Those are fighting words

The days that followed the birth of the boys are a blur. A few things are forever etched in my mind, and even two full years later are as raw as a good sashimi.

Dr. J. I will never forget his name, or his face, or the words he spoke as he came into my room. "Your sons are gravely ill. In all my years in neonatology I've rarely seen babies this sick. You have to be prepared. You should discuss how far you want to take any lifesaving measures."


I don't know how long Scott and I held each other and sobbed, it felt like forever. Those achingly deep sobs that come from your soul. There had been only one other time in my life that I felt such sorrow, the night my father died. In many ways the sadness was the same, but in many others oh so different. How could it be that these precious babies could leave us before we even really got to know them? How could it be that these precious babies that we wanted, and tried so hard for, might not ever come home with us? How could this easy and glorious pregnancy have ended so abruptly and possibly so tragically?

I don't know how we pulled ourselves together, but we did. I remember saying, "I need to be with my babies NOW!" I remember thinking, "I have to be positive, I have to bring good,
healing positive energy to these babies, they NEED ME. I am their Mommy and I can help them. I can fix this."

I remember us making many, many trips from our room on the 7th floor, down to the NICU. I remember the feeling of complete helplessness. I remember trying desperately to memorize every thing about their faces. I remember telling each of them how special they were. How much we loved them. How much we needed them. How their Mommy and Daddy fought very hard to bring them into this world, and now, it was their turn, they HAD to fight to stay here with us. I remember leaving them and being so frightened that if I left, I might come back, and they might not be there. Every time I walked through those NICU doors, I held my breath. I'd peer around the corner to see if the boys were still there, and how many people were around their incubators.

Those first days were so, so emotionally, physically and psychologically draining. Scott and I never had THAT conversation. I think I asked him once, what are we going to do? (in that totally non-specific, I don't really want an answer kind of way) and his response was, we'll just cross that bridge if we have to.

I saw Dr. J, many, many more times in the months to come. He is a wonderful, kind doctor. As the boys got better, and closer to coming home with us, I'd see Dr. J, I'd smile, he's say something about how wonderful the boys were doing. I couldn't help look in his eyes and relive those few moments when he suggested that we consider losing hope.

It's a good thing that in our family, we don't give up with out a fight.