17 years ago (this week) I was admitted to a major Boston hospital.
I was pregnant with twin boys and the pregnancy had been difficult from the start.
Most of you know the story but to catch the newbies up to speed
I had PPROM (preterm premautre rupture of membranes) (in laments terms, my water broke) at 18 weeks with baby B and 22 weeks with baby A.
I have woulda coulda shoulda myself for years but know in my heart this is because I had a CVS (not the pharmacy kind) test done at 13 weeks (per recommendation.)
They thought something was wrong with baby B (Zachary)
There was not.
Until there was.
I was in and out of labor and delivery so many times I finally begged to be admitted at 22 weeks into my pregnancy.
I think they finally gave in because they didn't think I would be there very long.
After all; my water had broke.
Twice.
Chances were slim these babies were staying in.
The OB fellows had rounded on me the next morning and decided to discuss my options with me.
And when I say discuss I mean, encourage.
They were strong on me terminating the pregnancy.
I had went through 2 rounds of Clomid, 5 rounds of IVF, and had went through numerous tests and procedures leading up to my getting pregnant.
Termination was not part of my story.
I met with my amazing neonatologist who told me to hang on until 24 weeks.
At 24 weeks he met with me again, encouraging me to hold on until 28 weeks.
I showered every third day.
I was not allowed to be upright except to get up to pee.
I leaked amniotic fluid hourly.
These boys were miraculously hanging on and somehow, I was doing the same.
At 27 weeks, 6 days I started to bleed.
A lot.
DH was on his way to the train on August 7th, 2003 when I called him and said" I think today is the day ".
The outcome was not good from the start.
I had been warned time and time again that Zachary may not survive and that Oldest was also in for a long ride; if he made it.
Zachary survived 9 hours on this earth and his younger brother (who I guess I really shouldn't call Oldest because he is second oldest), spent 6 months in the NICU.
I relive this story every year.
The weather, the smell of the rain on a summer evening, the calendar date,
it all brings me back to those 6 1/2 weeks of living in a hospital, hoping my boys survived.
Oldest is a sensitive, kind and overall wonderful kid.
He has had more obstacles in his almost 17 years than most.
He still faces challenges and my heart aches for his struggles.
But this boy of mine has shaped me into the person and mother I am today.
For good or for bad.
I have never (okay, I try to never) sweat the small stuff.
I am all about inclusion and focusing on strengths.
I am all about recognizing the important shit and trying to realize that if it isn't going to be important in 5 years than try to sweep it under the rug (A fact I need to remind myself often, especially at 1AM)
Point being.
I think I may have been this Mom either way.
But this kid opened my eyes.
Our days of feeding tubes and tracheostomy suctioning are long gone.
Our speech and medical issues still remain.
The scar around his neck has faded.
The scars I feel in my heart are real.
I don't say I had 3 kids; even though I have.
I didn't get to know Zachary for longer than 9 hours.
But he was mine.
My first born.
So to my second oldest son,
I am so incredibly proud of you as you continue to climb mountains.
And to the medical fellows who "encouraged" me to terminate
well, we showed them now didnt we?
I was pregnant with twin boys and the pregnancy had been difficult from the start.
Most of you know the story but to catch the newbies up to speed
I had PPROM (preterm premautre rupture of membranes) (in laments terms, my water broke) at 18 weeks with baby B and 22 weeks with baby A.
I have woulda coulda shoulda myself for years but know in my heart this is because I had a CVS (not the pharmacy kind) test done at 13 weeks (per recommendation.)
They thought something was wrong with baby B (Zachary)
There was not.
Until there was.
I was in and out of labor and delivery so many times I finally begged to be admitted at 22 weeks into my pregnancy.
I think they finally gave in because they didn't think I would be there very long.
After all; my water had broke.
Twice.
Chances were slim these babies were staying in.
The OB fellows had rounded on me the next morning and decided to discuss my options with me.
And when I say discuss I mean, encourage.
They were strong on me terminating the pregnancy.
I had went through 2 rounds of Clomid, 5 rounds of IVF, and had went through numerous tests and procedures leading up to my getting pregnant.
Termination was not part of my story.
I met with my amazing neonatologist who told me to hang on until 24 weeks.
At 24 weeks he met with me again, encouraging me to hold on until 28 weeks.
I showered every third day.
I was not allowed to be upright except to get up to pee.
I leaked amniotic fluid hourly.
These boys were miraculously hanging on and somehow, I was doing the same.
At 27 weeks, 6 days I started to bleed.
A lot.
DH was on his way to the train on August 7th, 2003 when I called him and said" I think today is the day ".
The outcome was not good from the start.
I had been warned time and time again that Zachary may not survive and that Oldest was also in for a long ride; if he made it.
Zachary survived 9 hours on this earth and his younger brother (who I guess I really shouldn't call Oldest because he is second oldest), spent 6 months in the NICU.
I relive this story every year.
The weather, the smell of the rain on a summer evening, the calendar date,
it all brings me back to those 6 1/2 weeks of living in a hospital, hoping my boys survived.
Oldest is a sensitive, kind and overall wonderful kid.
He has had more obstacles in his almost 17 years than most.
He still faces challenges and my heart aches for his struggles.
But this boy of mine has shaped me into the person and mother I am today.
For good or for bad.
I have never (okay, I try to never) sweat the small stuff.
I am all about inclusion and focusing on strengths.
I am all about recognizing the important shit and trying to realize that if it isn't going to be important in 5 years than try to sweep it under the rug (A fact I need to remind myself often, especially at 1AM)
Point being.
I think I may have been this Mom either way.
But this kid opened my eyes.
Our days of feeding tubes and tracheostomy suctioning are long gone.
Our speech and medical issues still remain.
The scar around his neck has faded.
The scars I feel in my heart are real.
I don't say I had 3 kids; even though I have.
I didn't get to know Zachary for longer than 9 hours.
But he was mine.
My first born.
So to my second oldest son,
I am so incredibly proud of you as you continue to climb mountains.
And to the medical fellows who "encouraged" me to terminate
well, we showed them now didnt we?
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