Oh the irony

Can I just say first off that I've written this post on my phone so the spelling is likely to be dreadful. I apologise.

When we were expecting Emma, Rach had a lot of scans. The reason being was that on the 20 week scan, Emma's kidneys looked ( and I quote ) "bright". Cue blank looks from the Moynihans. "Bright" actually means "echogenic". Cue even blanker looks. What all that meant was that her kidneys did not look like they had been formed correctly. At this stage we were given two possible diagnoses; "Adult Polycystic Kidney Disorder" or "Infant Polycystic Kidney Disorder". The Adult version can cause problems but generally doesn't and people tend to live oblivious to the fact that they have it. The infant version is fatal. Incompatible with life. No treatment, nothing. As you can imagine, this scared the living piss out of us. And so we embarked on a journey that consisted of scan after scan after scan.

Rach was scanned every few weeks and each time we had a different story, sometimes it was "kidney function seems fine" others it was "still concerned about the kidney development". They also monitored amnaeotic fluid levels, also an inicator of kidney function. All those little irrational fears and insecurities that couples have during pregnancy were amplified exponentionally.

A couple of weeks before her due date, Rach went to see her consultant on the Friday. The consultant was unhappy with the fluid levels and decided to induce labour so that they could get Emma out to have a proper look at her kidneys. She scheduled for Rach to be admitted on the Tuesday. Over the weekend Rach felt less movement. We went into the maternity ward on Sunday evening so she could be monitored and the decision was made to induce straight away. Eventually they performed a ceasarian on Rach on the Monday night when Emma eventually joined us.

Here is the kick in the teeth. What nobody had remotely expected or noticed in her scans was that Emma had an incredibly serious heart condition. Emma's kidneys were like a red fucking herring in an Agatha Christie novel. All the evidence pointed to the kidneys but in actual fact the butler did it. And by butler I mean severe Hypertrophic Cardiomyopathy. How's that for irony. Like ray-he-fucking-ain on you wedding bloody day.

Here's the thing though. We have kinda learned that there is no point in worrying about stuff. That is not to say that we have become a pair of mellow hippies where things don't bother us anymore. We haven't, to be honest we probably fit and stress more than the average couple. But worrying about stuff that may or may not happen is something that we are better at letting go of. We worried and paniced about Emma's kidneys so much. Now, Jesus, Emma with just a kidney problem would be like a birthday present. The thing we worried about most was a non-issue. The worst thing that could have happened (and did happen) was something we never could have anticipated, much less worry about.