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.

The Birth of Axel and Outlaw

Two years ago, my hospital bed rest ended, and my five month journey in the NICU began.

My week plus had been pretty uneventful. I continued to have contractions, I continued to have magnesium sulfate. I had visitors galore, my mother-in-law, my friends...oh and then there were the endless stream of doctors, nurses, phlebotomists. I had really settled in for the duration. I have a DVD player, a mini TV since the local CBS station did not come in at all in my room. (after all it was the NCAA tournament time, and the end of the hockey season, and if I'm going to be stuck in bed with nothing to do, darn it, I'd better be able to watch some sports!) (BTW, as I type I am watching KU and Memphis battle it out, WOW) I had tons of books on parenting, on preemies, and some for just fun, but reading was pretty much out since the Mag made me see double, and my concentration was almost nil. I also attended one of my baby showers via telephone, and an endless supply of video tapes.

It was a mundane existence, I'd be unceremoniously jarred awake by someone turning on the light and sticking me with a needle to draw blood, this after having my blood pressure and temperature taken every 3 hours during the night. Then at about 5:30 or 6:00 a whole pack of doctors would come though my room, examine me, ask me a few questions that I was too sleepy to reply coherently to, and then my cold, bland, often unrecognizable breakfast would arrive. Thank goodness for the friends, mothers-in-law, and husbands who brought me real food for lunch and dinner, or I might have really been miserable! Ah yes, and how could I forget about the constant monitoring of the fetal heart beats. If I took a deep breath, the monitors would shift, and no heartbeat would be detected, and a nurse would come running in to find me trying to get comfortable, or getting out of bed to pee for the 1000's time.

Friday began like every other day. I had an exam, cervix holding steady. Contractions the same, really I didn't feel them much. Only occasionally there would be a strong one, and I'd feel pressure on my bladder or across my back and then, nothing. Of course I was having loads of contractions, they just didn't hurt. Later in the afternoon, I noticed some spotting on my sheet. hmm, I reasoned, I'm sure it is just from the exam this morning, I thought of saying nothing, but something inside told me that I should NOT keep something like this to my self. I told my nurse, she agreed with me that it was probably from the exam too, but she was going to call the doctors just to be safe.

Here's where it starts spiraling out of control. It was about 4 (Oprah was about to start) the doctor came in took a look and found I had dilated to 3 cm. I was rushed to labor and delivery in hopes that they could stop this freight train. After lots of meds, 3 hours later I was still dilating, now at 5 cm, there was no stopping these boys from making their grand entrance.

I was placed in a room, Scott and my MIL were given a briefing, and then we settled in for a wait. I made the decision to have the epidural, even though the contractions were not bothering me. It was really a speed thing for me. I felt as though if there were any problems I'd have the epidural in, and if they needed to do an emergency C-Section, It would be a lot quicker and they could get to saving those boys all the faster. In hindsight it's a good thing, I'll explain in a second.

I then dozed in and out of consciousness for a while, and at 11 pm, my water broke. I woke up with a start, soaking wet, knowing the birth of my boys was eminent. It's kind of a blur from here. I was wheeled into an OR, lots of stuff happened, the doctor came in, Dr. Simpson, everyone said if you are going to deliver twins vaginally, he's the guy you want on call. I guess the other doctors are more inclined to cut you open, and Dr. Simpson is kind of old school more willing to let things happen.

Ryan when you were ready, you were ready. Dr. Simpson wasn't even in the room and the Fellow had to start having me push. The doc came in and was not pleased, but everyone shrugged and said, this baby was coming out! At 11:20 pm Baby A was delivered, and at 11:21 pm Baby B was grabbed by his ankles and ripped out of my uterus. (thus my reason for being thankful for the epidural)

The boys were whisked away from me so quickly, I don't think I got more than a glimpse of either baby. Scott was gone, Cindy went too. It's the pits for a mom of preemies. No happy cry, no baby on your chest. None of that Hollywood stuff where the mom and dad sit gazing adoringly into the eyes of their newborn. Whoosh, they are gone, wrapped in white blankets with blue and pink stripes, in the arms of a doctor, as they rush to start saving their lives.

They took me back to my room in L&D to recover. I was put back on the Mag, I think I begged and cried a little, please, please no more!

It was 2 am before I was given the all clear to go to the NICU to see my babes. By this time Scott had already named them. He said he just looked at them and decided that Baby A (Axel) would be Ryan and Baby B (Outlaw) would be Evan. ( I know I have to explain those nicknames sometime really soon, but too much to say tonight!)

Before I went over to see the boys, I had to use the bathroom...I've never fainted before. But I was sitting on the toilet, and the world around me started to go fuzzy and black. I had enough wits about me to shout for Scott just before I lost consciousness, so he was able to catch me before I fell face down on the bathroom floor. It happened once more before we left, but I pretended it didn't. I NEEDED to see my babies, NOW.

They were so small, just 2 pounds 2 ounces each. So fragile. Just barely alive. Already hooked up to ventilators, in hot little incubators, with wires and patches, with teams, of nurses watching your every move. It wouldn't be until much, much later that I would realize what it meant to have two nurses on each baby. (not good) I was allowed to touch each boy momentarily. Softly. No rubbing. Just soft firm constant pressure. My heart was in my throat. Through everything sterile and scary, there was a light, a light that had been missing in my life. These two little tiny things, filled my heart and soul with so much instantaneous joy, it was truly overwhelming. At that moment, there was no room for fear, no room for thoughts of the road ahead, no room for anything but bliss.

March 30, 2006, Part II

(I ran out of battery power in the car, didn't have time on our trip to write more, so now we are back at home, and I continue the saga)

No--
I could not fly. I think the doctors laughed at me when I mentioned getting to Sacramento by Saturday. I could not even go home.

They admitted me to the hospital and continued to monitor the boys. I was put on a Magnesium Sulfate drip to stop the contractions, (and all ability to think coherently) they gave me steroid shots to help the boys lungs develop in case they were born early, I was also given antibiotics in case infection had started this pre-term labor, and they started running tests.

I was told that if all went well, I could potentially be released from the hospital to remain on bed rest for the rest of my pregnancy. I went upstairs to settle in for what I thought was a day or two.

Then the other shoe fell, and it was a steel toed boot.

There was protein in my urine. What is this significance you ask?

PREECLAMPSIA

More tests, a 24 hour urine collection, lots and lots of blood pressure readings, and more Magnesium Sulfate.

24 hours later, I was told the bad news.

I was not leaving the hospital until the babies were born, and we all hoped that would make for a very long hospital stay for me.

The gravity of the situation had not settled in yet, I kept thinking, oh no, how am I going to spend 10, 15 weeks in the hospital???? I don't do relax and do nothing well. I don't do confinement to bed well. I have SO much left to do before the babies are born, I have three baby showers and one wedding shower to go to!

Honestly, that tells you a little bit about my personality. I was SURE I was going to be in the hospital for a VERY, VERY long time. I was SURE the doctors were wrong, there was no way I had preeclampsia, my blood pressure was only elevated because I was aggravated by the constant blood pressure taking! I was sure I was going to keep those babies inside until at least 35 weeks.

(A funny little aside: While I was in a deep Mag Sulfate induced stupor, I lay in my hospital bed trying to focus on the TV. On came a promo for the Amazing Race, my favorite reality show, and the only one I really want to be on, during this short 30 second promo, there was a short clip of Canoe Polo. What is Canoe Polo? Well, it is the totally obscure sport that I played obsessively pre-twins. I thought I was totally hallucinating. I called Scott on his way home from the hospital and told him he had to watch Survivor on Tivo because he had to watch to see if the Amazing Racers were indeed playing Canoe Polo. Turns out I wasn't that drugged up after all. I just kept trying to figure out how to leverage this into some publicity for our local club.)

March 30, 2006

I'm not sure when I will have time to post again, so as we are stuck in traffic on the way to the river I thought I would work on this post, a post I've been dreading. Dredging up the past. A past that is not far enough removed to be just "a thing of the past" but far enough away that some dredging is required.

March 30, 2006. Almost two full years ago. A day like any other day. As a pregnant woman carrying twins, I spent a good deal of time engaging in a few very important activities. Going to the bathroom a thousand times a day. Sitting down to rest, and catch my breath after my morning shower. My afternoon Yoplait and Oprah break. And of course the never ending visits to the perinatologist. Now, gynecological exams are never high on the list of fun things that women do, but after 26 weeks of high risk pregnancy, and almost a year of fertility treatments, I was a little blasé about undressing, scooting to the edge of the table, and throwing my feet into the stirrups.

It had been weeks and weeks that I was suffering from back pain. Excruciating back pain. I was working on party favors for my (now) sister-in-laws wedding shower, nothing overly strenuous, I was filling wine glasses with jelly beans. I remember sitting at the table, filling a couple and then having to get down on all fours to relieve the pressure on my back. But no big deal! I was carrying TWINS for goodness sakes. I should expect some discomfort right? I was seeing an acupuncturist, and a chiropractor, and I was “swimming” several times a week. (I use the term swimming loosely, because in reality, it was floating, or treading water, or slowing moving from one end of the pool to the other. It was the glory of being weightless for a short time.) Everything I did took effort, all I could think was I have another 15 weeks of this. It is definitely going to get worse before it gets better. I would literally go to the bathroom, sit back down on the couch, get comfortable, and then I’d have to get up to go to the bathroom again.

In hindsight, the constant urge to urinate, the pain in my back, I was having contractions. I should have said something to my doctor, but I don’t complain, I just assumed that this was all part of being pregnant with twins.

Ah, back to the 30th. I had a routine doctors appointment scheduled so I trudged over to the doctors office, sat in the waiting room, threw my legs into stirrups. We did the usual things, ultrasound, internal, external, heart beats, yada, yada, yada and then something was different.

“Why don’t you get dressed while I find a place for us to talk”
HUH?

Can you hear the axe falling?

“your cervix is shortening”
HUH?

“I’m concerned”
HUH?

“Let’s send you over to Labor and Delivery and have things checked out”

HUH?

Wait one minute, this is not in the plan. I have a very clear plan here. I am leaving to drive by myself to Sacramento tomorrow, they are throwing me a baby shower, I’m not going to miss that am I????

“Let’s wait and see, I’m not going to make that call without further tests”

HUH?

Funny I wasn’t concerned about the babies at this point, I was only worried that I was going to ruin Shelley’s party. I was already thinking, okay, maybe I can’t DRIVE, and certainly not by myself. Maybe I could fly. Yeah, I could fly.