Love the Unexpected

Let me start this story a few weeks before the day we welcomed our twins into the family.

The lead-up

The twenty week mark for us was about when things started to get a little rocky in the pregnancy – nothing really ever went wrong but it did kick off a slew of less-than-ideal events. If you haven’t had a chance to read my article about our cleft lip and palate diagnosis, that was the first bit of not-so-great news we received.

At twenty-four weeks, I failed my gestational diabetes screening, and had to go back for the full test. At twenty-eight weeks, they confirmed that I did indeed have gestational diabetes. By thirty weeks, I was on insulin.

At the thirty-three week mark I was diagnosed with a cellulitis infection. When it didn’t respond to regular antibiotics, I was put on IV antibiotics. If you’ve never had the pleasure, they set you up with your IV, a portable pump (accessorized with a very stylish bag, I might add), show you how to change your IV bag and send you on your way. You get to wear that sucker twenty-four hours a day until your next appointment. Just don’t get it wet.

After a week of the IV antibiotics, I went back into the clinic and it was becoming clear that something wasn’t quite right. Although there were some signs that the infection was clearing, I was still very swollen. Like, really swollen. Like, “I walked into the hospital when they first put in the IV but my sister had to wheel me into that last appointment” swollen.

As it happened, the next time I would get to go home would be with my baby girl in twelve days time.

The admission

The doctor I saw for my infection was great – she essentially said that for the length of time I’d been on the IV, they should have seen better results and less swelling. Although I’d previously had an ultrasound done to rule out deep vein thrombosis in my leg, she wanted to rule out the possibility of a blood clot in my pelvis. After conferring with a few different specialists, she recommended that I have an MRI. Since it had to be done quickly, I needed to be admitted to the hospital. I was thirty-five weeks along at this point.

After a bit of bouncing around between the Emergency and Labour and Delivery units, I was finally admitted to the Antenatal unit in Labour and Delivery.

It took a couple of days to get the MRI done and receive results but the news was good – there weren’t any signs of a blood clot. However, they told me that because of the weight and position of the babies, my veins were being seriously compressed. Since I wasn’t getting proper blood flow, it was causing the severe swelling. They recommended that we stay in the hospital until I hit thirty-six weeks and either induce or opt for a scheduled C-section.

The decision between induction and C-section was one that was really hard for me to make. I desperately wanted to avoid a C-section if I could. I knew the recovery would be difficult and we were anticipating a NICU stay for at least Baby A.

Still, I had known it was a possibility and upon being admitted to the hospital it had come up more often as something I needed to consider. I had spent the last eight and a half months ignoring the thought but the infection served to put it directly in my line of sight, seriously consider it and recognize that it may become my reality.

In the end, my obstetrician gave me the okay to try for an induction, so that’s what we did. Although it might still end in a C-section, at least I would know I had tried. Bright and early on the morning of October 12th, they kicked things off.

The induction

Things went pretty well that day. I dilated well to start, then they broke Baby A’s water. I remember it taking a lot of Pitocin to finally get my contractions going and not long after, they gave me my epidural. I laboured pretty comfortably through the night and by around midnight, I was ready to push, which I did for the next hour and a half.

Then the doctor came in. I could tell she wasn’t happy with how things were progressing. We kept going, but after a little while she looked up at me and my husband.

She explained that while there were interventions she could use for Baby A, she was concerned about the delivery of Baby B, based on what she was seeing and the baby’s breech position. There was a risk that even if we could deliver Baby A, we would still need to go in for a C-section for Baby B. Rather than have to recover from both, she recommended that we go ahead with the C-section.

While I had wrestled the previous week with the decision about delivery, in that moment I had absolute peace about going into the operating room. Don’t get me wrong, I was not excited about it. But, it’s true what the Bible says:

Do not be anxious about anything, but in every situation by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.

Philippians 4:607

Despite this not being at all what I wanted, I had peace in my heart that it was the right thing for us to do for our babies.

The delivery

They wheeled me into the operating room and I was very antsy. I get a little jittery when I’m nervous. It was cold, bustling and extremely bright, especially compared to the soft lighting we’d just come from. They got the room setup, the sheet in place, my husband came into the room and sat beside me and before we knew it (or I was ready for it), they were getting started.

I remember both babies being born – I heard Baby A’s beautiful loud cry. He was handed off to the NICU doctors to be checked out and then it was Baby B’s turn. I had a moment of panic when I didn’t hear her cry right away but it was short-lived. They got her breathing and they brought both babies over for us to see. They were beautiful and healthy and I was so relieved to know that they were okay.

Things took a bit of a turn at that point. I’m not 100% sure what happened, but I know that there was a definite shift where I went from being aware of everything that was happening to suddenly feeling very out of it and nauseous.

The doctor seemed to be struggling with something and my husband looked scared. As I mentioned, we had known that our baby boy would be taken to the NICU due to his cleft and our plan had been for my husband to follow him (or them) to the NICU if needed. Instead, he stuck with me and I remember feeling like I really needed him there.

Thankfully, whatever the doctor was having trouble with, they managed to resolve and we were rolled back to the recovery room with our baby girl. After a short stay there, they took me first to the NICU to hold my baby boy for the first time, then to post-partum.

The aftermath

We stayed in post-partum for four days with our little girl and thankfully during that time I managed to see my little boy in the NICU for a little bit each day. I was in pretty rough shape (I had a minor fainting incident followed by a blood transfusion and was still dealing with the swelling) but we made it through.

The day we went home was a hard day. I was happy to be leaving the hospital and grateful to have our little girl with us but leaving my little boy behind was a very difficult thing to do. Little did I know how hard it would be to finally get him home with us.

The reflection

As I think back to those early days spent in the hospital, I would love to be able to say that the day my twins were born was the best day of my life. In some ways, it was. I am so grateful that we came out of it alive and together as a family. I would do it all over again in a heartbeat. But these were also some of the hardest days of my life. It would be dishonest to portray it as some surreal magical experience that instantly transformed me.

The truth is, I didn’t feel a whole lot different in those first days after becoming a mom. I felt very much like myself, just a little worse for the wear and with the added responsibility of keeping two little people alive. Nothing about the experience was glamourous. Actually, the whole of it was quite gritty. There are several things I could have lived without my husband seeing.

Still, I’m thankful for those hard times because it was the battle through them that lead us to where we are now. Letting my husband see me at my worst and most vulnerable brought a new closeness to our marriage. It strengthened the team of “us” and gave me an opportunity to fall more deeply in love with him as he actively worked out his vows to take me for better or worse, in sickness and in health.

It’s been through the ordinary and even mundane, the calm after the storm, that I’ve slowly settled into the role of mom. Every feeding, diaper change, hospital trip and milestone has gradually shaped me. It didn’t happen all of a sudden, but I’m so thankful for the day it all started.