K8 the Gr8.  K8 the host of a 16 week old foetus, K8 the mother of a disabled child with a tendancy towards chronic chest-infections, K8 the mother of a school-aged child… K8 the skeptic.

I am at risk thrice over from this swine flu (H1N1) pandemic, and I’m forced to make a very bloody difficult decision indeed.

To vaccinate, or not to vaccinate?

The death of a pregnant woman earlier this week touched the hearts of the nation, she had contracted the virus and was unable to fight it.  She is me, I is she… I couldn’t help but bite my nails when I heard the news.  The vaccine was rolled out in Laughingboy’s school a week or so ago, but I refused permission for my son to have it.  After all, the last time I allowed him a flu-shot it knocked his immune system so badly, he ended up with pneumonia.  Santa at Christmas Eve in a ward full of sick children is a very sad sight indeed, a sight I’d rather avoid in the future.

I consider the facts as far as I can delve… this current vaccine seems to be the same vaccine that has been used for the same flu virus for the last twenty-odd years.  Call me naive, but I figure that this H1N1 virus is slightly more intelligent than Mary Harney… I figure it has the ability to evolve, to mutate into a sickness that may, in all probability, flip the birdie at a vaccine that’s nearly older than myself.

“It is generally agreed both nationally and internationally that potential complications associated with H1N1 in pregnancy far outweigh any possible risks associated with vaccination in pregnancy.” www.rcpi.ie

The problem is, they don’t really know to the full extent, what those complications are, because it hasn’t been tested that thoroughly yet.  My mother summed it up in one very highly intelligent (if not slightly scary) word; ‘Thalidomide‘.  She’s right – there is always that possibility, no matter how remote.  I am being asked to allow a toxin into my system… a system that is already slightly more volatile than it normally would be.  Who is to say that my child won’t develop leukaemia or cancer or some other sort of miasm as a result of this foreign toxin?  Nobody, it would seem.

From a truly sceptical point of view, there’s a chemical company somewhere with an enormous wadge of cash in its kitty as a result of this scare… whether this is a coincidence or not, I’d rather not guess.  Is it a coincidence that companies in this financial climate need money now more than ever?  I’m just saying, is all.

This whole thing smacks a little of a Stephen King novel – the media pulls no punches when it comes to scaring the bollix out of people like me.

To quote today’s Evening Herald:

“The vaccine is currently the best defence we have against the pandemic – and that message needs to sound loud and clear.”

I beg to differ, and I have the advice of not one, but two doctors behind my theory.

I wasn’t met with shock when I announced my decision not to be vaccinated, instead I got a warm smile.  I was assured that viruses of all shapes and sizes are common in winter months, and they don’t all make the headlines.  Ever heard of Clostridium Difficile?  This is another bug making its rounds.  Then there’s the famous Vomiting virus… that seems to have conveniently disappeared into oblivion, but I’ll bet my left boob it’s still hanging around.

No, the best defence against H1N1 for a duffed-up woman like me according to these doctors, is just to take care of myself.  I am to eat proper food… raw fruit and vegetables, well cooked meat, three eggs per week, wholemeal bread and rice.  I am to take a nap whenever the fancy takes me, and I am to think happy thoughts.  There is no need for Pregnacare, or extra vitamins (bar the inevitable Folic Acid during the first month) or any of these prettily packaged gimmicks with happy pregnant bumps on the front, aimed at mothers who just want to do their best… they’re completely unnecessary as long as you follow the pyramid.  I can do that!

I am happily considering the fact that the Health Service can keep their little prick.

So marks the famous last words of K8 the Gr8.

Whoever said that the Leaving Cert is the most difficult exam of your life – they’re lying.  I did alright(ish) in that test, but have had no need for it since, in fact its details were soon forgotten. The biggest test of your life is monogamy.  It is, by far, too cruel a rule.  I speak in terms of Darwinism and biology, the fact that a person’s hormones are destined to rage when in some people’s presence, and remain flaccid in other’s.  This of course fluctuates from month to month, all in the name of stupid pro-creation.  It has nothing whatsoever to do with your husband, wife, or otherwise intended.  Isn’t that cruel?  It’s a simple mathematic equation… two random people equals one healthy baby.  Who wants a baby?  Nature, that’s who.

I hold my hand up.  I’m guilty of the roving eye, and use the elastic band wrist trick.  A vicious snap is often good enough to keep me grounded, but I can’t help wondering about my betrothed.  Although he’s the most loyal man there ever was, he can only be human… a fact that stays with me whenever he leaves me for a night of taxi driving.  You should see some of the slappers in Bray.  They have no shame, they have no morals, they will wear nothing, they will screw anything, and will make this fact known.  For a man to deny this takes serious armour.

I found a receipt once in his pocket for flowers and chocolates but I had none to show for it.  That fuelled my curiosity for weeks.

I find long blonde hairs on my husband’s coat and I analyse his behaviour quietly because of them.

But why?  Why the constant suspicion?  Am I looking for clues?  Why do we as fully comprehensible humans spring traps and accusations from thin air?  If we browse the menus of our opposite sex, why shouldn’t our beloveds do so to?

A drunken moment on honeymoon soon found out.  We had sweated out a Black Moon party and were back at the ranch in high spirits, so I asked.  Hell, why not?  That’s what being married is all about… asking dangerous questions.  After all, there’s no point in hiding stuff now, is there?

‘Surely there’s been somebody you’ve been tempted by?’

He was surprised by the question, and evaded it.  He changed the subject many times until I oozed it out.  His reply left me reeling.  He admitted that yes, there had been one or two times when temptation was more than torture itself, but that he had a fail-safe way to deal with it.  What works for him, may not work for me, but that’s for me to deal with, however difficult that may be.

So what’s the moral?

I suppose that’s the secret to marriage.  Even if I’m glibly stating this after a week or so of the dirty deed, eight full years of partnership have taught me that admittance is most definitely a way through.  Stating your inner thoughts and worries opens doors.  Marriage is about being faulty, about being impure, about being human.

People ask me what it’s like to be married.  I tell them that I can feel nothing different, but that’s not true.  Now I know that it’s more than a piece of paper.  It’s about suffering the same things together, about holding hands through crowded concerts… it’s like holding a rope.  We’re holding our partners over the edge of a cliff and it’s up to them to trust us.  With marriage though, it’s like everybody can see us… everybody can see us dangling from that cliff and they’re waiting for us to fall.  All we have to do is talk it through.

‘Are you still holding on?’

‘Yes.  You’re heavy, but yes I’m holding on.’

The real torture is that we’re always dangling, never to be pulled up to safety.  The only thing denying us all from safety is temptation, a frayed rope.  The temptation of an affair is to plummet into the unknown, and that, dude, is too far to reckon with.

I desperately want to ask others about the state of their ropes, but it’s too personal a question, they need to be fully inebriated before a satisfactory answer is given.  Here though, here is different.  Here people have time to think.

How do you not have an affair?