My story of how oldest and his twin brother entered the world is often a painful time for me to relive; yet 14 years ago seems like 14 hours ago at times. I know one day I will want to remember my angst. I kept a journal during the time but decided it was time to tell my story here. It's a long one.
You've been warned.
When I was younger and people asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up- aside from the answer of librarian or flight attendant (which is such a riot because I hate to fly and get sick when we hit turbulence), I always knew I wanted to be a Mom.
In college it changed to pre-school teacher yet who knew to teach 4 year olds you needed to pass Statistics. Math and I have never been friends so I changed to a Psychology major my sophmore year. Discussing Freud, feelings and phobias was much more my speed. Analyze people? Yes. Up my alley. Guidance Counselor, Social Worker or Nurse were new aspirations. Mom. Still on the plate.
The minute I had to disect a cat in Anatomy class though, that was the end of Nursing and although I stayed somewhat in the medical field for a long while, Mom was always the one thing I wanted to be.
When DH and I married I was already 32 (over the hill in the egg department apparently).
I was extremely jealous and resentful of my friends who blinked and had babies while I was going through blood tests and ultrasounds. Each month was harder and harder and I became somewhat of a recluse from my pregnant friends. I would avoid outings with mom friends because the dreaded question of "why aren't you pregnant yet" was a common one. I would tear up each time I was asked so decided avoidance was best. I have learned to no longer ask "when will you be having a baby". Note: If you feel you MUST ask try out " Have you decided if you want children or not?"
We went the IVF route and I quickly learned that getting pregnant was not as easy as we had learned in our high school sex ed. classes. I found an online world filled with so many women in similar circumstances and I would spend every day online chatting with my new besties. The ones who understood my need to skip the baby showers were my daily saviors. The chat rooms were filled with terminology relating to infertility and I quickly became an expert in the subject. (I am still in touch with many of them today- post children. ) We understood the tears. The failed cycles. The daily ultrasounds to see how many follicles were being stimulated from the daily injections into your stomach and butt. Hormones. God the hormones. The rages. We were all maxed out and only here in our safe haven of the internet could we release our tension.
After 4 failed cycles in Boston clinics I ventured to NYC where I entrusted the doctors at Cornell Hospital to find a way to make me a mother. My online friend Allycat had gone and was pregnant along with many others who found Cornell the miracle of clinics. I spent two weeks with my inlaws and walked 15 blocks to the hospital each day. By this point my stomach was a pin cushion and filled with bruises from all the needle sticks.
I was a part of the Cornell IVF group online and it was in the waiting room where we all met in real life. Cycling at the same time; rooting each other on. We compared follicle sizes and laughed and agonized over the size of embryos. But it was there in NYC, where I became pregnant with my twin boys. I called them Rocky 1 and 2 as I knew they were fighters from the start.
However the Rocky boys were soon renamed baby A and baby B as an ultrasound revealed there may be a medical issue with baby B. It was recommended at 11 weeks I have a CVS (Chorionic Villus Sampling). I had been bleeding for weeks and I was convinced (because remember I'm negative Nellie) that this pregnancy was doomed. By 11 weeks I was in the ER twice with bleeding so the fact that I needed this test scared the hell out of me. I did not leave the house for 48 hours and remained in a fetal position by the phone. Until it was revealed that Baby B was actually okay and that I was carrying two boys.
And I breathed.
Until I didn't.
I knew something was wrong immediately. Hours after I came home from the CVS (the test; not the drug store)
Call it Mother's intuition at an early stage but the doctor kept telling me that I was fine.
I wasn't fine.
I was leaking amniotic fluid and at 18 weeks my water broke with Baby B.
Off I went to labor and delivery in the wee hours of the morning with DH. I didn't know at the time it was my water breaking and apparently either did labor and delivery. My tests were all normal, the babies looked healthy and seriously people, seriously they told me I must've peed my pants. I was changed over to a high risk OB and put on bedrest.
I ate in my bedroom.
I read, lived, breathed and slept in the damned bedroom.
I needed DH there when I showered and I was not allowed to walk up and down stairs.
At 22 weeks my water broke again. This time with Baby A. Back to Labor and Delivery I went. They told me there was nothing they could do and sent me home. I was bleeding and at 2AM I called; begging to be admitted. I think the hysteria finally won them over and there I was put, in the corner room on the Maternal Fetal Medicine Floor.
High Risk.
I was told by amazing nurse M that the corner room always went to the ones who they knew would be long term. I took that as a sign.
Until I met Drs Doom and Gloom. They were new fellows to the MFH team and they walked in with solemn faces telling me my options. (Note that I ended up loving Dr Gloom). My options were basically : Wait and See OR terminate the pregnancy. I knew what my decision was but D and G were painting a bleek picture.
I was 22 weeks pregnant and my water broke; twice. With both babies. The odds were not in my favor.
The Mama Bear in me emerged however and I told them I went through hell and back to have these children and there is no way I'm giving up on them.
And so it was.
It was then I met Dr R. A cuddly teddy bear of a Neonatologist who told me what life would be like if the boys were born now (no chance of survival) at 24, 26 and 28 weeks. Really; he said. We hope to hold off until at least 28 weeks. Let's take it one day at a time.
Not my specialty but I had no choice.
My amazing Dad brought in a calendar and taped it to the wall with the 28 week date circled. August 8th, 2003. I would cross off each day that the babies stayed in utero. (Well, I didn't cross off because I was not allowed out of bed. ) Other than to use the bathroom and shower every few days I was to remain, lying down, until the boys were born.
DH would come every night after work and dinner and there we would catch up on our day and watch trash television. Each night he left; I cried. Terrified that the babies wouldn't last another day and scared out of my mind of what the hours would bring. I was leaking fluid and bleeding hourly.
It was way before smartphones so I was dialing up to the internet on a laptop that my father in law lent to me. There was no facebook so I sent out mass emails once in a while on the status of my pregnancy. My friends who I met in my IVF world were still invaluable to me. Many of us were pregnant around the same time (or had already became Mothers) Sadly, my dear friend Allycat had lost her twins prematurely, but she and I had become close during our infertility and she was with me every step of the way even though at that point, we hadn't met in real life.
My mom would come every afternoon; often bringing me magazines and lunch (Cravings of Barry's Deli corned beef sandwich was at the top of my list). I was not allowed to even sit up much so I would be transported on a stretcher to weekly ultrasounds or support groups. Yes, support groups in the lounge of this floor. The only time I got to see the outside of my room.
There was a mess of women on the floor in similar boats although only one was a long termer like me. My neighbor in the room next to me who I would never meet; until after the babies were born.
Living in a hospital for 6 1/2 weeks on bedrest can make you a little loopy .
Not to mention panic attacks followed by cravings for chocolate milkshakes that they served down the hall. If you stayed longer than 2 weeks you got free cable. You can see how exciting the time must have been for me. I looked forward to the times my nurses would come in for vital signs so I could hear the boys heartbeats. I watched morning talk shows and napped at 3pm to break up the day.
I became close with my nurses so when one morning I woke up covered in blood, screamed, and pulled the emergency cord in the bathroom, I was shortly surrounded by all of my favorite staff.
There I was, on a toilet, with 15 staff around me and yes, it is there, I decided all humility gets thrown out the window.
"Call your husband" they said. "Today is the day."
It was August 7th.
One day short of my goal. 27 weeks. 6 days.
Dr Doom scrubbed in that evening to witness the birth of my boys. Her and Gloom were a big part of my stay in the hospital and were actually amazed each visit that I was hanging in there. My weeks leading up to August 7th were frightening as all hell. My ultrasounds showed very low levels of amniotic fluid (necessary for the boys to develop) and I had been diagnosed back at the 18 week mark as having PPROM (Preterm Premature Rupture of Membranes. Basically. Your water broke. Early. And it's really shitty) Dr R from the NICU was also there with me and DH, as well as a host of other people in scrubs.
Zachary came out not uttering a sound. He was all of 2lbs,10 oz.
Baby A, "Oldest" followed at 2lbs, 9oz. A small scream from his tiny lungs gave me a glimmer of hope.
D and G had asked me several times throughout the 6 1/ 2 weeks if I was willing to continue the pregnancy even if one of the babies would not survive. We all knew that Baby B had lost a lot of fluid through this pregnancy.
Survival was unlikely.
Yes. I said.
Yes. I had always said.
The next morning, 8 hours after Zachary had died, Dr Doom came in to sit with me.
You taught me so much, he told me.
As tears run down my face now, even after having told this story so many times, I will never forget D and G.
You taught me that not every case is text book. That each person is to be treated individually.
I have run into Dr G throughout the years (she remembers me well) and oddly Dr G was on labor and delivery, becoming a father to twins, on the same day that my youngest was born.
Although never proven, I know, and THEY know, that the CVS caused my PPROM.
I cant woulda shoulda coulda my whole life though.
Oldest is in the next room doing homework.
So would I have done anything different?
Not a chance.
You've been warned.
When I was younger and people asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up- aside from the answer of librarian or flight attendant (which is such a riot because I hate to fly and get sick when we hit turbulence), I always knew I wanted to be a Mom.
In college it changed to pre-school teacher yet who knew to teach 4 year olds you needed to pass Statistics. Math and I have never been friends so I changed to a Psychology major my sophmore year. Discussing Freud, feelings and phobias was much more my speed. Analyze people? Yes. Up my alley. Guidance Counselor, Social Worker or Nurse were new aspirations. Mom. Still on the plate.
The minute I had to disect a cat in Anatomy class though, that was the end of Nursing and although I stayed somewhat in the medical field for a long while, Mom was always the one thing I wanted to be.
When DH and I married I was already 32 (over the hill in the egg department apparently).
I was extremely jealous and resentful of my friends who blinked and had babies while I was going through blood tests and ultrasounds. Each month was harder and harder and I became somewhat of a recluse from my pregnant friends. I would avoid outings with mom friends because the dreaded question of "why aren't you pregnant yet" was a common one. I would tear up each time I was asked so decided avoidance was best. I have learned to no longer ask "when will you be having a baby". Note: If you feel you MUST ask try out " Have you decided if you want children or not?"
We went the IVF route and I quickly learned that getting pregnant was not as easy as we had learned in our high school sex ed. classes. I found an online world filled with so many women in similar circumstances and I would spend every day online chatting with my new besties. The ones who understood my need to skip the baby showers were my daily saviors. The chat rooms were filled with terminology relating to infertility and I quickly became an expert in the subject. (I am still in touch with many of them today- post children. ) We understood the tears. The failed cycles. The daily ultrasounds to see how many follicles were being stimulated from the daily injections into your stomach and butt. Hormones. God the hormones. The rages. We were all maxed out and only here in our safe haven of the internet could we release our tension.
After 4 failed cycles in Boston clinics I ventured to NYC where I entrusted the doctors at Cornell Hospital to find a way to make me a mother. My online friend Allycat had gone and was pregnant along with many others who found Cornell the miracle of clinics. I spent two weeks with my inlaws and walked 15 blocks to the hospital each day. By this point my stomach was a pin cushion and filled with bruises from all the needle sticks.
I was a part of the Cornell IVF group online and it was in the waiting room where we all met in real life. Cycling at the same time; rooting each other on. We compared follicle sizes and laughed and agonized over the size of embryos. But it was there in NYC, where I became pregnant with my twin boys. I called them Rocky 1 and 2 as I knew they were fighters from the start.
However the Rocky boys were soon renamed baby A and baby B as an ultrasound revealed there may be a medical issue with baby B. It was recommended at 11 weeks I have a CVS (Chorionic Villus Sampling). I had been bleeding for weeks and I was convinced (because remember I'm negative Nellie) that this pregnancy was doomed. By 11 weeks I was in the ER twice with bleeding so the fact that I needed this test scared the hell out of me. I did not leave the house for 48 hours and remained in a fetal position by the phone. Until it was revealed that Baby B was actually okay and that I was carrying two boys.
And I breathed.
Until I didn't.
I knew something was wrong immediately. Hours after I came home from the CVS (the test; not the drug store)
Call it Mother's intuition at an early stage but the doctor kept telling me that I was fine.
I wasn't fine.
I was leaking amniotic fluid and at 18 weeks my water broke with Baby B.
Off I went to labor and delivery in the wee hours of the morning with DH. I didn't know at the time it was my water breaking and apparently either did labor and delivery. My tests were all normal, the babies looked healthy and seriously people, seriously they told me I must've peed my pants. I was changed over to a high risk OB and put on bedrest.
I ate in my bedroom.
I read, lived, breathed and slept in the damned bedroom.
I needed DH there when I showered and I was not allowed to walk up and down stairs.
At 22 weeks my water broke again. This time with Baby A. Back to Labor and Delivery I went. They told me there was nothing they could do and sent me home. I was bleeding and at 2AM I called; begging to be admitted. I think the hysteria finally won them over and there I was put, in the corner room on the Maternal Fetal Medicine Floor.
High Risk.
I was told by amazing nurse M that the corner room always went to the ones who they knew would be long term. I took that as a sign.
Until I met Drs Doom and Gloom. They were new fellows to the MFH team and they walked in with solemn faces telling me my options. (Note that I ended up loving Dr Gloom). My options were basically : Wait and See OR terminate the pregnancy. I knew what my decision was but D and G were painting a bleek picture.
I was 22 weeks pregnant and my water broke; twice. With both babies. The odds were not in my favor.
The Mama Bear in me emerged however and I told them I went through hell and back to have these children and there is no way I'm giving up on them.
And so it was.
It was then I met Dr R. A cuddly teddy bear of a Neonatologist who told me what life would be like if the boys were born now (no chance of survival) at 24, 26 and 28 weeks. Really; he said. We hope to hold off until at least 28 weeks. Let's take it one day at a time.
Not my specialty but I had no choice.
My amazing Dad brought in a calendar and taped it to the wall with the 28 week date circled. August 8th, 2003. I would cross off each day that the babies stayed in utero. (Well, I didn't cross off because I was not allowed out of bed. ) Other than to use the bathroom and shower every few days I was to remain, lying down, until the boys were born.
DH would come every night after work and dinner and there we would catch up on our day and watch trash television. Each night he left; I cried. Terrified that the babies wouldn't last another day and scared out of my mind of what the hours would bring. I was leaking fluid and bleeding hourly.
It was way before smartphones so I was dialing up to the internet on a laptop that my father in law lent to me. There was no facebook so I sent out mass emails once in a while on the status of my pregnancy. My friends who I met in my IVF world were still invaluable to me. Many of us were pregnant around the same time (or had already became Mothers) Sadly, my dear friend Allycat had lost her twins prematurely, but she and I had become close during our infertility and she was with me every step of the way even though at that point, we hadn't met in real life.
My mom would come every afternoon; often bringing me magazines and lunch (Cravings of Barry's Deli corned beef sandwich was at the top of my list). I was not allowed to even sit up much so I would be transported on a stretcher to weekly ultrasounds or support groups. Yes, support groups in the lounge of this floor. The only time I got to see the outside of my room.
There was a mess of women on the floor in similar boats although only one was a long termer like me. My neighbor in the room next to me who I would never meet; until after the babies were born.
Living in a hospital for 6 1/2 weeks on bedrest can make you a little loopy .
Not to mention panic attacks followed by cravings for chocolate milkshakes that they served down the hall. If you stayed longer than 2 weeks you got free cable. You can see how exciting the time must have been for me. I looked forward to the times my nurses would come in for vital signs so I could hear the boys heartbeats. I watched morning talk shows and napped at 3pm to break up the day.
I became close with my nurses so when one morning I woke up covered in blood, screamed, and pulled the emergency cord in the bathroom, I was shortly surrounded by all of my favorite staff.
There I was, on a toilet, with 15 staff around me and yes, it is there, I decided all humility gets thrown out the window.
"Call your husband" they said. "Today is the day."
It was August 7th.
One day short of my goal. 27 weeks. 6 days.
Dr Doom scrubbed in that evening to witness the birth of my boys. Her and Gloom were a big part of my stay in the hospital and were actually amazed each visit that I was hanging in there. My weeks leading up to August 7th were frightening as all hell. My ultrasounds showed very low levels of amniotic fluid (necessary for the boys to develop) and I had been diagnosed back at the 18 week mark as having PPROM (Preterm Premature Rupture of Membranes. Basically. Your water broke. Early. And it's really shitty) Dr R from the NICU was also there with me and DH, as well as a host of other people in scrubs.
Zachary came out not uttering a sound. He was all of 2lbs,10 oz.
Baby A, "Oldest" followed at 2lbs, 9oz. A small scream from his tiny lungs gave me a glimmer of hope.
D and G had asked me several times throughout the 6 1/ 2 weeks if I was willing to continue the pregnancy even if one of the babies would not survive. We all knew that Baby B had lost a lot of fluid through this pregnancy.
Survival was unlikely.
Yes. I said.
Yes. I had always said.
The next morning, 8 hours after Zachary had died, Dr Doom came in to sit with me.
You taught me so much, he told me.
As tears run down my face now, even after having told this story so many times, I will never forget D and G.
You taught me that not every case is text book. That each person is to be treated individually.
I have run into Dr G throughout the years (she remembers me well) and oddly Dr G was on labor and delivery, becoming a father to twins, on the same day that my youngest was born.
Although never proven, I know, and THEY know, that the CVS caused my PPROM.
I cant woulda shoulda coulda my whole life though.
Oldest is in the next room doing homework.
So would I have done anything different?
Not a chance.
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