Yesterday was Pollyanna's birthday. Today is the 3rd anniversary of her death
We should be celebrating. Instead I can hear wifey upstairs bathing Harriet and as her voice chuckles down the stairs, I'm reminded again of a future that's could have been.
On average, 17 neonatal babies die every day in the UK. Today, 17 families were ripped apart. And tomorrow so will another 17. almost one every 90 minutes. To many of you, these are just numbers. I hope its a burden you never have to carry.
Today, I pondered over those agonising moments again in the delivery room. We were advised our baby had a genetic fault that was 100% fatal.
Of course 10 months later we found out that Pollyanna didn't have the genetic fault that was 100% fatal. So she could have lived. We were advised that she were she to have lived, she would have been severely physically and mentally disabled and so the choice we made was the right one. But I don't agree.
If I were told there was any chance of Pollyanna living, I would have taken that opportunity. Yes it would have been incredibly hard work and would have meant huge changes to our lives, but the alternative, to sanction euthanasia based on some feeble notion of kindness or sparing any suffering is fundamentally flawed. You only have to sit in the light sensory rooms at Center Parcs to understand that our notion of quality of life does not necessary apply to those with mental and physical disability. When I looked into those deep blue eyes just before she was whipped away to intensive neonatal care - I saw life.
I have spent 3 years wondering whether I could call for a case investigation. What I should have been thinking was whether I should.
For Polly - with Love
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