One year ago today

We started this blog four days after Clara and Wilson were born to keep friends and family informed during a difficult and scary time. We didn't know what was going to happen, but knew we would frequently be sharing news that wasn't suited for a mass email or facebook. Although it remained our intent to relay information on Clara's and Wilson's condition, this blog quickly became a therapeutic outlet to help us cope with our new reality and feel closer to a process over which we had no control. At some point, this became the de facto "baby book" for Clara and Wilson - complete with pictures, stories, and comments from friends.

It is in that spirit that we write this post. Like all journeys, this one has a beginning, and we have never documented what happened before Clara and Wilson were born. I'm not sure we will ever forget, but it is a major part of their story and is worth preserving here. Maybe it will help someone going through same thing, or maybe it will help us achieve some closure on a very difficult experience. Either way, as we approach these milestones and grapple with many of these issues again, we feel it necessary to record this part of our experience. This blog entry isn't for everyone and we take no offense if you simply scroll down to the cute picture at the end!

One year ago today Chris' water broke. As this milestone arrives, we are forced to look back and examine how things unfolded and how it continues to affect us. The day started like any other; we got up, went through our routines and left for work. Sometime around mid-morning, Chris called me laughing. She couldn't believe it, but she had just peed her pants at work. She had already called the doctor's office just to make sure nothing was wrong and they told her it wasn't uncommon for mothers of multiples to lose some bladder control. We both laughed at the idea of Chris wearing diapers for the next three months and she left work to change pants. The next phone call changed everything.

Chris didn't stop "peeing" on the way home. Instead of changing her pants she drove to the hospital. Once the doctors confirmed it was amniotic fluid, she called me. I have never driven so fast in my life.

"Unexpected" doesn't begin to describe our reaction because there was no reason for us to suspect anything was wrong. We had just completed our 24 week check-up less than 24 hours before Chris' water broke and the doctor told us everything looked so good we didn't need to come back in for another month. Until that moment, we had a picture perfect pregnancy.

When I ran into the triage room where Chris was being set up, it was immediately apparent our lives had changed. Chris was lying in a bed hooked up to a heart rate monitor for her, a heart rate monitor for each baby, a contraction monitor, and an IV line. Normally stoic, she was crying when I walked in the room. I couldn't hold back either. Seeing her at that moment was the most afraid I have ever been.

The next few hours are still blurry. Chris was quickly put on magnesium sulfate, a nasty chemical that makes you feel like you're roasting inside but slows down contractions and decreases your chances of giving birth. She was also given a catheter because she couldn't get out of bed and, as we found out later, they needed to monitor her urine while she was on the magnesium sulfate. At some point my mom and our minister arrived to lend their support. 

The high risk specialist visited with us after Chris was stabilized. She was very professional and compassionate, but her prognosis was clear; they could no longer care for us at Baptist East hospital and the odds of giving birth were high while the odds of both twins surviving were slim. The odds of either child being "normal" if they survived were even worse. Her percentages were specific and merciless. I called Chris' mom to break the news before the ambulance transported us downtown to Norton/Kosair. 

Scared and disoriented we arrived at Norton/Kosair and were taken to a room that could be used as an operating room. The temperature was incredibly low to accommodate Chris' magnesium sulfate drip and the room smelled appropriately cold and sterile. Operating lights watched ominously overhead as we began the worst part of all . . . waiting.

I finally left Chris' side around 10:30 p.m. to get a toothbrush and a few things to spend the night. When I got back to the hospital a neonatologist was going through what would likely happen over the next 24 hours. She concurred we would probably give birth and, starting with the head and moving down to the legs, explained exactly what would likely be wrong with our children as a result of Clara's amniotic sac rupturing. I'm not sure either one of us felt sicker or more powerless at any point than we did when that doctor walked out of the room. It was only a few days later we learned the neonatologist was not supposed to visit our room.     

When the neonatologist left, we were moved to the antepartum wing of Norton Hospital. In the only bright spot of the day, we knew our nurse for the night shift (Kim) and were comfortable that we were in good hands. But that didn't help us sleep. I was curled up in a chair and couldn't get the percentages and possibilities out of my mind. Chris couldn't sleep either because of her worries and because the nurses had to check her urine and medications every 45 minutes. 

The next morning began our new reality until Clara and Wilson were born. We made a pact to celebrate small victories and always congratulated each other on making it through the morning, the afternoon, and the evening. By the weekend, we were beginning to accept our situation and were hopeful the babies would stay in utero for a somewhat normal gestational period. As long as Clara produced and received amniotic fluid through her lungs, she could continue growing her mother's womb. We had to guard against any infection but were somewhat "lucky" because Wilson was closest to the birth canal and his amniotic sac helped block ascending bacteria. I also employed my own secret weapon and constantly wiped down the hospital room with Lysol wipes. I know now it would never have made a difference, but it made me feel better at the time.

We were also showered with more love and support than we could have ever imagined from friends and family. People brought dinners, lunches, magazines, and sent emails, cards, flowers, and candy. We were placed on prayer lists across the country and contacted by people from around the world who wanted to let Chris know they were cheering for her. All of it helped!

We'll write more about Clara and Wilson's birth as we near their first birthday, but today marks the beginning of the 109 days we spent at Norton/Kosair. In many ways this day was far more traumatizing for us than the day Chris delivered the twins. We are still haunted by those experiences, but truly appreciate how blessed we are to have two wonderful children enjoying their first family vacation. And while we don't know exactly what lies ahead, we continue our pact and celebrate every day.