The Beginning

2/18/14 

Around 10:30 my belly started aching.  By 12:30 I was headed to my doctor’s office, I dropped Tommy off at my dear friend Kacey's house, she asked if I was ok, and that was really the first time I wondered if I was ok.  They took me back to ultrasound, it was bad, next thing I knew I was telling Steve to get over there and fast, they wheel me over to labor & delivery.  I try to make jokes and laugh, because that's my jam.  But it's all so real and so scary at this point. 

The high risk doc is waiting for me, and I know from experience that it's not a great sign when the doc, a busy doctor, is waiting for you to arrive.  They put the ultrasound on me, checking babies, they are ok, heartbeats, so handsome, I love them.  Then they get to the bad stuff, I'm only slightly dilated but the membranes are protruding outside of me.  Hourglassing they call it, as in the membranes are creating an hourglass figure between inside and outside of me.  I'm having regular contractions, my water is trying to break, and everyone is really scared and somber, and it's awful.  They admit me, Doc says he'll do what he can to force the membranes back in and stop labor but things look very grim.  Grim is a word used extremely frequently over the next 24 hours.  I'm not a fan of grim.  They wheel me to my room, hook me up to everything in the world, give me medication to stop contractions, then we sit and wait.  Doc can't do anything until contractions stop.  

The waiting sucks, all the terrible outcomes go through your mind, you start considering how you'll get through this, how it's all going to work out.  Doc comes back in and is very surprised my contractions haven't stopped, he gives me a second drug, warns it will make me feel like I want to crawl out of my skin, but it's the only option we've got.  Finally the contractions are less painful and further apart.  Then our friend Chris came, he helped Steve give me a blessing.  That blessing took me back so quickly to the blessing that Steve and my dad gave Tommy the morning he was born.  When Tommy was born I listened to these incredible men bless my teeny tiny little boy and had all the faith in the world that things would work out, but knew the long journey we had ahead.  This time Steve blessed me that I would be ok and so would these boys, I hate to say it, I wanted so badly to believe that but knew that ok didn't necessarily mean alive and healthy.  Ok meant that these little spirits would be mine forever, whether here on this earth or after this life, and that would be ok.  

Doc comes in, gives us one last talk before we try to save this, he says the chances are really really low, if we just want to let nature take it's course he understands, he says it's worth a shot but it probably won't work, he'll try his hardest.  Then I'm in the operating room, I get the spinal, that makes things physically feel a lot better.  Then they are working on me, things are quiet, I'm staring at the ceiling.  I want to ask what's going on but I just can't muster it up in me.  They tell a nurse to get Steve, I know that's not good, really not good.  Next thing I know there are looks of disappointment and I hear them ask for a bucket.  The membrane ruptured, everything hits me 10 times harder and my reality breaks my heart.  We are going to lose the babies, both of them.  I failed these guys, I'm mad and so sad and now I just want it to be over.  Doc says he's so sorry, he tried and he's so sorry.  I actually want to hug him too and say it's ok, you did everything you could, he looked so sad and I hated that.  

They wheel me back, Steve holds my hand and puts his hand on my head, and tells me everything will be ok.  I know it will, but I don't want to go through all the pain to get there.  We cry, and sit together.  It was pretty awful.  I hate being sad and I just couldn't avoid it, and knew I had a lot of sad in front of me.  They get me situated in my new long term room, the nurses are so nice and kind, they make this all kind of bearable.  Doc says now one of two things will probably happen, I'll just go back into labor, and then I'll deliver the babies, get to hold them for a little before they pass, or, since my insides are now exposed I'll start an infection which would induce labor as well, same outcome.  Steve and I prepare ourselves for that reality.  There's a small chance that my body will not go back into labor or start an infection, but docs don't want to get my hopes up for that, we'll just wait and see at this point.  

We wait, every hour that goes by that I don't have a contraction makes us a teeny bit more hopeful.  We update family and friends, ask for prayers and then try to sleep.  By the next morning we are feeling a little more hopeful.  At least the trauma of the day before was over.  From there my body starts surprising people.  The high risk doc that has been by our side comes in and he's very surprised I didn't go back into labor and have the babies last night.  So I'm pretty pleased that I'm already beating the odds.  That whole day passes, no contractions, and my body behaves in some other ways that are good, keeping stuff where it should be, I'll leave it at that.