December 10, 2017
Sunday, December 10, 2017
The hardest days of my life were all experienced in that 114 day hospital stay. But this day is easily in the top three hardest days. Not being able to see my babies was devastating. Blake had taken pictures, but it wasn't the same. When you find out you're pregnant, you begin to pray and hope and dream. You make plans for the delivery and the nursery and, if you're like me, you research approximately one million things.
My original plan had been to have a natural childbirth. I was all about having a home birth, but Blake vetoed that idea. We compromised and decided to go to a birth center. We found out we were pregnant early June and had our first appointment with the birthing center on August 3rd. When we went back, our nurse midwife told us that it might be possible that we wouldn't hear the heartbeat, but she immediately found the heartbeat. She was actually putting the monitor away and Blake asked, "But what if it's twins?" She paused and asked us if we had any reason to think it might be twins. Blake told her how sick I had been and she said it wouldn't hurt to check again. She immediately found the first heartbeat again and then she moved the monitor and said, "Well, huh." She was quick to tell us that it was probably an echo, but that we would need to get an ultrasound to make sure. She told us that she had referred five couples for an ultrasound for possible twins and only two had actually been twins. The birthing center didn't conduct ultrasounds, so they referred us to their affiliated hospital. We weren't able to get an appointment for another week. That time felt like an eternity. I was determined not to get excited, but Blake was convinced that we were having twins. To make matters more entertaining with the ultrasound appointment, the first time they had available was during back to school professional development for me. We had told our families and I had told the teachers on my team that I was pregnant, but we hadn't told everyone yet. So, I told my principal and assistant principal and got permission to miss part of one of our professional development meetings so we could go get the ultrasound.
On Wednesday, August 9th, we headed to get the ultrasound. Our ultrasound tech took a quick look and then turned on the monitor for us to see. She told us, "Here's baby A.... and here's baby B!" We were having twins! Just like that, change of plans. The birthing center wouldn't take high-risk pregnancies and we immediately became high-risk because it was a multiples' pregnancy. The next stage of researching began. I decided very quickly on Willowcreek Women's Hospital because they had a maternal fetal medicine specialist and there was a decent chance we would need to see him because of the nature of a multiples' pregnancy. From there, I kept hearing Dr. Mason's name and I had actually known his nurse for more than 10 years, so he became my OB/GYN.
I am a planner by nature, so the research and plans certainly didn't stop there. But, I had at least embraced the idea that I might end up needing a c-section depending on how the babies were turned and how they handled labor. But I always assumed that I would still get to have some initial skin-to-skin contact and see my babies. What actually ended up happening? That was seriously not the plan.
All throughout the day on Sunday I couldn't get over the betrayal of my body. I was so very thankful that Elias and Evelyn were alive, but I had so much guilt. What had I done or not done to cause this to happen? Logically, I knew that them arriving 11 weeks early wasn't something I could control, but I was devastated. I tried to focus on what I could do, so I pumped every 2-3 hours. My blood pressure was still ridiculous, so I was prescribed a second blood pressure medication. I was still on oxygen throughout the morning, but by late afternoon/early evening, I was able to lose the cannula and breathe on my own.
About an hour after shift change, so 8:00, two nurses came in and they helped me get up for the first time and get cleaned up so I could go upstairs to the NICU. One of those nurses was a former NICU mom and she knew the desperation I had been feeling while waiting to see Elias and Evelyn. I was still retaining a lot of fluid and moving was difficult, so they put me in a wheelchair and we headed upstairs to see the babies. Blake and I had been given hospital bands that corresponded to Eli and Evie's patient numbers and we had to show those when we were buzzed into the NICU. Blake was already in with the babies and didn't know that I was coming up, so they wheeled me into the core and down past the other isolettes. All I could hear were the beeping machines and respirators and I could barely breathe. Eli and Evie were at the far end of the core, across from each other. I saw Evie first. I don't know if there's a way to describe that moment. I expected to be overjoyed. But instead, I felt sick. I was terrified. She was so incredibly small and was covered in monitors and wires. I knew she was going to be small; she was 2 pounds, 1 ounce at birth and had, by this point, dropped down to just over a pound and a half. But this, seeing her? I could barely comprehend. They helped me stand up to go to her isolette and I was able to touch her. I was quickly stopped because my instinct was to stroke and you can't stroke the skin of a preemie born this early - their skin will tear. The entire time that I was at Evie's side, I just kept thinking that this shouldn't be happening, she should still be safe inside of me. When we moved across to Eli's isolette, I was a little more prepared, but still in a state of shock. We have pictures of those first moments when I saw each of the babies and they're still hard to look at. Because I know what I was feeling behind the expression on my face. The shock, the pit in my stomach, the anger at myself, the guilt. My prayer simply became, "Please, God, please."
I know we were told their care times. The care times are the only times when you can touch your preemies when they are that early. Every sound, every light, and every touch is magnified for them. They aren't supposed to be outside of the womb yet, and those stimuli can cause brain bleeds. Their care times were when diapers would be changed, temperatures taken, milliliters of milk given (though that didn't start right away), but for NICU parents, most importantly, those care times were when you could see and touch your child. Those care times became our whole world. But on this night, I felt dead inside. I don't even remember leaving the NICU and going back downstairs to my hospital room.
The hardest days of my life were all experienced in that 114 day hospital stay. But this day is easily in the top three hardest days. Not being able to see my babies was devastating. Blake had taken pictures, but it wasn't the same. When you find out you're pregnant, you begin to pray and hope and dream. You make plans for the delivery and the nursery and, if you're like me, you research approximately one million things.
My original plan had been to have a natural childbirth. I was all about having a home birth, but Blake vetoed that idea. We compromised and decided to go to a birth center. We found out we were pregnant early June and had our first appointment with the birthing center on August 3rd. When we went back, our nurse midwife told us that it might be possible that we wouldn't hear the heartbeat, but she immediately found the heartbeat. She was actually putting the monitor away and Blake asked, "But what if it's twins?" She paused and asked us if we had any reason to think it might be twins. Blake told her how sick I had been and she said it wouldn't hurt to check again. She immediately found the first heartbeat again and then she moved the monitor and said, "Well, huh." She was quick to tell us that it was probably an echo, but that we would need to get an ultrasound to make sure. She told us that she had referred five couples for an ultrasound for possible twins and only two had actually been twins. The birthing center didn't conduct ultrasounds, so they referred us to their affiliated hospital. We weren't able to get an appointment for another week. That time felt like an eternity. I was determined not to get excited, but Blake was convinced that we were having twins. To make matters more entertaining with the ultrasound appointment, the first time they had available was during back to school professional development for me. We had told our families and I had told the teachers on my team that I was pregnant, but we hadn't told everyone yet. So, I told my principal and assistant principal and got permission to miss part of one of our professional development meetings so we could go get the ultrasound.
On Wednesday, August 9th, we headed to get the ultrasound. Our ultrasound tech took a quick look and then turned on the monitor for us to see. She told us, "Here's baby A.... and here's baby B!" We were having twins! Just like that, change of plans. The birthing center wouldn't take high-risk pregnancies and we immediately became high-risk because it was a multiples' pregnancy. The next stage of researching began. I decided very quickly on Willowcreek Women's Hospital because they had a maternal fetal medicine specialist and there was a decent chance we would need to see him because of the nature of a multiples' pregnancy. From there, I kept hearing Dr. Mason's name and I had actually known his nurse for more than 10 years, so he became my OB/GYN.
I am a planner by nature, so the research and plans certainly didn't stop there. But, I had at least embraced the idea that I might end up needing a c-section depending on how the babies were turned and how they handled labor. But I always assumed that I would still get to have some initial skin-to-skin contact and see my babies. What actually ended up happening? That was seriously not the plan.
All throughout the day on Sunday I couldn't get over the betrayal of my body. I was so very thankful that Elias and Evelyn were alive, but I had so much guilt. What had I done or not done to cause this to happen? Logically, I knew that them arriving 11 weeks early wasn't something I could control, but I was devastated. I tried to focus on what I could do, so I pumped every 2-3 hours. My blood pressure was still ridiculous, so I was prescribed a second blood pressure medication. I was still on oxygen throughout the morning, but by late afternoon/early evening, I was able to lose the cannula and breathe on my own.
About an hour after shift change, so 8:00, two nurses came in and they helped me get up for the first time and get cleaned up so I could go upstairs to the NICU. One of those nurses was a former NICU mom and she knew the desperation I had been feeling while waiting to see Elias and Evelyn. I was still retaining a lot of fluid and moving was difficult, so they put me in a wheelchair and we headed upstairs to see the babies. Blake and I had been given hospital bands that corresponded to Eli and Evie's patient numbers and we had to show those when we were buzzed into the NICU. Blake was already in with the babies and didn't know that I was coming up, so they wheeled me into the core and down past the other isolettes. All I could hear were the beeping machines and respirators and I could barely breathe. Eli and Evie were at the far end of the core, across from each other. I saw Evie first. I don't know if there's a way to describe that moment. I expected to be overjoyed. But instead, I felt sick. I was terrified. She was so incredibly small and was covered in monitors and wires. I knew she was going to be small; she was 2 pounds, 1 ounce at birth and had, by this point, dropped down to just over a pound and a half. But this, seeing her? I could barely comprehend. They helped me stand up to go to her isolette and I was able to touch her. I was quickly stopped because my instinct was to stroke and you can't stroke the skin of a preemie born this early - their skin will tear. The entire time that I was at Evie's side, I just kept thinking that this shouldn't be happening, she should still be safe inside of me. When we moved across to Eli's isolette, I was a little more prepared, but still in a state of shock. We have pictures of those first moments when I saw each of the babies and they're still hard to look at. Because I know what I was feeling behind the expression on my face. The shock, the pit in my stomach, the anger at myself, the guilt. My prayer simply became, "Please, God, please."
I know we were told their care times. The care times are the only times when you can touch your preemies when they are that early. Every sound, every light, and every touch is magnified for them. They aren't supposed to be outside of the womb yet, and those stimuli can cause brain bleeds. Their care times were when diapers would be changed, temperatures taken, milliliters of milk given (though that didn't start right away), but for NICU parents, most importantly, those care times were when you could see and touch your child. Those care times became our whole world. But on this night, I felt dead inside. I don't even remember leaving the NICU and going back downstairs to my hospital room.
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