This post has been written many times. But it’s hard for me to rehash it all so it took a while to get done.
I do want to start by saying the apology, explanation, and further treatment at our hospital has been phenomenal. We found out that it was a lack of resident communication that started all of this, and we are grateful for the way the heads of each department have stepped up and made the changes needed to ensure this doesn’t happen again. We have always received excellent medical care from the nurses, some of them have been my beacons of hope from the moment we walked through those doors. We believe mistakes are just that – mistakes. We know there was absolutely no malicious intent behind any of this, and we are confident in both our doctors and the continued care here. We are so thankful for the support and encouragement for us from all of you.
Now onto the story of how we got here to begin with…
(I am so sorry but because this has to do with babies, pregnancy, birth – I will be talking about my vagina and some bodily functions. I’ll try to avoid anyone having to wash their eyes with bleach.)
Friday morning Bella and I were hanging out. I was 18 weeks and 5 days pregnant with the twins. I remember using the restroom only to realize part/all of my mucus plug was out. Concerned but knowing it happened with Bella for weeks, I thought I’d call the Dr later. About 3 minutes after that I had to pee again. I remember thinking how odd that was, but went.
And it was like a balloon burst.
The water came rushing out, and I was so shocked I simply sat there stunned. I couldn’t wrap my head around it, so I stood up wondering if maybe I’d just really had to pee. The water kept going, pouring down my legs. I started to shake and cry, beginning to realize what was happening to me and sobbed, “Oh God, oh God, please no. Please don’t let me lose my babies.”
I stuffed a towel in between my legs and ran to get my phone. Sam told me he was on his way home and to call 911. I did, laying on the floor of the bathroom with my feet up and praying it would somehow all stop.
Once the medics came, I was taken to the nearest hospital (not our current one) while Sam followed with Bella. I was refused admittance into their L&D as I didn’t meet the 20 weeks pregnant standard, and put in an ER room for the next 4 hours hooked to nothing. Eventually they did an ultrasound scan, and the Dr came in.
“It’s not good. Both sacs are broken, a foot in in your cervix. Would you like to stay here or be transferred to your hospital?”
I covered my face and bawled. It quite literally felt like my heart would be broken in two. (We found out later there was no foot in the cervix)
We were transferred to my current hospital where I was admitted to L&D regardless of my weeks. After several ultrasounds and checks, it was determined at this point, because of how far along I was, there wasn’t much to be done that wouldn’t risk or cover infection if it occured.
After being told how high the risks were for the babies, we agreed to induce. I thought I was going to die. I’ve never, ever felt anything like that in my life. We were told the babies would be born alive at first but there would be nothing they could possibly do to save them because of gestational age and weight. All I could think of was how I’d hold them in my hands and watch them pass away.
It was too much. I was updating Facebook and stumbled upon a comment that changed our lives, basically asking if we knew we didn’t have to induce and there were other stories like ours out there. I began to click and look and read – I knew what risks we were facing both to myself and the babies, but what if I didn’t at least try? Sam and I decided we couldn’t choose to play God if we had other options still.
When the Dr came in with the inducement kit, we told her we’d changed our minds. (Keep in mind, this was again, a resident, not an employee of the hospital.) She was visibly upset with our decision and informed me I was taking my own life in my hands. But all I could think of was, “What if…”
For the next 3 days we clung to any shred of hope. Heartbeats, scans, movement, no infection, no high temps, no pain.
And now we’re here. 19 weeks and 3 days. We have talked to our MFM about options in a few weeks which I’m holding out for. I’m not going to get into their or our decisions medically because at this point, we have been told the why’s and how’s of it all based on my situation and we are comfortable with what we are able to have and not have. We have been assured at 23 weeks they will start to throw everything they’ve got at us to get the babies bigger, stronger, and able to survive from there on out.
Right now the main concern for the staff is the risk of infection to me. I had a total rupture so I continue to leak fluid. But the first 24-72 hours are the highest risk and we’ve passed that now. Everyone has been very careful not to examine me vaginally and to keep checking temps/blood pressure.
This morning we got an ultrasound and there are no changes. Which is, of course, good and hard.
Our first goal is 23/24 weeks. After that, heck – make it 34. Go big or go home right? 34 is all we can go to if the membranes never heal.
We’re here. We’re hanging in. My days are filled with lots of hope but there are hard times. Hearing my little girl cry on the phone at night for me is rough. But my mom is with her so Sam can come back and forth as he needs to, and she brings her up to see me. We’ve had a lot of people from his Army unit come to see us, his mom and grandpa are here, friends of mine have stopped by.
This is day by day. We know anything can change at any moment, but we also know that whatever happens is in God’s hands, not ours. And that is rough but ever so reassuring as well. We have faith that what ever happens is for a bigger reason than we will ever know. But these boys have already made an impact in our lives we will never, ever forget.
But man. For a control freak like me – this sure has been quite the lot to be handed.