So much. So much. So much.

People always tell me it’s never the things you worry about that turn out to be the things you should have worried about. I’ve developed a corollary for this. If you’re worried about something, be sure to worry about it even more. Focus all your attention on worrying. That way you’re giving it the best chance of not being something you had to worry about. By way of example:

O’s renal scan last Friday. All the sage doctors I’ve encountered this year warned me that children with tethered spinal cords often have kidney and bladder problems. Also, every single time O has been subjected to a test they’ve found more than what they were looking for. So I was super worried.

The scan itself was heinous. I had to hold O down while she bucked and screamed, her eyes never leaving mine. She’s had enough of being held down on white-sheeted tables while I sing Twinkle, Twinkle in a vain effort to calm her. I’m probably creating some horrid association in her mind with the song.

When it was over, there was waiting. And a physio appointment and a quick check-up with the neurosurgeon and then The Results.

Nothing. They found nothing wrong.

I thought I was hearing incorrectly. The relief drained all the adrenalin from my body and I felt suddenly exhausted. Finally, they found nothing.

And the new house is a mess and my dad now has pig’s valves pumping blood through his body. And he had to be re-admitted to hospital to drain three litres of fluid from his lungs. And he became so depressed that he wouldn’t even let me cook him dinner. (Not sure if that’s a sign of depression or just good taste). But a few weeks ago I went over there and he criticised my mom for not sitting down while she ate. I joined in to have a go at her so he turned on me. He’s better! I thought. He’s back to his old self.

Little O continues to struggle to move. We now go to the physio twice a week but O is wise to the fact that I’m trying to make her muscles work in ways she doesn’t want to. She’s developed a loud squeal (not unlike the one the sow they killed to save my father must have made). The squeal is so ear-poppingly horrendous that it’s hard not to give in to it. But I press on, my now gargantuan belly never stopping me from getting on the ground to facilitate O’s exercises.

Two weeks until my due date. Two weeks until my life changes irrevocably. Two weeks until I become the Freakshow people stare at in the park as I waddle past with my triple stroller.

And kindness. I haven’t said anything about kindness and there is so much to say. This year has been an incredibly challenging one, but at the same time it has exposed me to the most giving, generous people I have ever encountered. People I barely know have been dropping round with food for us and clothes for the twins. Our friends have been incredible. The Jewish community has kicked in in a way I never anticipated. When I’m just about to implode from exhaustion and frustration and fear, I have a feeling of being enveloped in love and support by people who are giving so much to us through this period of flux and challenge. I hope that I can someday do the same thing for other families.

At the very least I can tell them to keep worrying about the things that really worry them, so that those will be the ones they never needed to worry about.