First Halloween

Today is Halloween. A couple of weeks ago, I was so excited to see Jaxon in his Woody costume and to try to think of a creative costume for a pregnant woman. I wish I was still that excited. It's my babies' first Halloween and the poor little angels are in the hospital hooked up to machines and ivs. I hate this so much. I don't know what to do sometimes. I cry all the time. All. the. time. Every time I think about that fact that I can't protect and take care of them, I just cry and cry. All I want to do is be able to scoop them up in my arms, cuddle with them and tell them they don't have to work so hard anymore... tell them that their Mommy and Daddy will protect them from everything. Leaving them is only possible because of the nurses and doctors at Christ Hospital. If they weren't so amazing, I'd never be able to leave.

Today I'm waiting a little while to go see them even though it's killing me and making me sick to do so. When I went to get my staples removed yesterday, the pain was getting a little worse and part of the incision was hardening. Guess what? Infection, of course! At least I was able to start to the antibiotics, so hopefully that'll be better soon.

After I see them today, I'm going to my sister's house to celebrate Halloween. I know it'll be hard, but watching how excited and cute Jaxon is will help me.

This is so not how imagined their first Halloween. Next year they are going to have the best Halloween EVER. Next year, they are going to have the best of everything... and they will have the same for the rest of their lives. These babies are going to be so spoiled. I don't care... they deserve it.

One Week Old!

My babies are one week old today. What a week it’s been. This roller coaster of emotions is unreal and I’ve reached a level exhaustion that I’ve never imagined.  Recovering from a c-section is not a pleasant experience at all!  I can’t believe people who say that it was a breeze. I’m STILL pretty damn sore and it’s a week later. I get my staples removed today so hopefully it’ll start to feel a little better after those are out.

The first few days in the NICU were like a really long and weird dream. It’s so hard to go into that room and just stare at them in their little beds. Seeing them hooked up to all those monitors and ivs was absolutely heartbreaking. It still is, but I don’t allow myself to really look at it or dwell on it. If I think too much about any of this, I’ll have a breakdown. I’ve had a ton since last week. Things could be perfectly normal and all of a sudden I’m crying. I want them to be home so badly it makes me sick. I wish I could just take them in my arms and protect them in the way a mother is supposed to protect them. I feel so much like I’ve failed. I couldn’t stay pregnant for them and now I can’t do anything to help them. They are my babies and I’m supposed to be the one person in the world that can take care of them and fix everything. Instead, they are laying in incubators fighting for their lives. I’ll be sorry forever that I can’t do anything about that. I’ll be sorry forever that they have had to work so hard just to breathe. I know my babies are strong and they are fighters, but it’s not fair that they had to be so early in life. The hard stuff is supposed to be later in life… not right when you’re born.

Our sweet little flower is doing amazing. She has been off the ventilator for days now and is close to breathing completely on her own and getting feedings.  Dennis went to see her this morning and told me she still has a small hole that needs to close inside of her (patent ductus arteriosus) that we were hoping would close on its own. Since it’s not, they will give her some meds and if that doesn’t work they will have to do surgery. I’m praying so hard that the meds work. I know the surgery is a common practice in the NICU, but I don’t want my baby to have to go through surgery. Please pray for her. Other than that, Violet is doing great. I got to change her diaper twice the other day and then yesterday I got to HOLD HER IN MY ARMS. It was the most incredible, special moment of my life. My brother was there so he was able to take pictures for me. She was so tiny and sweet. She tried to keep her eyes open the entire time and she just stared at me. Violet knew her mommy was holding her. I think she enjoyed the moment as much as I did. It was so special and I will never, ever forget that moment.

My little buddy is doing well, too. He’s a little behind the princess, but according to the nurses he has “wimpy white boy syndrome”. Apparently, the babies that do the best in there are black females. White boys tend to progress the slowest.  So, I wish my little munchkin wasn’t playing that role, but he is.  He is the cutest thing I’ve ever seen I my life. Whenever I go over there and start to talk to him, he tries so hard to open his eyes and look at me. He grabs onto my finger and pulls so hard like he doesn’t want me to leave. It breaks my heart whenever I have to let go. I could stand there with him like that forever. He’s such a sweet boy. I think he’s a mama’s boy. Cam has the same pda issue as Violet. Round one of the meds shrank the hole, but didn’t close it. The nurses are all convinced that once that pda is closed, his breathing will improve and he’ll finally be able to come off the ventilator. I hope they’re right. He makes me so nervous. Say extra, special prayers for my buddy. He needs them.

As I sit here blogging, tears are pouring down my face and making all of the words blurry. It’s similar to how this past week and a half has been for us. Everything is blurry and it’s hard to focus on one thing. If you look too much into the future, it seems like this nightmare has no end. It’s hard to take everything day by day, but that’s what life has become. We’re doing our best to take joy from the little successes. Dennis said that when he went today, Violet was sucking on a pacifier! That little princess is amazing. Cam is our little fighter… he just needs a little push to get him going. I hope this pda thing will be his little push.

Our lives have changed so much. Everything is overwhelming and surreal. The one thing that has remained constant through it all is the love we have for each other and now the love we have for our sweet babies. Even though they aren’t with me constantly, they are in my heart and on my mind constantly. I never knew I could love anything so much… and lucky me, I have TWO of those little angels. Keep praying for them, please… keep sending us your positive vibes and words of encouragement. We have a long journey ahead of us, but I know it’ll be worth it when we reach our destination. I know everything will be perfect when we get to bring our babies to where they belong—home.

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.

Miracles-Part One

It’s 6am. My hospital room is silent. I am by myself. The other patients on this floor don’t get these moments of complete silence as often as I do. The other patients on the floor often hear crying newborns near their bedside. While I’ve been a mother for 48 hours now, I’ve not heard a single cry from my babies. My babies can’t cry, yet. My babies aren’t with me, yet. My babies haven’t been wrapped up in my arms and placed on my chest, yet. My babies are preemies and are in the NICU.

Usually when I write blog posts, I kinda outline (in my head) or map out what I’m going to say, what I’m going to leave out, and sequence the events before I start typing. Not today. I don’t know where to begin today or where to end. I don’t know what to say or what not to say. I don’t know if I’ll finish in 15 minutes or 15 days. I’m starting, though, and I guess that’s all that counts.

During the early morning hours of Friday, October 19, 2012, I had no idea how much my life was about to change forever.  For the couple of days prior to this morning, I had been noting some different things going on with my body. There was some extra cervical mucus when I used the bathroom and I had a tightening in my uterus. After researching and talking to numerous people, I came to the conclusion that I had been experiencing Braxton Hicks contractions. The changes were noted and monitored, but were never a real concern. Then, Friday morning between the hours of 2 and 4 am, I realized the contractions were getting stronger and becoming a little more consistent-about 10-15 minutes apart. After this realization, I woke up my husband and decided it was time to call my doctor. I wasn’t scared or even nervous really. In my mind, we were going to have to go to the hospital for a few hours and then hear the news I was dreading at the time, “no more work—bedrest until you deliver”.

 I spoke with my doctor sometime between 4 and 5 am. At first, he was very relaxed and told me he didn’t think I should go in yet with the contractions being 10 minutes apart. Before we hung up, he confirmed my due date one more time, “and you’re due date is October 28^th?” Ummmmmmmmmmm…. Nope… January 26^th, doc! This made him change his tone a little. He told me to get to the hospital and we’d take it from there. Still, I felt no panic or sense of urgency… they were just going to give me a shot or something and I’d be back home by the evening.

On the way to the hospital, I do vaguely remember telling Dennis to try to hurry it a long a little because the contractions were getting closer and more intense. By the time we’d reached the parking lot, I was contracting every two minutes. You would have thought there would be bells and whistles going off in my brain… still nothing. At 26 weeks, the last thing you expect is to be doing is going into REAL labor.

Once in the hospital, we were sent to Labor and Delivery-triage. I was told to give a urine sample, get in a gown, and that someone would be in shortly to check and see what was going on. This was my last moment of sanity. After the first and second person were checking me and giving me the test to see if my water bag had broken, within minutes there were 8 other people in the room. Everything is blurry when I look back on it, except for when a doctor sat down on my bed to talk to me. I don’t remember exactly what was said. All I remember are the words “48 hours, crucial, delivery”. They might not have all been in the same sentence, but those are the words I remember. I then asked the doctor, “wait… does this mean the babies are going to be BORN within the next 48 hours”. Her response was something along the lines of “yes”. Like I said, though, I can really only remember a few specifics from that morning. Within seconds of the doctor telling me that I was going to have the babies soon, the neonatologist came in to speak with us. She talked for a while and, again, I can’t tell you anything she said until, “do you have any questions?” My one and only question was, “What are the survival rates?” I’ll never forget her response, “60%”. Devastation and shock were taking over. I looked at my husband, my rock, and tears were already falling down his face. What the hell was happening to us?

When I came in, I was having contractions that were 2 minutes apart and I was dilated to 5 or 6. Unbeknownst to us, the NICU and neonatologists were prepping for the arrival of our very early babies. We were taken into an ultrasound room with an ultrasound tech and two high risk pregnancy doctors The doctors didn’t sound hopeful and I felt like the ultrasound tech felt sorry for us. Up until that moment, I was strong enough not to find out the genders of the twins even though we were dying to know. Something inside me told me to find out who they were and give them their names. I felt like I needed to start praying for my babies as individuals... as “real” people. The tech shortly confirmed what I’d known in my heart since our first ultrasound where all we could see were little spots: Baby A was a girl and Baby B was a boy. Happiness and sorrow filled my heart at once. Was this it? Was I going to name these babies right then and then have them be nothing more than memories of what they felt like on the inside? It’s what it felt like at the moment and it was certainly how everyone around us seemed to be acting. The tech told us she would give us a minute of privacy and that’s when Dennis and I confirmed our sweet babies’ names. Baby A, our sweet princess, would be Violet Laurie. Violet was a name I came across a few months ago and just could not shake. It’s delicate and beautiful, but felt solid, as well. Laurie came from my aunt/godmother. Laurie battles breast cancer everyday of her life and has proven to our family that miracles do happen. She is a fighter. She is one of the strongest women I know. At this point we knew that Violet was going to have a tough road ahead regardless of what happened and we knew that she deserved to be named after someone amazing. Our sweet Violet Laurie had been given the perfect name. As for our precious Baby B… my impossible to photograph in the ultrasound because he’s so crazy little boy… we chose Cameron Patrick. Cameron is my maiden name. I’ve always loved my former last name and felt that it not only sounded good, but it represented my dad’s and grandpa’s history. Patrick was Dennis’s dad’s name. While I never had the opportunity to meet his dad, I’ve heard a lot about him and I KNOW he’s one of the reasons Dennis has turned out to be an amazing person, husband and now father. There was never a doubt in our minds that we were going to use this name to honor the memory of his dad. Another baby was about to receive the perfect name.

Watching my husband cry tears of fear and sadness was something I wasn’t used to… at all. As I watched the tears roll down his cheek, I just kept thinking, “What is going on? What is happening to us? Is this real?” I still can’t believe the answers to the questions I had. I will never be able to recall exactly what happened the rest of that day. Perhaps my mind blocked it all out. Perhaps when they put me on the high dosage of the magnesium to stop labor my brain stopped working. Perhaps I just left my body for a while. I’m not sure, but as I said, I can only remember bits and pieces of the misery that was to be the next few days.

We were told repeatedly that day that it was essential to keep them in for at least 48 hours. This way, the babies would get the steroids they needed to develop their lungs and increase their survival rates. Because I was so dilated and my water bag was “bulging”, I was put on strict bed rest in  the hospital until I delivered. We were put into a rather large room with our own bathroom, small couch and a delivery bed. This would be our home until our babies arrived. With no answers , no end in sight, and no positive information from the doctors our situation looked incredibly bleak.

Instead of making this one reeeeally long post, I’m going to post this and then continue writing later. It’s been hard to find a time to sit and do this. Next post will be along shortly.

Staying Strong

Hi. I'm the husband. I'm not a permanent replacement author, but instead will be a short term guest contributor. The amazing author of this blog is lying before me in a great deal of discomfort, but is still, indeed pregnant. And that's the important thing. I know, easy for me to say. I'm not the one stuck in bed all day and night, the one who had to suffer through 36 hours of not even having a drop of water, or the one who was so excited about being upgraded to a solid foods diet only to be served inedible hospital food later that day.

But, still being pregnant is the most important thing. And I know future Betsy will agree with me. When our little twinkies are lying snug in their cribs at home in their Notre Dame onesies, she'll agree with me. Whenever that will be.

And that's the hardest part. We don't know when - we don't know anything. We don't know why this is happening to us. We don't know what to do. We don't know when this nightmare is going to stop. We don't know when the doctors are going to pop in. And we don't know when those babies are going to come into this world. We just know they're not ready. And I'm not ready, either.

When we started this fertility journey a more than a year ago, I didn't know fully what to expect. But this wasn't quite what I had in mind. Since Betsy showed me that first positive pregnancy test, I'd been mentally preparing myself for nights awake feeding, changing diapers, soothing crying babies. I was mentally preparing myself for Betsy screaming in labor "You did this to me!" like you see in all the movies. And I was prepared to peek in on them in the middle of the night, breathing softly, smelling that great baby smell.

That's what I was mentally prepared for. Or on my way to being prepared.  But not this.  Not to see the love of my life confined to a delivery bed for going on 60 plus hours.  Not for her to be this miserable this early. Not to see the anguish on her face when the doctors told her the babies we tried so hard to create were coming far too early and had far too little survival chances for our liking.

But, tomorrow those chances go up. And again the day after that.

After months of trying to get pregnant, now we have precious few days to try to stay pregnant. That doesn't seem fair, does it?

Whatever. We'll move on and just cross another day off the list. Because every day Betsy stays pregnant, those future little Notre Dame and LaTech and Atlanta Brave fans have better chances to be happy and healthy. And that's what I keep telling Betsy, even though I know I'm really just telling myself.

I'll stay strong by trying to keep Betsy strong. I know we can do it, because we have so much help. Our family and friends are awesome. The nurses have been great. But there's only so much we can control.

We're lost right now. And only when we know our twins are okay will we be found.