Recently, friends of mine had 24-week twins. One died shortly after birth. The other is doing well at almost 7 weeks old. I was so scared for them when I heard the twins were born so early. My heart sunk when they lost one of their beautiful little boys so soon, before even really getting to know him.
My heart continued to sink when their surviving twin had issues so similar to Anderson’s, at first. Lots of desats. Bradys, which Ander didn’t even have. He was smaller, fragile.
Yet. He has now lived more than twice as long. He’s gained nearly two pounds (!). He’s off the vent. He’s thriving, and he’s surviving, and on one hand, I am so relieved and so happy for them. They already lost one son; it would be so cruel for such deserving, loving parents to lose their remaining little boy. They fight for him every day, keep vigil, cheer him on with a good team of doctors.
On the other hand…. I’m… jealous? Bitter? Of course, I don’t want anything but happiness for them and their son. But on the other, it just feels so unfair. Why is he living while Ander died? Are the doctors better? Did they do something mine didn’t? Why, in such similar situations with such similar cases, did my son have to die?
It’s not easy to read about this little boy. But I do, and I will, because he deserves it.
Even if Ander did too.