Precious Moments

The first time I saw Emma, she was sleeping in her own private room in her little isolate with her tiny sunglasses on under the blue light. She had a little pointed chin and little pixie ears. Those little lips. Her hair was light and wavy. She was beautiful. Our daughter. They had her swaddled up tight in a pretty pink blanket. I was not allowed to hold her. There was a strict policy of "do not disturb." Every movement, even every mental/visual stimulation, was burning calories they were working hard to keep. There was a custom shaped blanket over her isolate to keep things very dark, like the womb. I was allowed to pull back the blanket, open the little portholes on the side and very quietly and gently rest my hand on her body. Rodney and I stood in amazement.

"Allowed..."  This is my child, right? These are my babies? Not that I knew what it was like to have a child, and not that I wanted to "possess" them, but to be given rules, limitations... and to have nurses helping themselves to what needed to be done was a little strange for me. I wanted what was best for them though, and I was grateful that they were getting such good, specialized care.

In the next room was Ethan. He was basking in the same blue light. He had a ventilator (just in case of respiratory failure) taped to his face. It covered his mouth and nose. I couldn't see him very well. All of a sudden I felt weak in the knees. I started to tremble. All of this was too much. I could hear faint beeping from all of the other machines on the floor. I lowered myself into my wheelchair and started to cry.
"I can't see his face." I was breaking down.
The nurse started frantically removing the ventilator, the sunglasses-- "Look, Mom, he's okay. See?"  I looked again through my blurry tears. I wiped them away and...there he was. Finally. He looked very peaceful. Rodney was there beside me. Ethan was just as beautiful as Emma. They looked a lot different from each other to me. But the same little mouth. Ethan had a little Nelson dimple in his chin. The sweetest little round face. The faintest trace of hair. Such a handsome little man. I rested my hand on his tiny body and stared...at our son.

The rooms were set up to make the parents as comfortable as possible. Their names were on cute little handmade signs on the outside of the glass doors. Little cut-out letters, a ducky, a teddy bear, little bows. I thought it was a nice touch, so cute, so personal. Each room was furnished with a pleather green rocking chair/recliner, a blue couch with red, yellow and green polka dots. A breast pump was on the shelf, a mini fridge to store milk only, and a sink. The couch's seat and back cushion pulled out flat to make a sort of bed. There was a colorful privacy curtain that would hide the entire couch and chair from the glass front wall and door to the hallway. Little Beanie Babies were in the isolates, cute little themed sheets on their pads. They always had the cutest little tiny sleepers on, not those generic hospital gowns. There was a whiteboard on the wall that said, "Ethan's Room," "Emma's Room," the name of the nurse on duty, their weights, their feeding amounts.

My first impression of the NICU wasn't as bad as I thought it would be. They looked like little Precious Moments in little display cases. I was finally able to see the faces of our children, stare all day if I wanted to.

Heaven.

Thanks, Babe.

Bless Rodney's heart. He wheeled me around everywhere in that wheelchair. He was running around getting me things, helping me sit up, etc. I tried to be a good patient. "Rodney, thank you so much for pushing me around everywhere. Thank you, Rodney, for bringing me a drink. You're awesome. Thanks. Thank you, Babe. I really appreciate it..." I felt so completely and utterly dependent on him for everything. I like to consider myself an independent person. One of my biggest lessons through all of this has been that no, actually, I cannot do it all. I cannot do everything myself. As a matter of fact, I need quite a bit of help.


"You would do the same for me," he said. It's true. Sigh. That made me feel a little better.

Physically, I felt like I had been hit by a train. I had the biggest headache of my life from the spinal tap. My legs and feet swelled up beyond recognition. The doctor said I lost quite a bit of blood. I was very weak and light-headed. There was a piercing and burning pain in my midsection, especially my right side. I could not stand for longer than 30 seconds. I never realized how much and how often a person needs abdominals.

Thankfully, the pain meds helped quite a bit, but they had their side-effects of course. Rodney said he could tell when I had just had medicine from my blank stare, and when I talked, it was barely above a whisper. Before I was released, my nurse's medication policy seemed to be dependent on the question, "What level is your pain?"
"I dont know.... What level do you need it to be before you give me another one?"
When I had control over my medicine, I felt I had gained an ounce of power over my life, or at least 5 mgs.
I kept really missing my head band and my brush. But my hair was pretty much a lost cause and I still had no make-up on. None of my clothes would fit me, not even the ones that were fitting me three days ago.

Whose body is this? Not loving this Homer belly. Not feeling pretty, no not at all.

Rodney drove us home to pack a suitcase. Mom had arranged for us to stay in The Ronald McDonald House right next to the hospital, so we wouldn't have to drive to and from Tulsa every day. There was no way to know how long the babies would have to stay in the NICU. Some babies have to stay until their original due date. October 15? Oh, no. That would mean Rodney and I both would celebrate our birthdays this year at the lovely St. Francis Children's Hospital NICU, rooms 530 and 532.

Rodney arranged for our friends to take care of our poor lonely dogs at home. Two months??

Sigh

Can we please just see our babies now??

Held Without Bond

Most moms-to-be can't wait for that moment when their baby is in their arms. That moment was one of the many things that didn't go as planned for me. I will never forget hearing the tiny cry of Emma. It was wonderful. It was life altering. It marked the beginning of my new life. It told me she was going to be ok. I squeezed my eyes tight while I waited for Ethan's cry. One minute later, he was crying and so was I. Thank you, God. They sounded like two tiny kittens. The nurses stood at the door of the operating room holding my little angels. "Look, Mom!"

This is it.... This is our first moment together and you are both ten feet away.

I caught a short glimpse of their tiny faces, their swaddled bodies, and then they were whisked away out the door, in the portable NICU isolates and on their way to St. Francis Children's Hospital in Tulsa. It killed me that I was not allowed to hold them, not even to be in the same room, or even in the same city as my babies.

What kind of prison is this?

I was to be held without bond at Hastings Hospital until I had recovered. I was told that only 4 people of our choice would be allowed to see the babies in Tulsa until we arrived there. We printed our parents' names on the lines, the people we trusted most, the next best thing for our babies. Rodney could have chosen to go to Tulsa to be with them, but he decided to wait for me.
He said, "I can't do that to you."  He slept on a chair in my room, by my side for the entire time.

I was in recovery for two days. I couldn't help but think about several people who told me how their c-section recovery was a breeze, painless, that they were up and walking normally the next day. I would laugh here, but it isn't funny.

On the second night, I awoke in such pain. I couldn't tell which was worse, the physical or emotional. Rodney woke up, startled: "What's wrong??"
"I'm sad."
He called his dad at two in the morning and we were assured that the babies were doing fine. His dad and his wife were spending the night with the babies. Thank God...someone who loved them was there by their side.

They were in the NICU because they required more development. They were kept in clear plastic, temperature controlled boxes. They were attached to monitors and bilirubin lights, breathing on their own, but they needed feeding tubes.

It is the most bizarre feeling in the world, the most alienating feeling...to have other people update you on your new babies, to have other people bring you pictures of your babies that you've never even really seen.

It isn't fair.

Zero-Two-Early

Something was a little off. The babies were so heavy on August 23. I felt just a little pain.
No, not pain. Discomfort.

I'm carrying twins. Of course I'm uncomfortable.

That night I probably got up to use the bathroom like 10 times. I foggily noted after about 3 times that it seemed to be every 30 minutes or so. So sleepy. There was a new, intense (but tolerable) pressure. The babies must be kicking me or laying on my bladder. In the morning, I got up to get ready for work.

It was only the 2nd week of class and the plan was to make it until the 8th week. My substitute was already in position, and I had everything ready for her. My plan was so planned.

I felt weak when I got out of bed and a little clammy, like I might be getting the flu or something. In the shower, I kept having to rest my hands on my knees. "I don't think I'm gonna make it to work today," to my husband.
"Do you need to go to the hospital??"
"No.... I dont know. No. I think I just need to lay down."
"Are you sure you don't need to go to the hospital?" He asked me that at least 5 times.

"No. I just need to rest. Go to work."
I called my co-worker and told her I wouldn't be in. I felt some embarrassment as my voice cracked through tears. I hated that my body wouldn't let me be strong, let me prove to everyone that I could do this.  I called my mom and told her I just wasn't feeling right today. She came right over and it became increasingly obvious that I was in labor. She very calmly timed my contractions. "Have you packed a bag yet?"
"What? I still have 2 months!"
"You're in labor." She casually walked around our bedroom getting things ready for a bag. "Call Rodney. He needs to take you to the hospital," just like...no big deal. I love my mom. She's so composed. I'm so happy she could be there with me for this moment in my life when I most needed to relax and fight my panic instincts.
Rodney came home in just a few minutes. Matter of fact: "We're not gonna have the babies today. They'll get you back on track and you'll probably be on bed rest now."
"Yeah."
I had imagined this day very differently from how it was panning out. At least I had a shower, but I had planned to put makeup on, dry my hair...look a little more...together, a little less raggedy.

When we got checked into the hospital, the midwives were buzzing all around me. One was taking my blood pressure, another giving me a steroid injection. One was attaching a monitor to my belly. I felt like I was an outsider, watching some movie scene. No one was really regarding me as owner of my body.
In came the doctor I had least wanted to see. He was cold and a little rough in my previous appointments. My body tensed and I felt defensive as soon as I saw him. He checked me out and...that broken sentence that will forever ring in my mind:

"4, fully effaced, babies coming today." It sounded like some military command to me. I've been hit.
My body involuntarily heaved and a loud and hideous tone was rattling in my ears like a siren. I realized I was screaming out.
My husband and a female intern brought their faces close to mine, told me it was ok, to calm down. "The babies will be fine. You've done a good job," the lady said.
My husband's eyes told me he was just as scared as I was. Before they wheeled me out, he said, "You're my family."
How I love him.

Over the Minimum

I drank way over the minimum amount of water that was required for the ultrasound reading. The discomfort was pretty severe on the way to the doctor's office.
By the time we were in the waiting room, I was starting to sweat.
"She should be back from lunch any minute."
Am I gonna make it? Let me just...lay back--nope. Sit up-- nope. Walk around? Oh, Oh, Oh... Rocking, rocking, rocking, tapping, tapping, tapping--omg-omg-omg!
Finally, the ultrasound tech leisurely walked in with her to-go cup. By this time, my body was shaking and I was on the verge of tears.
During the ultrasound, I was allowed to empty my bladder, thank goodness, but easier said than done.
On the bed, she had the monitor pointed away from me, so I couldn't see anything. I just remember seeing my husband's face expression. He was staring so hard at the monitor, leaning and squinting the way he does. All of a sudden he says, "There's two....Isn't there?"
"Yep. I was just going to ask if twins run in your family."
His hands were on top of his head, fingers locked, breathing pretty hard at this point, but he is smiling.
I need this repeated. I am not hearing this right. Panic comes over me. I cover my face with the crook of my arm and I feel like the bed is falling through the floor. I must be dreaming this. I start sobbing: "IM GOING TO BE HUGE!!"
and "How are we going to do this?" "Are they ok?" All of the possible complications come into mind one after the other and I cry and I cry and I cry. Rodney squeezes my feet on the bed and keeps reassuring me over and over: "We'll be fine. We can do it," and so on. He is such a trooper.

I finally opened my eyes to face this shocking reality. She turned the screen and I saw two miracle children. All my fears were forgotten for that moment. Two little perfect faces, four little perfect arms and legs. Their little arms were waving, almost as if to say, "Don't worry, Mom! We're okay!"
The rest of the day was spent telling our families and friends. The phone just kept ringing.
We could do nothing for a few days except sit and stare at each other with big smiles on our faces.

"Plan This..."

I am a planner. I even plan to plan. Actually, I should say I was a planner.

When we decided to plan to get pregnant I was so happy. I was still nervous, but I knew my heart needed to be a mother and I felt like I was ready to give. For a year, I prepared my heart. I started quieting myself so that I could hear God's whisper a little more clearly. I started becoming a regular at my church. I wanted to make it my job to listen. Don't do anything rash, I thought. Just listen.

I started being more active in my church, started giving as I saw fit. I started helping with a church program called "Ramp it Up" where we build ramps for families and individuals who need them to improve their mobility and daily life. I had no idea my dad was also involved in the program. I guess I wasn't listening. It was amazing to me that I really could be led. For once I felt like I was letting go of my illusion of control and following what I call The Whisper in my heart. "Hmmm. I don't have to worry about everything. I don't really have control anyway. I'm just getting in God's way." He led me to my church. He led me to my family. Then one day I was sitting in my office chair at work and The Whisper took over my thoughts. I clearly heard that I was ready to receive a precious gift.

2009 B.C.

 My life before this year was pretty simple. I was married and happy. Rodney and I started our relationship in 1999, and for the next ten years we were falling in love, playing, fighting, making up, getting to know each other, and getting to know ourselves.

In 2009, we were new home owners. We both had jobs we enjoyed, and when we came home in the evenings, we liked to relax, maybe invite a friend or two over, cook out, and maybe have a few beers. Life did pretty much whatever we wanted it to. Wanna go on a road trip? Or sleep in until noon? And so it was. We liked to go listen to live music and eat out. We often talked about having children, but it was more in the context of "what else can we cram into our lives before that step is necessary?" We were both pretty intimidated by the very idea of having a baby. But...I had this little whisper in the bottom of my heart. Sometimes I would just talk louder or make a bunch of noise so I couldn't hear it. But, every time things got quiet and I was alone, there it was.
 
and sometimes it made me cry.