The Worst Day - Part Two: Absolution

If you read my last post, The Worst Day, there were probably several things that were evident to you, the reader, that I did not have the clarity of mind or the energy to see on that day…

• The hospital had our sons best interests at heart and the fact that they kept them there was the best thing that could have happened to us. (Truly, if we had gone home and had things go wrong after we left the hospital then we would have had to re-admit our boys into the hospital into the pediatric ward…not a good scenario)
  
• The people that were there to help us…were there to help us. No one meant any harm and they were all trying to do their jobs as best they could, as quickly as they could, to help our boys.
  
• Our boys were not in danger, they just needed a little boost…there are a lot of other babies who are born much earlier and have much bigger battles to fight…we were blessed to have babies who had gone 37+ weeks…and blessed to have people to help them make it the rest of the way.
  
• They would eventually be “take home babies”
  
• Last, but not least,  This was not my fault.
  

Here are also a few things that you probably didn’t know:

• I had a wonderful lactation consultant who was in my room every day helping me and encouraging me…she just happened to have a day off when all of this happened. That next morning she sought us out at the special care nursery to encourage and support us once again.
  
• The nurses at the special care nursery were just what we needed, they came alongside Scott and I and helped us to be better parents…they taught us so many things in the 5 days that our boys were there AND they treated our boys as if they were their own.
  
• Several nurses took the time to explain to me that our boys just needed  little help to feed…because they were born early…and because they were boys…NOT because I did anything wrong. Sigh. It took a few times to hear this…and see it in action as each day went by and the boys developed…but it did sink in…this was not my fault.
  

The day Scott and I went to pick up David and Jonathan we took just a moment in the parking lot. I don’t know why. It was like, we had been through so much in those past 10 days and it was about to be over…and it was about to begin…and we just sat there for a minute in the car. We’d waited so long…and here it was…we were about to go upstairs and take our boys home. Finally. Take home babies. As we sat there a song came on the radio…Give Thanks…Give thanks with a grateful heart, Give thanks to the Holy one…Give thanks for He’s given Jesus Christ His Son. And now let the weak say “I am strong” Let the poor say “I am rich” because of what the Lord has done for us, Give thanks.

And we sat there, and we wept…because we were so thankful for the privilege of having those boys…and we rejoiced to take our take home babies…home.

The Worst Day

 I remember my first visit to the doctor once I was pregnant. He laid it all out for me plain and simple; "You make it to 32 weeks I’ll have a sigh of relief, You make it to 34 weeks and I’ll be happy…You make it to 36 weeks…well I’ll be incredibly happy and you’ll get a take home baby." A take home baby. Well I’m  a pretty black and while thinker and this seemed pretty simple to me. Make it to 36 weeks and I’m home free. A take home baby. That was my goal…36+ weeks and my take home babies.

I stayed in the hospital 4 days after the babies arrived and towards the end of that time the boys seemed to be having trouble nursing…both of them would work themselves up into a frenzy while trying to feed and then they would become so tired that they really weren’t eating. Everyone kept talking about my milk coming in like it was some special thing that would fix all the feeding problems…and I waited and waited…but the milk never seemed to come. So that last night I began to express breast milk (even tho it hadn’t come in yet) and feed the babies with bottles and that seemed to work and they ate and that gave me some peace.

But the very next day (the day we were to go home) the pediatrician came into my room. He did not have good news: the babies had lost more than 10% of their body weight and this was very serious. We had to supplement with formula immediately and if the boys didn’t gain weight by 4pm they would have to be admitted into the special care nursery.  The minute he left I began trying to nurse again….I was in the midst of this endeavor when one of the lactation consultants came in…probably summoned by the pediatrician or the nurse on call. She walked right up to my bed, grabbed the baby from my arms and said, “You can’t nurse a fussy baby”  And there she was…a woman I’d never met before…trying to calm my baby.  And so the day continued to decline as this woman went on to tell me all the things I’d done wrong, and to hover over me with unwanted instructions. And then and there a little seed was planted: “This is all my fault”

The day went from bad to worse as I frantically tried to feed the boys, breast, bottle, breast milk, formula….please, oh please just eat.  In the middle of this chaos the nurse came in to take their temperatures and discovered that their body temps had dropped drastically. They were having trouble maintaining their body temperatures. Everything was so interrelated, they were using their energy to try to eat and yet they weren’t getting enough calories to compensate for the calories they were using to eat and they were losing weight and as they lost weight their little bodies were unable to keep up. The nurse told me that she would have to take the babies to the nursery immediately  and she left with the boys…and I was alone. I began to focus on going home…this was our day to go home with our 37 week, take home babies. It had never occurred to me that we might not be able to leave the hospital the same way we came…together.

Everything was packed and ready to go and I walked down to the boutique at the end of the hallway…and then, there was the nurse and I knew by the look on her face that the day was going to get even worse. It was 4pm. David and Jonathan had not gained weight…my sister asked me if I was ok. I said yes, I was fine. But I was not fine. The babies were headed for the special care nursery and it was all my fault and I was not ok.

We walked back down the hall and a lady from the hospital with a big clip board walked up to us. There were several women waiting on rooms and I needed to leave the hospital room immediately. She followed us down the hall just to make sure that we were leaving asap. Scott, my sister and I walked into the room, gathered up our stuff and my diner tray and walked out of the room…our arms were full, I was so tired and emotionally drained…I started to cry…the nurse is following us down the hall asking what’s going on…I haven’t signed the discharge papers yet…shes upset we’ve been kicked out…I’m upset I can’t take my babies home…the day keeps on getting worse.

We’re led through a labyrinth of hallways to the special care nursery. I’m exhausted from the frenzy of the day and trying to feed the boys. I feel like I’m in a dream…a bad dream and I don’t know whats going on. Something is wrong, our boys are in trouble.  Once we get to the nursery Scott goes to bottle feed the boys while I go to express more breast milk for them…its all I can do for them right now. When I’m done I go to Scott…he asks me to go get the nurse to get help…the babies aren’t taking any of their bottles.

As I approach the nurse she looks concerned, she has David under the warming apparatus trying to bring up his temperature. I tell her that my husband is having difficulty feeding Jonathan and I ask if she can help us. She looks at me and says something that cuts like a knife…”Why is he feeding them, why aren’t you?…don’t you want to? “ And in my head I know, this is all my fault.

And so it went, down and down and down. The pediatrician comes to talk to us…the boys must be tube fed and we stand by feeling helpless as tubes are put down their noses…David pulls his out…they put it back in…and we hate it but at least we know they will be fed.

 We were going to spend the night in the nursery with them but Scott looks at me and tells me I need to go home and get some rest. I can only imagine what I looked like at this point. We call my sister to come back and pick us up and Scott and I wait in the lobby of the hospital. I went to a spot just inside the automatic doors and sit on a little bench. It suddenly hit me how bad I was feeling, physically I mean. I’ve just had major surgery and I hurt. I can barely move.  I notice people keep coming up to the door but they can’t get in…it won’t open from the outside.  I move my foot in front of me and tap the “magic spot” that opens the door from the inside. Later Scott comes to check on me and mentions that its after hours and that’s why the door isn’t opening. I shouldn’t really be letting people in the hospital that way. But more people come….and I keep reaching my foot out and tapping the floor to let them in. Its like a small bit of retaliation to the establishment that has taken my boys and won’t let them go. Stickin’ it to the man with a tap of my foot. Tap... Tap... Tap... The… worst… Day.  

The Best Day

When I am having trouble sleeping I lay in bed and go to my Happy Place. My Happy Place consists of thinking about a time that was special to me. It can be a very specific event, like my wedding day or it can just be something random like riding my bike through the streets of Amsterdam…it calms me to think of that time, or event, and just run a little movie through my head. Its like I am savoring it again…and again, and again. It is my Happy Place and going there is a nice way to calm down and sleep. One of my favorite happy places is November 28^th 2008. That is the day our twin boys David and Jonathan came out of my tummy to live with us…it was the best day ever. 

I went into labor on Thanksgiving day, it wasn’t a very productive day though…in the baby department that is…because the people at the big hospital told me to go home and take a sleeping pill. Or, to be correct…. the doctor on the phone…who didn’t want to come into the hospital on Thanksgiving day, told the people at the big hospital to give me a sleeping pill and send me home to sleep it off. But the boys could not be “slept off.”  On Friday (aka: the day AFTER Thanksgiving) we went back to the big hospital for another round. The good news was there was a different on call doctor and he actually came and looked at me, did an examination and decided it was time for the Beans to come out. They were called the Beans because at one time they were the size of lentil beans, and then kidney beans…etc. etc. At this point they were no longer the size of any bean…not any bean that I know of.

Scott and I were sitting in the big room with many beds, there are curtains pulled around each bed for privacy, and in each bed was a pregnant woman…waiting and hoping that they would be able to move on to the next stage and NOT be sent home with a sleeping pill.  I was quite sure that we would be sent home again, mainly because the nurse had told me that I was just in distress. I’m not sure what the difference between distress and labor is but I looked up the definition of distress and I can say it described me perfectly. I was very much in distress . (distress=extreme anxiety, sorrow or pain)  I was preparing myself to waddle back to the car and head home when Dr. Scarbourough came in. It only took him a couple of minutes to examine me and determine that it was time.  And there it was, I’d made it…I was going to leave the room of many pregnant women and become…no longer pregnant? A mom?  I was moving on.

My only experience with C-Sections was watching A Baby Story on the learning channel. Those women always had to wait…often for hours and hours. I just assumed that I would have the same. But before I knew it there was a flurry of activity, people coming into my little curtain world and giving me things to drink, giving me an IV, doing other unmentionable things. We were moving forward and we were moving forward fast.  Before I knew it it was time to go to the operating room, which by the way I had to walk to. This is where my happy place movie begins…

The doors to the OR opened and there they were. All the people.  The whole picture was bigger than I thought it would be and at the same time it was smaller than I though it would be. It was just a little room with a little bed for me and two smaller beds for the beans across the room…and it was filled with people who were there for us…and our lives would never be the same. The doors closed behind me and I started to cry. I’ve thought about that first moment a lot and wondered why it was so emotional for me. I think it was a combination of being on the brink of something so significant and, at the same time, of losing the beans…the excitement and the fear of what was to come….and then again maybe I was just scared that people were going to slice me open while I was lying there awake.

I managed to compose myself and waddle over to the table. Once again a flurry of activity, needles and tubes and it was all about me and getting everything ready. The anesthesiologist was behind me…but I didn’t call him that…he was my new best friend ready to pump into my blood stream  whatever I needed.  My new best friend was asking me if I could feel things below my waist…and I thought I couldn’t feel him pinch me…but what if I could feel him pinch me…I kind of could…and what if they were going to cut me open and I would feel it !!!???? But my new best buddy walked me through it and we decided I couldn’t feel anything…And then I heard someone say, “Does he know we are ready?” and then someone said, “Yes, there he is.” And there he was…the Doctor. And the curtain was up …and I think it was then that I started to shake…the beans were coming…and it was all happening so very fast. And then we were waiting for Scott and I was saying…”Don’t start until my husband gets here!!!”  or was it more like: DON’T START UNTIL MY HUSBAND GETS HERE!!! And someone went to go get Scott…of course he was late. J And then Scott was sitting next to me and it was time.  How did we get here, in an operating room, with my husband wearing surgical scrubs and me laying so vulnerable and someone  holding a knife to my tummy? (That’s another blog)

Then I heard the doctor say “There he is…he’s breech” and then he just kept saying, “That’s why we’re here…that’s why we’re here”  and I felt a tug and, strangely enough, I felt like someone  had reached in and grabbed my right collar bone and was trying to remove it…no problem, my new best buddy gave me something to fix that…and then there it was…there was a cry…it was David and he was here…and we were crying I think and what happened in those 2 minutes I don’t know for sure but then there was another cry and it was Jonathan and then I was without them. And as sad as it was to lose them…so it was happy to receive them. And someone brought David over and handed him to Scott and he held him up for me to see and…and then there was Jonathan too and it was all so wonderful and sweet. And then they left.  Scott accompanied  David and Jonathan to the nursery…my boys, they all went away. It was like the party moved to another location but I had to stay behind. But in a way, I didn’t mind…after all, I did need someone to put every thing  back together and sew up my tummy. 

And then I was in recovery with my own private nurse and I just had this feeling of accomplishment. I did it. I ran the race…I made it 37 weeks and I brought the beans home and they were beautiful, whole, and our family was complete.

And that’s the end of my happy place story. And yes there was more to that day, seeing them again, friends and family gathered ‘round, meeting David and Jonathan for the first time…I mean really meeting them, holding them, looking into their eyes, examining those little feet and hands that had kicked and grabbed me so many times…being able to eat a big meal without heart burn…there were many more moments that day but for some reason, that one moment of the boys entering this world…was the best day for me.

Why I started a blog...

I've realized lately how much I like to write. I've also realized how much I miss writing and that, when I don't write, there are all these random thoughts that run around in my head and never get out...its starting to get pretty crowded in there...so I decided to let them out.

So here it is, the beginning. I named it "three dots" because I am always inserting 3 dots (periods, full stops etc) into my writing. They are "I am thinking" dots...connectors of random thoughts. I know they are not proper...I know they drive some people crazy...sorry, if you're going to read my blog (or my emails) you're going to have to learn to love the dots.