Miracles-Part Two

In the days leading up to the birth of my twins, I was in the most physical and emotional pain I’ve ever been through. I didn’t know how much the human mind and body can endure until this experience was over. Without the love and support of hundreds of people… LITERALLY hundreds…. I wouldn’t have made it through.

The room I was assigned was a good sized room with my own bathroom and a (very) little sofa. Oh yeah, and my bed… which was a DELIVERY bed. They were so convinced that I was ready to go at any minute that I had to stay in a DELIVERY bed for 4 days. Those of you that have been on a delivery bed know that it’s not a “bed” because there is absolutely no support. It comes apart in different places and the bottom is lower than the top half. This is the space I was confined to for four days. I wasn’t allowed to get up to do ANYTHING. The nurses couldn’t put a catheter in because they were too worried that it would break my water bag. Bed pans for 4 days. Guess who changed them every, single time? My amazing husband. I will forever be indebted to Dennis for everything he did for me during this time and how he never complained once. He didn’t complain while I asked him to get the excess hair off of my face that the babies were causing, he didn’t complain after he changed the bed pan and 10 minutes later I had to pee again, he didn’t complain when he had to brush my hair and hold my spit cup when I brushed my teeth. I don’t quite think this is how he imagined taking care of his 30 year old wife… 90 maybe… but not 30. He was great, though and I love him so much because of it.

Being confined to a bed is awful. Being confined to a bed and being on the worst drugs imaginable is hell. I was on a bunch of things, but the med that had the worst side effects was the magnesium. I was on the highest dose possible to stop the contractions. Side effects that I was warned about: flu like symptoms, fatigue, change in vision, headaches, change in breathing, and nausea. I experienced all of them. On Saturday, my eyes were so swollen I couldn’t even open them. When I did open them, it didn’t matter because everything was blurry. I’m pretty sure my friends and family thought I was going to die… pretty sure I thought that. Sounds dramatic, I know, but I wish I was kidding. Finally, the nurse called to check if I was getting too much of the magnesium because of my awful reactions. When she got the results, she said that the toxic level is 7.4 and mine was at 7.1. Yikes. No wonder!

The nurses were all acting as if I was going to be there for weeks. They were telling me to try to get comfortable because it was going to be my life for several weeks. I couldn’t imagine it. I had feelings of immense guilt because I just wanted it to end, but I knew that they only way it would end would be if I delivered the babies. The doctors, on the other hand, were acting like I was going to deliver the babies within the next hour. The conflicting opinions made matters even worse because we had NO CLUE what our lives were going to be like.

I really struggled with the fact that I went in on Friday morning thinking I was just going to get a shot and be sent home. I was already bummed that I had to miss a day of work. Now, I had to face the reality that my “life” as I knew it was over. No more working, no more house, no more dog… nothing. Everything had disappeared that morning and trying to cope and deal with that seemed like torture.

Aside from the selfish feelings of wanting everything to be over and done with, there was even more guilt that came through because of the situation. I started thinking about how it was MY selfish decision to go through with fertility treatments, how it was MY selfish decision to agree to put in two embryos as opposed to one, how it was MY fault these babies weren’t going to stay in me much longer. I was doing this to myself and to them. I still don’t think I’m completely past all of those feelings, but they were at an all-time high during my time in my Labor and Delivery Prison.

The one positive thing I can say about that miserable, crazy 4 days ( I won’t bore you with all the horrible details… we’ll keep this story moving along) is that my nurses were AMAZING. I’ve always had the utmost respect for nurses, but this has taken it to a new level. Without their support, encouragement, and compassion this ordeal could’ve absolutely put me over the edge. So, thank you to the Labor and Delivery nurses at Christ Hospital---you were truly a blessing for me and my family.

So, like I said, I won’t get into the misery of those 4 days. Let’s move along to Monday night… the night before my precious babies came into the world. I’ll never forget trying to pretend that everything was normal. We sat in my room watching the Bears play the Lions for Monday Night Football. I tried to get into it, but something was distracting me—contractions. I let the nurse know and she called the doctor to see what he wanted to do. They were getting a little closer together and more painful by halftime. When the doctor answered, he said to put me back on the magnesium. “God, help me” was all I kept thinking to myself. I knew at this point I had to mentally leave my body. I asked God to protect me and more importantly the babies, but I was mentally checking out. The whole four days had been somewhat of an out of body experience, but I knew that I couldn’t do this.

Once the mag started pumping through my veins again, the contractions were expected to cease. They did not. They kept coming… stronger, longer, and closer together. At about 3am when the nurses started calling the doctors to come check me, I woke Dennis up and told him to text my sister. Dennis wasn’t convinced that anything was actually going to happen so he held off. I knew, though. I knew that this was it.

The doctors refused to check to see if I was dilated because they didn’t want to stir anything up, so they brought in an ultrasound machine. That was the last time I would see my babies on an ultrasound machine. There they were… 26 weeks was all the time they were going to get inside of me. 26 weeks was all the time I was going to get to feel them inside of me. 26 weeks was all the time I was going to get to be pregnant after working so hard to get there. Even though I was terrified, I knew things were happening and there was nothing I could do about it. So, again, I felt as though I left my body. Sure, I felt the pain of the contractions and my heart beating out of my chest and the convulsions I was having because I was so nervous, but I knew I had to do it. I had to be strong for my babies. My body was so unbelievably weak considering I hadn’t even walked in that past, oh, 80 hours or so.

At about 4:15, my nurse told me that my doctor was on his way and we were going to get ready for surgery. Dennis was texting my sister and soon my family would be on their way to the hospital yet again.

It was time. The anesthesiologist came and met with me minutes before I was wheeled down to surgery. Once we were in the room, he asked me to roll onto a table that seemed like it was about 2ft long and 2ft wide. I wondered how in the world I was going to maneuver myself onto the table and then stay there, but it worked. Seconds later, I was told to sit up so I could receive the spinal. I remember putting my arms on the nurse and then feeling numerous surges of piercing pain going all through me. It didn’t last long and then I was flat on my back. It seemed like I waited for hours before Dennis was finally by my side. During that waiting period, I felt the meds start to creep up my body. I hated the feeling of losing feeling in my body. Just when I started to panic, I’d try to breathe through it and tell myself it would all be over soon. The worst part of losing feeling was that I felt like I was forgetting to breathe. I had to keep sucking in huge breaths as if I forgot and just remembered to breathe.

My doctor began the surgery. It seemed like hours of pulling and ripping and pressure before he finally pulled out Baby A and announced that it was a girl. It breaks my heart that I never heard my baby cry (she couldn’t)  or saw her little face right after she was born. There was an entire team in there just for her. Once they stabilized her, they took her immediately to the NICU. Violet Laurie was born at 5:51 am and was 2 lbs 2 oz. Minutes later, 5:55 to be exact, my sweet Cameron Patrick came into this world. Again, I heard and saw nothing, but I knew his team was working on him, as well. Soon, the babies were both gone and my surgery was wrapping up. All I remember thinking was how I felt like the scarecrow in The Wizard of Oz when he’s getting put back together. The feeling was disgusting. ..so disgusting that I started vomiting. The anesthesiologist stood next to me as I continued to dry heave and vomit. I remember saying to Dennis over and over, “Am I okay? Are the babies okay? Am I okay? Are they okay?” It was all I cared about and it was all I could manage to say. Dennis also likes to add that I kept pushing his hand away… which I don’t remember. Sorry, honey!

After I was all stapled up, they took me to a recovery room for a little while where I continued to puke and come in and out of sleeping (I think). Dennis went into the waiting room and found more than just my immediate family. He told them that everything went well and I had given birth to a sweet baby boy and a sweet baby girl. My sister said that as soon as she saw his face she knew everything was okay.

My babies were born. I couldn’t believe it. I still can’t believe it. My sweet little preemies were taken to the NICU.

Enough for now… Part 3 will be a long soon.