Ty Ewup

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.