Remembering the Miracle
As I was wiping banana off my clothes and my daughter's face this morning (she has discovered the art of blowing raspberries, and is determined to practice it while she is eating,) I was struck by how 'normal' everything seems. And I was reminded of how amazing the journey was to get her here.
Mackay was a twin. While I was standing in the kitchen one morning last July, my water broke. I was about 18 1/2 weeks along. I'd like to say that I handled this crisis with some sort of control and dignity, but I was an absolute blubbering wreck. A dear friend drove me to the hospital, picking up my husband, who had just stepped onto a BART train, on the way.
The perinatal doctor on call determined that my water had only broken for one twin (our son), but that the other baby's amniotic sac was still intact. They gave us 0% chance of survival for the boy, and less than 5% for the girl. In fact, one doctor told us that our best chance of a successful delivery was to terminate and start over. This was not what we wanted to hear after 6 years of miscarriages.
But thankfully, the head doctor agreed to just 'wait and see.' Infection was the biggest concern, so they dosed me with antibiotics and I was admitted to the hospital on strict bed rest. I was out of bed maybe 5 minutes a day. They took my temperature and blood pressure every 4 hours. My amazing husband locked right in beside me on the torture device called a hospital cot. 5 days in, I went into labor in the middle of the night. Into the OR we went, fully expecting that I would deliver both babies at 19 weeks - obviously far to early for them to survive.
Our son was stillborn. But by some miracle, labor stopped after I delivered him, and our daughter seemed to be doing ok. We all agreed that we would simply wait and see what happened. If this little girl was going to fight, so were we. So back to bed rest I went. The next 5 weeks are a blur of tears, panic, ultrasounds, surgeries, waiting, and hope.
For anyone who has been through a troubled pregnancy, you know that 24 weeks is a magic number. It's when doctors consider a fetus has a 50/50 chance of survival if it is born. We had quite a party when we hit that milestone. Mackay (and her parents) made it another 10 weeks in the hospital -- she was born at 34 weeks (6 weeks early) perfectly healthy and breathing on her own. Her birth is another story in itself. Suffice it to say I don't recommend an emergency c-section when you haven't had time for the anesthesia to kick in. In any case, when we checked out of the hospital, the whiteboard in my room where we tracked my 'Days in Captivity' had 115 tick marks on it.
Once we got past 30 weeks, we relaxed enough to start writing baby names on the whiteboard. Mackay is my husband's middle name -- it's a Scottish clan name that translates roughly to 'son of fire' or 'born of fire.' It also means 'toward the ocean' in Hawaiian. We felt both were appropriate.
Looking back, I can't tell you how we survived this (though I wish I'd known more about blogging then...) Our approach was just to make it from breakfast through dinner, and then from dinner to breakfast without anything awful happening. We could not even think about the future - it was simply too daunting.
I am convinced that at any other hospital, we wouldn't have this baby. The doctors, specialists, and nurses were outstanding. We also have our friends and family to thank. I have never felt as loved as we did during that awful time. They called, they sent books, they brought us dinner, they sent flowers, they did laundry, they took care of our cats. Every little bit helped break the monotony and remind us how lucky we were to have friends.
Since we had lots of time in the hospital to research stuff on the internet, we did find some interesting articles about 'delayed twin syndrome' - which is essentially what I experienced. It's pretty rare, but there are some amazing stories of women who have given birth to one twin early, and carried the other full term - with both babies surviving. Sometimes I wish we were that lucky, but when I look at our amazing daughter, I can't imagine my life any other way. Even when she's smearing bananas on my shirt.
Mackay was a twin. While I was standing in the kitchen one morning last July, my water broke. I was about 18 1/2 weeks along. I'd like to say that I handled this crisis with some sort of control and dignity, but I was an absolute blubbering wreck. A dear friend drove me to the hospital, picking up my husband, who had just stepped onto a BART train, on the way.
The perinatal doctor on call determined that my water had only broken for one twin (our son), but that the other baby's amniotic sac was still intact. They gave us 0% chance of survival for the boy, and less than 5% for the girl. In fact, one doctor told us that our best chance of a successful delivery was to terminate and start over. This was not what we wanted to hear after 6 years of miscarriages.
But thankfully, the head doctor agreed to just 'wait and see.' Infection was the biggest concern, so they dosed me with antibiotics and I was admitted to the hospital on strict bed rest. I was out of bed maybe 5 minutes a day. They took my temperature and blood pressure every 4 hours. My amazing husband locked right in beside me on the torture device called a hospital cot. 5 days in, I went into labor in the middle of the night. Into the OR we went, fully expecting that I would deliver both babies at 19 weeks - obviously far to early for them to survive.
Our son was stillborn. But by some miracle, labor stopped after I delivered him, and our daughter seemed to be doing ok. We all agreed that we would simply wait and see what happened. If this little girl was going to fight, so were we. So back to bed rest I went. The next 5 weeks are a blur of tears, panic, ultrasounds, surgeries, waiting, and hope.
For anyone who has been through a troubled pregnancy, you know that 24 weeks is a magic number. It's when doctors consider a fetus has a 50/50 chance of survival if it is born. We had quite a party when we hit that milestone. Mackay (and her parents) made it another 10 weeks in the hospital -- she was born at 34 weeks (6 weeks early) perfectly healthy and breathing on her own. Her birth is another story in itself. Suffice it to say I don't recommend an emergency c-section when you haven't had time for the anesthesia to kick in. In any case, when we checked out of the hospital, the whiteboard in my room where we tracked my 'Days in Captivity' had 115 tick marks on it.
Once we got past 30 weeks, we relaxed enough to start writing baby names on the whiteboard. Mackay is my husband's middle name -- it's a Scottish clan name that translates roughly to 'son of fire' or 'born of fire.' It also means 'toward the ocean' in Hawaiian. We felt both were appropriate.
Looking back, I can't tell you how we survived this (though I wish I'd known more about blogging then...) Our approach was just to make it from breakfast through dinner, and then from dinner to breakfast without anything awful happening. We could not even think about the future - it was simply too daunting.
I am convinced that at any other hospital, we wouldn't have this baby. The doctors, specialists, and nurses were outstanding. We also have our friends and family to thank. I have never felt as loved as we did during that awful time. They called, they sent books, they brought us dinner, they sent flowers, they did laundry, they took care of our cats. Every little bit helped break the monotony and remind us how lucky we were to have friends.
Since we had lots of time in the hospital to research stuff on the internet, we did find some interesting articles about 'delayed twin syndrome' - which is essentially what I experienced. It's pretty rare, but there are some amazing stories of women who have given birth to one twin early, and carried the other full term - with both babies surviving. Sometimes I wish we were that lucky, but when I look at our amazing daughter, I can't imagine my life any other way. Even when she's smearing bananas on my shirt.
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Tracy