Day 8.1 Life Goes on and it Gets Better

My husband got out of work early that day. It was a day of celebration for us. Our boy’s lung was “healed” and he was no longer just “stable”. He was improving!

It was a huge milestone and success. Seeing our boy with one less tube in his frail body was invigorating. We had been so sad and felt lost for what seemed like a lifetime. For me, my world was at a stand still. But here he was, getting better. It felt like the conveyor belt of life start moving again. It meant that he was one tiny step closer to coming home.

We knew that he still had many more obstacles to overcome. At this point he was eight days old. His birth weight was 3 lbs. 12 oz.. Due to his collapsed lung and subsequent chest tube, he was unable to be fed. Even by tube. He had yet to learn the taste of breastmilk or formula. He was subsisting on IV fluids being injected into his tiny veins. He lost weight and dwindled down to 2 lbs 10 oz.. He had lost more than a whole pound!

Little Mister still had to learn how to breathe on his own. He was still very much dependent on the ventilator.

His body needed to learn how to self regulate it’s temperature, therefore he still required the warmth of the incubator.

His brain, lungs and heart needed to find their life sustaining rhythms. His brain would “forget” to send signals to his lungs to make him breathe. His brain would “forget” to send signals to his heart to make it beat.

He still had so much more healing and growing that he needed to do before we could even begin to hope that he would come home soon. But we took that day as a day of victory and celebration. It was a step closer to us being able to bring him home. Being weaned off of the chest tube was a monumental task for him to have achieved. His little body has already been so battered and been through such awful trauma, and he was overcoming an awesome feat for someone who weighed less than 3 lbs and was only on this earth for one week.

He is my warrior, my fighter, my champion and a survivor!
He is my son!

There is nothing happens to any person but what was in his power to go through with. ~ Marcus Aurelius

Day 8 Life Goes On

Hubby went back to work right away. At first for only 1/2 a day. But at the dawn of a new work week, he was back at work fulltime. We couldn’t afford to live on my short-term disability income (but thank goodness my employer offered it) and have him without a full paycheck. The world continued to spin. Except mine. Now, looking back, I realize that my world didn’t stop spinning, it was just spinning on a new rotation that I did not want to be a part of.
But, life did go on. Every day, I pumped breastmilk every 3 hours, even in the middle of the night. I got dressed, waited for my mom to get me. We would have breakfast together and then go to the hospital. We would spend between 10-12 hours hovering over the incubators. Hubby would go straight to the hospital after work to visit with our children. We would go to the local diner for dinner during change of shift. We’d visit for an hour more and then go home and then repeat the cycle the next day.

On the 8th day, I entered the NICU and stored my breakmilk in the freezer. Oddly, the nurse’s desk was empty so I couldn’t get an update. Panic started to rise in my throat, as I approached my son’s incubator, I realized with horror that it was empty! And it was a mess. There were wires everywhere, the paper bedsheet was askew. I looked for the nurses and they were moving quickly, but happily huddled around a baby. They lifted the baby onto a scale and I saw that it was a boy. Could it be my boy?
It was! And he was free. Free of the cap on his head, the mask that covered his eyes, the venitlator that covered most of his face. And best yet, free of the tube that had been inserted into his chest! There was a huge bandage that covered the space where the tube was.
I spoke up with tears “That’s my son!” One of the nurses saw me and gave me a huge warm smile. “Yes, and you should be so proud! His lung has healed nicely and we were able to remove the chest tube.”

“Can I hold him? Please?” She then gave me a sad smile and told me “No, I am sorry. We need to move quickly and get him back on the ventilator. He still a needs help breathing. We were hoping to surprise you before you got here today.”
“Oh, I am most certainly and pleasantly surprised, but, can I see him before you hook him back up?”

She slid over and let me stand next to her as she hurriedly finished weighing him and did other things to him. I did not care to notice what she was doing because I was finally getting my chance to see what may baby looked like. And, oh my, he had the deepest darkest brown eyes I had ever seen. They reminded me of chocolate candy, Hershey Kisses. They were that milky brown. And his hair was jet black. And he had so much of it!! Meanwhile my daughter had very light colored hair and not much of it. She looked more like a hairy little peach. His hair was straight, dark and stood out in all directions. He was beautiful!  And I was in love all over again.
And he was getting better!


Lesson learned: I have looked into your eyes with my eyes.  I have put my heart near your heart.

Pope John XXIII

Day 7 My First Week as A NICU Mom of Preemie Twins

I could not believe it had been a week since the emergency delivery of my twins.  I was numb from all the crying I did. It felt so unreal. I was warned about all the anxiety and roller coaster ride all new moms experience.   But I was never schooled on what a NICU mom experiences.

I was dealt a multiple layered dose of complex motherhood:
– First time mom
– Mom of twins
– Mom of preemie twins
– NICU mom

I didn’t know anyone who had this much going on as a new mom. I knew that there are many other women who were in my shoes and in worse circumstances, but there wasn’t anyone in my circle of friends that I could go to who knew what it meant to be a NICU mom.

I never felt so cheated, blessed, helpless, lucky, inept or grateful all at the same time.

I felt that I, I should say we, as a family were cheated.  Big time!  We were robbed of so many experiences.  Many women do not know how lucky they were to have given birth to healthy babies.  I was robbed of the experience of bringing life into this world and bonding with them moments after their arrival.  My children were taken from my womb via emergency c-sections at 31 weeks.  They more than likely would have died had they not been delivered.  They were neatly cut from my belly and whisked out of the room.  We were severed and separated.

They were now a week old and I had yet to change a diaper, provide a feeding, comfort a cry or rock my babies to sleep.  For me, there were no bottles to be given, no breastfeeding, no binkies, no diapers, no baby baths, no cuddling, no snuggling, no burping, no spit up to clean up, and no humming of lullabyes. I couldn’t even tell who they looked like, as I had yet to see their faces without any tubes, wires or eye masks.  There was no real bonding with my children. There are 10,080 minutes in 7 days. I only got to hold one child for 20 of those 10,080 minutes.

My children didn’t know the comfort of a mother’s touch, they were poked, stabbed and prodded for IV lines, blood draws, blood stick testing and monitoring of heart and breathing.  My son suffered the worst of the painful procedures.  They did not fall alseep to the rythmic beating of my heart as they lay on my chest.  Instead they fell asleep under ultarviolet lights and to the sounds of beeping machines and nurses bustling back and forth 24 hours a day, 7 days a week.  We were cheated!

But, we were also blessed. We were blessed with the miracle of not one, but two babies.  A boy and a girl!  We were blessed with strong children who were determined to LIVE.  We were blessed to be in a hospital that was equipped with state of the art medical technology and staffed with highly trained, professional doctors and nurses who were very skilled at going above and beyond the call of duty.  Not only did they care for the babies, but they also cared and support for the parents as well.

We were blessed to have our own wonderful parents. They were so supportive and an essential part of our healing.

My mom was my chauffeur and constant NICU companion. She made sure to dry my tears, make me pump my breastmilk and eat, drink and rest. My mother-in-law was my personal chef and would send tons of food to make sure my mom and I wouldn’t have to eat hospital cafeteria food. Our combined families cheered us on, prayed with us and for us, and loved us.

But I still felt helpless for so many days and hours.  There was nothing I could do to care for my children.  I did not feel like a mom at all.

I was just there to observe.  Cry.  Pray. Be patient.  And learn.

Day 6.1 Praying for Strength

The nurses needed a spatula to scrape me off of my son’s incubator.  I was inconsolable.  A social worker was called in to offer me some support and counseling.  I turned them away.  Any time that I spent at that hospital was time that I wanted to spend in that NICU.  I didn’t want to divide my time with my children.  While I certainly did not understand everything that was going on, I knew that I HAD to be there.

The nurses seemed to have understood.  They see it everyday.  They let me be.

I looked around through bleary eyes and saw that while I felt so alone, I really was not.  There were other women and babies being cared for in the NICU.  Us newer moms looked like we were part of the penguin brigade, waddling around the NICU holding our swollen bellies, while other moms looked well rested, dressed and wearing make-up!  They appeared very comfortable in their environment.  Some came whizzing in, putting bags of freshly pumped breastmilk in the NICU freezer, chatting with the nurses and getting updates about their precious little ones.  Some came in very chipper and happy to be visiting their babies who were in open cribs and dressed in their own cute, little baby clothes.  Babies wearing baby clothes!  Wow!  What a concept!  No awful wires to manage, no naked baby, stretched out and connected to wires and machines.  This is not, at all, what I had envisioned what being a new mom would mean to me.  One mom was so excited because today, her baby was going home!
Oh how I envied those mothers!

I looked at them feeling left out of the “cool” club.  I went back to staring heartbreakingly at my son.  Was he going to get better?  He is so small.  So fragile-looking.

I did not know, or acknowledge exactly how close to death my son was since before his birth.  I refused to acknowledge his surgery, the insertion of the chest tube, was performed without the benefit of anesthesia.  I could not process all of that.  I could not, refused to, process how painful that must’ve been.  My heart hurt.  I convinced myself that they gave him something to keep him comfortable.  But I was too afraid to ask that question because I just didn’t want to know the answer.

Everything that I was seeing and hearing was all that my brain would allow me to process.  My brain wouldn’t allow me to take the thought much further.

I said a prayer over my son’s incubator and moved over to visit with my daughter.  I was so sad that they were no longer next to each in the NICU.  There were now two incubators that separated them. They couldn’t even be next to each other.

I marveled at how tiny she was, yet doing so good.  She was off the respirator and breathing on her own.  I had been able to hold her tiny body and feel the warmth of her skin on mine.  Oh how I wanted that with my son.

The nurse whom I disliked came over and started telling what brave and strong children I have.  She reminded me that they are fighters.  They are strong.  They are my children!

Lesson Learned: “Strength does not come from physical capacity. It comes from an indomitable will.” ~ Mahatma Gandhi

My children had the will to survive.

Raising Awareness

Recently I was given an incredible opportunity to participate in a media tour celebrating World Prematurity Day. I conducted close to 30 media interviews to discuss the topic of premature births, and a dangerous infection called Respiratory Syncytial Virus and my family’s personal experience.

Unfortunately, none of the interviews were aired on radio stations and tv stations in my part of the universe, and due to copyright and infringement, technical legal stuff, I cannot repost my campaigns on my social media.  I am kind of bummed about that, but in a way, sometimes you don’t have to make a loud noise to make a big impact.  My media tour reached thousands of families across the US.  As they were not interviews that were all about me, I had to give a very abbreviated version of our experience with giving birth to pre-term twins and all the challenges they faced and decisions we have had to make.

The thing that struck me was that my children were born more than a decade ago, but my story is still relevant.  I never thought that our story was unimportant, just that it was old news.  And I think that is a large reason why I have kind of neglected my blog.

But doing this media tour, raising awareness and reliving some of these really personal memories has given me a new breath of air to continue what I started.

If for no one else, at some point, when they are older, I would like to think that my children would like to know their story.  And why their mom has tried to educate her family and others.


NEGATIVE Never Sounded So Good!

WoW! These last 10 months have flown by!
Long story cut short, my biopsy was negative.  But I must have a mammo every six months as a precaution.

The day of the biopsy arrived.

I arrived at the clinic Friday morning and tried to assume a measure of calm.  As I was registering at the front desk, I felt a hand on my shoulder and then the hand gently squeezed my shoulder.  I fully expected to turn around and see my BFF.  Instead, smiling, with tears in her eyes, was my first BFF, maid of honor of my wedding and lifetime sister.

I squealed in delight and astonishment.  We hugged for so many reasons but mostly it was for love.

It was so wonderful seeing her.  So many years had passed since we had last seen each other, but it was like to time at all had passed between us.  Before I could ask, she told me that my other BFF contacted her and told her about the abnormal mammo and pending biopsy and she just knew one of them should be with me and that I shouldn’t go through this alone.  I am the luckiest girl in the world and I LOVE MY FRIENDS!

My friend’s presence made the trauma of the procedure so incredibly distant.

After the doctor cored me like an apple, snipped 6 specimens, tagged me like a seal with a marker so they can keep any eye on things, and wrap me with tape as if I were a Christmas present, my BFF and I went out to a delicious Italian dinner, with cocktails, laughs and giggles.  It hurt my chest to laugh, but I was happy.

We left each other’s company and I promised to call with the results.

Tuesday morning, the clinic called that the biopsy was NEGATIVE!

I was utterly relieved that my biopsy was clear.  It was a huge weight lifted off of my shoulders.

As promised, I called my 2 BFF’s and shared my wonderful news.

This past May I went for my first 6 month follow-up.  During the physical examination, the doctor noted the scars on my breast.  I had to explain that I had an allergic reaction to the tape they used to secure the dressing, along with the steri-strips from the biopsy. The adhesive burned and blistered my skin.  A dermatologist injected some kind of a steroid to give me relief!  It was awfully painful!  So I explained to him that now have zero chance of ever posing in Playboy or Maxxim, due to the scarring.  But on the bright side of things, my boobs may sag and drag, BUT they are healthy, they are mine and for this, I am grateful!

Biopsy: the Scariest Word in My Book

It’s Halloween.
I am not a person who is easily frightened. However there are certain things that strikes fear in my heart (not in any particular order):
1. Stomach Flu
2. Natural Disasters
3. Scary Clowns (actually most clowns in general)
4. Biopsy/Cancer

I received a phone call that literally took my breath away and left me at a loss of words. My doctor called and said “…you need to come in for a biopsy.”