TWIN BIRTH STORY
RYAN AND GABRIEL’S BIRTH STORY
(Warning: this is a long story! It took me 11 pages in Word to type it all...)
I never did get around to telling everyone my birth story. It’s been over 2 months so I guess I’d better write it down before I forget it myself.
As most of you know I was admitted to the hospital to stop preterm labor on January 9, at 32 weeks’ gestation. (For those who aren’t familiar with a normal pregnancy, term is 40 weeks, so at that point I would have been 8 weeks early.)
It was my birthday, of all days. I had been on bedrest on and off (mostly on) for weeks to keep the contractions at bay, which after about 24 weeks seemed to start up violently every time I did any kind of movement. I also got sick and fainted a lot, so I couldn’t drive anymore. It was getting pretty old, to say the least. I was sick to death of being in bed and not being able to go anywhere or do anything. I decided that since it was my birthday, by God I was getting a pedicure and going out to dinner.
So, quite flagrantly against the doctor’s orders, that’s what I did. Nick drove me to the mall and I had a pedicure. He bought a new sweater from Express while I was having it done. Not that it matters, but it’s just a peculiar detail I remember from the whole experience. All through the pedicure I was having horrible contractions and I was more than a little nervous, but I kept my mouth shut, determined to avoid being forced to go home. It was my freaking birthday!!
I got a French pedicure. My toenails looked great. I then went to dinner at Red Lobster in the dead of winter wearing flip-flops to avoid smearing my fresh polish. Not just regular old inconspicuous flip-flops. BRIGHT RED flip-flops with giant silk flowers on them. (Of course I had to wear my butt-ugliest ones because they were all I could find, and I was too big and cumbersome to search through the closet for my black ones earlier.)
So we met my parents, sister and brothers at Red Lobster. They’d had my daughter with them that day so they brought her along with them. Nick had changed into his new Express sweater in the car and was now wearing it. He looked awfully metro-sexy.
At dinner he pulled out a gorgeous opal ring and surprised me with it. While I was delighted, I was unfortunately not able to get too crazy with happiness because I was contracting a lot. Nick knew, but I hadn’t really told my family yet. The contractions were about two minutes apart now and still I didn’t say anything… until they started to really hurt. I was picking at my salad, in way too much pain to eat, when I asked Nick for his pocket watch. I opened it and put it on the table in front of me. I was timing contractions. Everyone in my family figured out by that point that it was serious and I wasn’t playing around. I remember our (very gay) waiter swishing by, noticing my very pregnant belly and the pocket watch on the table, and asking, “What are you timing?”
“Contractions,” I replied nonchalantly, trying not to wince with pain.
“SHUT UP!!!!” he yelped. “Are you serious? Go to the hospital! I don’t want to deliver your baby in here!”
“I might go after dinner.” I mused. “By the way… it’s twins.”
He ran out of the room.
The rock lobster tail came out and it smelled and looked delicious, but I couldn’t eat it. I was practically doubled over in pain. We finally decided to pack it up and take it home. My parents invited me over for cake and ice cream, but I said I thought I needed to go home and lie down. Everyone was saying I should go to the hospital, but I didn’t want to go because I had been to Triage several times already and didn’t want to go back, only to be sent home again.
So we left the restaurant, I had hardly eaten a bite of my (really expensive) birthday dinner. My parents took Lauren with them “just in case” Nick and I decided to go to the hospital. We had gotten about 3 blocks from the restaurant when I told Nick I really did need to go to the hospital.
So off we went back to WRMC Triage. And we went through my now-familiar routine once again of being hooked up to the fetal monitors. Only this time, they said they were concerned I was going into preterm labor and I needed to stay a while to be evaluated.
A couple of young nurses came in to start an IV. They looked like they were fresh out of school. It took the stupid bitches SEVEN TRIES between the two of them, and they still couldn’t hit a vein. I was crying and sobbing loudly with terrible pain. The needle gauges were HUGE and the sticks hurt even worse than my contractions. My blood was spurting everywhere. They tried to mop it up and put band-aids all over me. My husband (who is an RN) was absolutely cringing with disgust. (He wasn’t allowed to put my IV in since he didn’t work at that hospital.) The incompetent girls finally had to call their nursing supervisor, who came in and mercifully hit a vein in my right forearm on her first try.
(By the way, I was covered with huge, horrible, disgusting bruises all over my arms and hands for the next three weeks. It looked like I had been severely beaten. The needle tracks all over me didn’t look too nice either. I looked like an abused drug addict.)
The doctor on call came in to see me. He was kind of an asshole and I didn’t like him. Neither did Nick. The doctor ordered me some Stadol for my IV. He said he hoped it would stop my contractions. It didn’t. All it did was knock me for six… I couldn’t keep my eyes open and slurred badly when I tried to speak. I was so fucked up I couldn’t even raise my hand to my face to scratch my nose. I passed out for a few hours. When I woke up I was very nauseated. That’s about the time they decided to admit me.
I was taken out of Triage and put into a hospital room by the same two idiot nurses who couldn’t get my IV in. They turned on a blinding bright light and catheterized me while I was squinting in pain and disorientation. That was fun. Now I had a plastic bag full of pee hanging on the side of my bed for all the world to see. Nick was with me in the room while all this was happening. Even though he is my husband, and also a nurse, I still felt embarrassed.
Another nurse came in and said the doctor had ordered magnesium sulfate for my IV because we had to stop me from going into full-blown labor. I didn’t know what that was but it didn’t sound very pleasant.
I had no idea how very right I was. I was in AGONY from the moment the drip started. My IV site was on fire. My skin burned and I couldn’t breathe. Every time I had a contraction, it felt like an elephant was sitting on my chest. I gasped for breath and cried for hours. I was sick and the room was spinning. I trembled uncontrollably and kept screaming for Nick to make it stop. He just sat helplessly by my bedside and tried to comfort me.
I wasn’t allowed to eat (not that I felt like it) or get up at all. All through the night I could hear my pee trickling at regular intervals into the Foley drainage bag hanging from my bed. I was grossed out. It was weird because I could sense the feeling of having to pee just beforehand but I couldn’t really feel it coming out, but. I didn’t sleep much, just laid there in horrible pain and cried a lot. I had to hit the call button several times to have a nurse come in and help Nick turn me over so I could lie on my other side. I was covered with belts and monitors and sensors to measure the babies’ heartbeats and my contractions. Under the sensors my abdomen was slathered with a cold, gooey KY-like gel, and I had on one of those dreadful hospital gowns that opens in the back. I wasn’t allowed to have panties on and my butt was exposed, and they had just shoved a towel between my legs to avoid sweating and rashes. I was also lying on a chuck pad to catch any excess mess. I couldn’t even wash myself. I was uncomfortably wet and sticky all over and I felt completely humiliated and dehumanized.
The magnesium ordeal lasted two days. Much of it after the second day is a blur because the next doc on call (a nice, compassionate man) finally ordered some more pain meds and some Phenergan for me and reduced my magnesium drip, so that I felt slightly less like I was dying a slow, painful death. The contractions finally slowed… and became irregular and much less severe. I was given a shot of steroids to boost the babies’ lung maturity so they wouldn’t have breathing problems when the birth finally did happen, since it looked like I was not going to last a whole lot longer.
Otherwise the twins were doing fine inside me, and I didn’t seem to be in any more danger of going into full-blown labor, so on the third day they discharged me. The nurses stopped my IV, took the Foley out (thank God), unhooked all the belts and monitors from my stomach, and let me get up and walk to the bathroom. The first thing I did was I brush my teeth for about ten minutes. Then I scrubbed my face. Then I washed all the KY-goo off my belly. Then I brushed my hair, and I felt almost human again. I put on some sweat pants, a t-shirt and some socks and they felt incredible.
They let me go on the condition of STRICT bedrest. They told me they wanted me to make it to 34 weeks if possible, to give the twins the best shot at being born healthy. I signed a bunch of discharge papers that I didn’t bother to read. Then I was taken out to the car in a wheelchair by my nurse. I was still very weak and groggy and Nick drove me home and put me in bed…………. And there I stayed for the next two weeks.
In the interim, he had to wait on me hand and foot, which ended up getting really old really fast for both of us. He had to take time off work, which cut into the paternity leave he would take later. I don’t even want to get into how horrific it was to be completely helpless for even a drink of water or a trip to the bathroom. I had a laptop and pretty much did nothing but play Scrabble against the computer all day and night. (I got pretty good at it, too… not to brag or anything (haha) but it was all there was to do. I had already read every book in the house.)
We went stir crazy. We both got agitated and snippy with each other. I felt tremendous guilt at having to ask Nick for everything, and he felt tremendous guilt at being totally sick of having to do everything for me. He sank into a foul mood and retreated into the living room, pulling all-nighters playing World of Warcraft. This resulted in lots of arguments and tears. It was an awful time for us, but we got through it. We kept reminding ourselves that it would be over soon and the babies would be here.
When the 34 week mark had passed, I became a LOT less careful and started to get up again to do things for myself… take a shower, make a sandwich, sit on the couch and watch TV. Nick and I even fooled around a little, since we’d been forbidden to be intimate for a long time. So when the huge contractions returned, it was no big surprise.
They lasted all day on January 25, coming 3 to 5 minutes apart. Which by now was no big deal, they’d been like that for weeks with zero dilation. Again, I was loath to go back up to Triage because I was terrified that they would (a) give me more Magnesium, or (b) just send me home again in disappointment and bill me another $500.
I had a routine ultrasound scheduled for the next day and a receptionist from WRMC called to confirm my appointment. I just happened to mention the contractions while we were on the phone. She panicked and connected me to Allison, Dr. Smith’s (my OBGYN’s) nurse. Allison of course forced me into having someone drive me to Triage, (and, just to make sure I went, said she’d call up there in advance and tell them to expect me). I was SO PISSED. I was so certain that I wasn’t in labor I felt as if I’d had my whole evening ruined.
But when I got up there, things changed. It appeared that I might actually be going into labor. I was only dilated to 1 cm, but Dr. Pickhardt (the doctor on call that night, and incidentally the same doctor who had mercifully reduced my magnesium dosage two weeks prior) was concerned. He was afraid that if I we let the contractions continue and my membranes ruptured, Baby A’s umbilical cord might prolapse, which could be really bad news.
Baby A was Ryan, by the way, and he was breech (that is, right side up). PS-- for anyone who doesn’t know what a cord prolapse is… it’s when your water breaks and part of the umbilical cord falls out through the cervical opening, into the vagina. That can cut off oxygen flow to the baby and possibly result in fetal death. Pretty scary stuff.
So, the decision was made to C-section me in the morning. I had been planning to have one all along, so being told I was having one didn’t surprise me, but I guess we weren’t expecting it to happen so fast. Nick and I were both excited and also completely terrified.
I was transferred to a regular room. The doctor came in to explain to us what was going to happen and why they were doing it. That was the first time anyone had bothered to tell us that our babies would have to stay in the NICU (the neonatal intensive care unit) for at least a couple of weeks.
Looking back, I was so naïve. I honestly thought I would deliver the babies and just walk right out of there with them a couple of days later. We even had a bag packed for them containing going-home clothes. No one had bothered to tell us that it just doesn’t work that way with preemies… even healthy ones… and the news came as a huge shock. The rest of my family had also had no idea that was a possibility, and everyone was stunned. Even my husband, a nurse. And especially me, who couldn’t stomach the idea of being discharged and sent home without them. I wanted to burst into sobs again, but tried my best to keep it together. It was going to be a long night, and an even longer day tomorrow.
Nick slept on a couch-bed-thing in the corner and was uncomfortable, but didn’t really complain. I think he was more nervous and scared than I was. I spent all night hooked up to the fetal monitors, listening to the beeps and thumps and swishes it made. It started to annoy me, and at one point during the night I asked a nurse to turn the volume down and cover the brightness of the monitor screen so I could try to get some sleep. But it wasn’t happening. No sooner would I start to drift off, then inevitably my IV pump or pulse oximeter would start beeping, or some nurse would barge in, pull off all my covers and readjust my belts and fetal monitor sensors, complaining that they had lost one or both babies’ heart rate readings. Like that was my fault.
I was ready to kill one in particular who just couldn’t seem to get it right. She kept coming in and uncovering me repeatedly, and messing with the leads for an unnecessarily long time. I was freezing and she applied way more cold gel to my belly than she needed to. Then I was not only freezing, but also wet, gooey, itchy, uncomfortable and seriously pissed off. She finally positioned my body in such a way that was convenient for her to get a suitable reading, and told me to try not to move. What the hell ever. I was getting very irritable by this point.
I was also denied all food and drink after midnight. The food was not really a problem; it was the drink I was freaking out about. I was SO THIRSTY. My throat was completely dried out. I needed water so bad I was actually weeping over it. A very nice nurse took pity on me and “accidentally”(on purpose) left a water cup within reach of my bed, warning me to only take the tiniest of sips. The doctor wanted my stomach completely empty for the surgery. It was a night of hell!! I was grateful when morning arrived. My C-section was scheduled for 10 AM.
I was, of course, wide-awake by 6 AM, freaking out. I couldn’t wake Nick to save his life, though. He was sacked out so hard I was actually yelling “NICK!! WAKE UP!” towards his little couch-bed-thing (a mere 5 or 6 feet away), and he didn’t even hear me. I was antsy and needed someone to talk to, so I called my mom, who was up there by 7:30. She talked to me a while and there was a feeling of great anticipation in the air. Mom said she was going to go pick up Lauren-Elise (who was with my dad at my parents’ house) and bring her back to the hospital, so she could be present when her baby brothers were born.
I was a little disappointed that it would not be my regular doctor (Dr. Smith, a woman) doing the surgery, but Dr. Pickhardt seemed ok. He came in and explained what was going to happen during the C-section and what to expect, and answered my questions.
The anesthesiologist came in a few minutes later, introduced himself and then he explained his role in how he would be administering the spinal block. I was terrified. All along, I had been more afraid to have a huge needle stuck into my spine than to have my abdomen sliced open. He was a compassionate, soft-spoken doctor and tried to make me feel more comfortable about the procedure. I’m sure he’d had to talk to hundreds of frightened women before. My main question for him was, could my husband stay with me while I received the spinal?
The answer was no… and so the second the anesthesiologist left the room, I started bawling. I didn’t want to be separated from Nick, not at the most terrifying moment of my entire life. I thought I was going to go into a complete panic. Nick tried his best to comfort me as well, saying he would come right in as soon as it was done, and he’d be right by my side the whole rest of the time.
A nurse came in with light blue disposable scrubs for Nick, and a couple of stupid-looking blue head coverings that looked like shower caps. We each had to put one on. Nick also had to cover his shoes, and his feet were encased in blue elasticized baggies. I would have laughed if I hadn’t been so scared.
Then a team of people came in to wheel my bed out into the hallway and take me to the OR for surgery. The last thing I remember was my mom showing up with Lauren right at the moment we were rolling out the door. They paused just long enough to let her run up to the bedside and give her mommy a hug. I told her I loved her, and that the babies would be here in just a few minutes… and felt myself welling up again. I tried hard not to cry in front of her. I was afraid it would scare her.
We left mom and Lauren behind, and Nick walked with us down the long hallway, through swinging double doors, and into another small hallway… and then he was made to wait there while I entered the operating room. He smiled at me and said he loved me, and it would be fine, and he’d be right in.
So there I was facing the scariest moment of my life. And until the moment of my death I don’t think I will ever again feel such absolute fear or instability. Suddenly I was Anne Boleyn with her neck on the chopping block, about to meet her doom. There were swarms of people in there who were brandishing various medical devices or operating machinery… and I couldn’t recognize a single one of them, because they were all wearing surgical masks. It was like a nightmare, the kind you can’t wake up from even though you know you’re dreaming.
For a moment time stood perfectly still, and the only sound I heard was the sound of my own blood churning in my eardrums.
Then everything came back on like a switch being flipped. A nurse was in front of me, asking me to lean into her arms and scrunch forward as far as I could. I felt my gown being opened from the back. The anesthesiologist’s voice was behind me, and he warned me not to move or jerk as he administered the needle. I breathed in and out deeply, to keep me grounded so I could stay perfectly still for what was sure to be a very painful stick.
And it was. I felt it pop through my skin and into my spinal column. My eyes crossed with pain, but just I clutched the nurse’s shoulders and whimpered and stayed still like I’d been told.
Weirdly, within a few seconds I went into full adrenaline mode and drifted into a dreamlike state. I felt drugged. I somewhat remember complaining that my shoulder and neck had started hurting. I thought it had something to do with the spinal, and I became agitated that no one else thought it was a big deal. My legs began to go numb very shortly thereafter. The team of nurses and doctors laid me on my back on my gurney sheet, and all together everyone heave-hoed me onto the operating table. They put a prop of some kind under my knees, and poked me here and there with sharp objects to make sure I was completely numb from the waist down. I was. In fact I was completely paralyzed down there as well. I couldn’t have moved my legs even if I had wanted to. They felt dead… almost missing…. as if they had been disconnected from my brain and body.
The next few minutes happened so incredibly fast that I almost don’t remember them.
A huge green screen with a drape went up in front of me, so that I could no longer see down past my boobs. The doctor and his team disappeared from view. Only a nurse remained at my side, near my head. It wasn’t until I felt the sensation of tugging and pulling at my abdomen that I realized the doctor was already cutting into me!!
“WHERE’S MY HUSBAND????” I shouted.
They had forgotten him out in the hallway. Someone ran to fetch Nick. He appeared at my side a few seconds later, in his ridiculous blue shower cap, with the video camera trained on what I could not see behind the drape. I wondered why he wasn’t holding my hand. I tried to reach out and touch him for support… that’s when I discovered that both of my arms were strapped down, crucifixion-style. When the hell did that happen?? I hadn’t even noticed them doing it to me.
Only a few seconds later, I heard several the nurses say, “A boy!” I strained to hear his cries, but instead heard only chaotic chatter from the doctor’s team. Finally I heard some nice strong baby screams, and I smiled and cried with joy as I heard them announce, “Another boy!”
When I looked up again, Nick was gone. It was too noisy and I was too disoriented to ask anyone where he had got off to, so I just tried to relax while I the doctor finished up the surgery. I was suctioned, stitched and glued back together… and after a while a nurse brought one of my little naked babies wrapped in a towel and hung him in front of my face so I could see him.
“This is twin B”, she said.
That was Gabriel. He was red, wrinkled and his eyes looked like puffy little slits. He still had some vernix on him where it hadn’t been wiped off yet. I fleetingly wondered why they brought me the second baby first.
“I want to hold him,” I moaned, knowing full well I couldn’t.
“That’ll have to wait,” she said. He’s going to the NICU. You can see him a little later.”
I sighed with disappointment, but basked in the relief of the worst of the drama being over. Eventually they brought Ryan over and dangled him in front of my face as well. I reached out and touched his cheek. I smelled the scent of amniotic fluid that clings to every baby who has just emerged from the womb. And then he, too, was taken away.
I loved both of those tiny babies with all my heart, from the moment I first laid eyes on them and they became “real” to me. No longer just a couple of anonymous, imaginary parasites that kicked me in the ribs (and the bladder, and the cervix) at night, they were REAL, and they were my children. Words couldn’t express my bliss.
* * * * * * * * * * *
I was wheeled to a recovery room where two older nurses hovered over me and squished and squashed on my belly repeatedly. I still felt like I was in a dream, so I had no idea what they were doing but heard one mention something about clots. I still couldn’t feel anything from the waist down, and I was suddenly very sleepy. I must have dozed off for a few minutes when Nick popped in to check on me. He was only there for a minute, then said he was off to the NICU to see the babies. I felt a little hurt that he didn’t stay longer, but was too tired to care too much.
A little while later the old nurses were poking at me and asking if I could feel this or that. The feeling was returning to my feet, I could wiggle my toes a little bit. I went back to sleep, and when I woke up again they were rolling me back down the hall to my room.
I had to stay flat on my back for the next eight hours. The doctor had said it was to fend off headaches and problems from the spinal. I was really miffed at not being able to go see my babies right away, and complained loudly, but they shot some painkiller into my IV bag and boom, I went out again. I ended up spending most of the eight hours asleep, so I got through it all right.
My biggest problem at that time wasn’t the pain of my incision… it was my nose. It itched like crazy. I couldn’t stand it, and kept rubbing at it. I wanted to scratch it right off of my face!! When I complained, the nurse told me it was a side effect of the painkiller.
Nick was there with me when I was finally alert again, and asked me if I wanted to go visit the babies. Of course I did. He and a nurse helped me from the bed into a wheelchair. I couldn’t believe how hard it was to get up. It really hurt! Not only that, my gown was still open in the back… and I was, of course, still naked as a jaybird underneath. They covered me with lots of blankets once I got into the chair.
My foley was still in, so yippee… they had to hang the pee bag on the side of the wheelchair. So what if I was in a hospital? I was so embarrassed. I furtively sneaked a corner of a blanket down there to try to cover it.
They wheeled me to the NICU, and I finally saw my babies again. This time I was able to get a better look, although I could not hold them yet. They were TINY, like dolls. Each one was in his own little plastic bed, lying on top of a cotton blanket with a warming vent above him, clad only in a diaper and a stocking cap. That was adorable. What alarmed me was all the equipment. They were completely covered with wires and tubes and probes and… stuff. They even had tubes taped to their faces which went into their noses, which a nurse explained to me was a feeding tube. Their chests were covered with numerous leads to monitor their breathing and heartbeats, and each one had a pulse oximeter strapped to a foot with yet another cord leading to a large monitor under the warmer, which displayed lots of flashing numbers and lines.
WTF?? I had no idea they would be born so sickly! Why did they have to be hooked up to all this mess?? I became distraught and… you guessed it… started to cry. Nick consoled me yet again.
The pediatrician, who came off as a friendly and honest doctor, came in and spoke with us. He explained that they weren’t actually sick, just early, and all the equipment was necessary to keep track of their vitals. They weren’t yet able to suck and swallow on their own, hence the NG (nasogastric) tubes. He told us they would have to stay there for at least two weeks. I was sick to hear it, because now I knew it was a reality that we would be going home without them in just a couple of days. I was glad at least that their doctor was nice because I wouldn’t have been able to bear it otherwise.
I didn’t know just HOW nice he really was. I found out a bit later, that the reason they had shown me Gabriel first in the operating room was that Ryan came out not breathing…. and he did not take a breath for over two and a half minutes. I watched the video of my c-section back in the hospital room… and finally witnessed what I had not been able to see then.
The OBGYN pulled Ryan out from my abdomen, and cut and clamped the cord. He was immediately swooped away by the pediatrician’s team, who rushed him across the room to a table covered with a green cloth. They hovered over my newborn infant, working quickly, suctioning out the fluid and trying to get him to breathe. I heard Nick’s panicked gasping just off camera, and his helpless questions, which went ignored as they worked to save my baby’s life. It was all on video, to the minute Ryan let out his first tiny screams. My heart just broke into a million pieces. At that moment everything made sense… why I had not heard any first cries, why Nick had left my side during the delivery… why Gabriel was brought to me first. And no one had said anything to me while it was happening… because there was nothing I could have done about it anyway.
I couldn’t believe it. My baby almost died! Mine!! That’s the kind of stuff you only read about and pity other people for. I owed the doctor his life. I was so grateful. It could have turned so bad, but it didn’t. I found myself fervently thanking the Powers that Be for saving his life. For bringing them both to us, healthy and well.
Nick sat with me for a very long time, holding my hand. There was a huge closeness and love between us that was even bigger than the strong connection we’d had before.
2008-03-03 (baby has arrived) |
