I did. At least I will know for sure. Maybe my kid won’t be CF, maybe I’ll have a happy, healthy, chronic infection free baby. Before I was content knowing I might be a carrier, that there was a GOOD chance of me being a carrier, but I didn’t have to know for sure. Now, now I have to know.
15th March 2005
This is it. I Finally will find out if my baby will have CF. When I talked to Matt about getting tested, he immediately agreed. One of the lucky things about being married to a doctor, they don’t have the common man dismissal of hospitals. So we gave blood last week, and I got wear one of those flattering gowns they have. I honestly don’t know who thought floral polka-dot pattern as a good fashion choice, but everyone seems to use them. When Matt put out his arm for the blood test, I was panicky. Matt is not the father, his blood test isn’t going to help my baby.
The father doesn’t even know he is the father. I’m sure as hell not going to tell him, let alone ask for a blood sample. He and I reached a silent post-coital agreement that what happened would never be spoken of again.
Matt thought I was worried about giant needle they were going to shove into my belly. I was worried about a lot of things. Worried about CF, worried about Matt finding out, worried about peeing out a dozen glasses of water as I’m skewered on surgical steel.
Of course I was worried. I was not a perfect picture of feminine composure that day.

16th March 2005

Congrats to me, it’s a girl. A girl with CF, the amniocentesis came back positive. They told us that CF is the most “common” recessive disorder among white people. Were they trying to comfort us? When they tell you something like that, what are they hoping to achieve? Lots of babies are coughing to death, so I shouldn’t cry as much? Care as much? My baby has the “common” mutation for CF they tell me; like CF is something you get at the grocery and that it’s not a big deal. Common: nothing about CF is common.
This means that yes, I am a carrier, only problem is Matt isn’t. Fifty-fifty chance of Matt being a carrier and he isn’t, one out of twenty-five people are carriers. Both his parents are carriers! How couldn’t he be? There’s no way to hide my infidelity now. I’m going to be a CF mother without a husband. It will crush him, and he’s been so happy lately. Focusing on the baby instead of Luke, this baby has been his get out of misery free card. Sorry Matt, I never meant to hurt you…I never meant for all this to happen. They haven’t told Matt yet.
When the doctors got the lab results back, they didn’t assume betrayal right off. Apparently I could have given my baby a double dose of bad genes. Nurse called it uni-pre-natal, no that’s not right, pre-natal is the baby. Isn’t it? Parental, that’s what it was! Uni-parental disomy. Those tests came back negative.
When the nurse came to tell me, I’m sure she knew what I had done from the guilt exuding from me. At that point I just expected the worse, and I got it. The test involved looking at our DNA, which they got from the blood we gave, the baby myself and Matt. From the DNA, they did a paternity test, just like CSI. Just like CSI they not only knew that it wasn’t Matt’s they also knew it was a close relative of his. My own DNA screams out my treachery. The counselor told that, while she couldn’t tell Matt about the non-paternity results of the tests, she was obligated to tell him his own results. The entire conversation was like a judge handing down a sentence. Her words were cold. Her eyes were accusatory. I stood before her tried and convicted of being a whore. It didn’t matter; I had already sentenced myself to a lifetime of guilt.
I don’t know how I’m going to tell Matt, but the nurse is going to call soon. She’s just itching to. I’ll be damned if I let that little witch sell me out. I never wanted this to happen, I never wanted a CF kid, and I never wanted any of this. How am I going to make it through this?
18th March 2005
I found my diary open yesterday and now I guess at least one parent won’t be outliving my baby girl after all.