Michael’s birthday breakfast
Notes in my diary this week:
How exhausted I am today.
Yesterday my children asked:
“How are you, Mama?”
“Very bad, it couldn’t be worse.”
I tell them our Little One is very ill
and that he will die after being born.
We are standing in the hallway.
I have them both in my arms.
Later on the sofa in the kitchen –
Nikolaus on my right, Paula on my left,
Michael is playing.
I talk about the results of the examination:
The Little One’s heart didn’t grow properly
and neither did other things.
About the malformed arms I say nothing yet.
But, I do tell them that according to the doctor
he has no pain and that he feels cosy in my womb.
Paula asks if there is any hope;
maybe the doctor made a mistake?
maybe everything could turn out all right?
I say: No.
I explain what the ultrasound specialist said:
there is a 50% chance of him being born alive –
but he will always be very sick.
And I tell them
that I cannot bear the thought
of him remaining in hospital
for the rest of his life.
Nikolaus doesn’t say much.
“How unfair, some people may live a long life
– and others may not.” he says.
In school they have just learned about medieval times.
He was appalled by the cruel punishments common back then.
That nowadays an unborn, handicapped child
can be put to death,
he just cannot believe.
Later in the evening Paula says:
“Mama – if there is any danger for you,
you must have an abortion –
after all, we three need you, too!”