Welcome to the second post in our new series, Birth Stories. We’ll post a new birth story each Monday throughout August and September. Be sure to check back each week for a new story!
I never wanted to be a mom, so when I found out I was pregnant with twins while on birth control, I wasn’t what you’d call “happy.” My life as a private practice psychotherapist had a waiting list and I’d just expanded my office – that was my baby, and I didn’t have time for another, let alone two!
For seven straight months, I engaged in some pretty dark journaling. I’d never felt maternal, and I wasn’t bonding to the little beings inside me. They made me nauseous most hours of the day, and the only comfort I found was taking Benadryl to knock myself out so I didn’t have to face my plight. Furthermore, the creatures had been given a rare diagnosis of Monoamniotic Monochorionic, or “Momo” twins, and this gigantic piece of information only created more angst emotionally and physically…something I had little time for in my fast-paced, egocentric world.
Identical twins (in case you didn’t know), account for about 0.6% of the world’s population. They are more rare than fraternal twins, which is when two eggs are fertilized at the same time as opposed to one egg, which gets split into two. Momo twins happen in less than 5% of those 0.6% of twin pregnancies. What this meant for me is being unenthusiastically pregnant with high-risk twins.
Getting the News
I’d received a sonogram for slight bleeding when I was about eight weeks along, and only one little baby blip showed up in my uterus. At the end of my first trimester, I’d gone in for my “official” check-up, and this is when twins were spotted, but only slightly. I was in my 13th week of pregnancy, and the doctor could not find a membrane separating the babies. It appeared as if I had conjoined twins. It was concerning, and we’d have to just wait and see as they grew older if they were in fact separated.
While other twins would have a slight membrane between them, separating them from each other’s life supply, mine did not. Not only where they sharing a placenta for life support, they were swimming around, cords entangling. At any moment, one cord could become knotted, cutting off blood supply to one of the babies, leading to death.
The only way to know that my babies were 100% safe was to have monitoring done multiple times every day. “Viability,” the doctors said, was defined as when they could actually keep them alive if they delivered early. Disaster could strike before the 24th week, but there wasn’t really anything they could do to save the babies. So, into the hospital I went at 24 weeks pregnant, putting my life and my practice on hold.
My heart was broken for the possibility of losing my babies, but also…for my job. This is absolutely not what I’d signed up for. In a matter of weeks, my career-driven life had come to a screeching halt and I begrudgingly made a very sharp right turn. Anger clouded my vision. I wasn’t maternal, and I feared I’d never bond. What mother doesn’t feel a connection with their child? I took care of my body, and from a medical standpoint, did everything I was supposed to do, but emotionally I wasn’t prepared for one child, let alone two.
Something Was Off
During week 31, just like Groundhog Day, my belts were placed on my big, round, bulging belly to listen to the heartbeats of my rambunctious, uterus-exploring twins. It was a sign of all good things when I could kick back with my crochet needle and relax with my pal, Oprah.
But on this particular day, I could see in my nurse’s eyes that something wasn’t right. When I inquired, she quietly answered, “I’m just listening…” But I could tell something was off; something was wrong with my babies, and I froze. A shock coursed through my body.
She heard an unnatural rhythm in Lily’s heart, she’d said. My world slowed to the speed of molasses, and Oprah’s voice became a muffled buzzing, like a fly I couldn’t swat away. The nurse left the room to call my doctor, while I forced out some verbal indication to my husband over the telephone that something was terribly wrong.
The minutes were tortoise-like, and when the nurse finally appeared, she exclaimed, “Jennifer, this is what you’re here for. I know you weren’t expecting this today, but her heart is beating abnormally. We’re going to deliver now.” This was where my mind went blank. I could only assume that I should robotically follow orders for my Caesarian preparation. The babies were coming now, but were they safe?
My husband was already on his way; I summoned my mom and told her it was time. Oprah was just going off the air as my room was transformed into a buzzing, chaotic space where things were moving at lightning speed. The scare train was bowling me over; I couldn’t stop it. In no time at all I was shaved, drugged, properly clothed (or barely clothed, as it were), hair-netted, and wheeled down to the operating room. The rest is a blur…
The Greatest Life Lesson
I was unsure about every single thing that happened from the moment I found out I was pregnant to exactly 7:51pm when I heard the tiniest, teensiest, sweetest little whimper. Lily was born. Although I was only able to see her for about 15 seconds before she was whisked off to the neonatal intensive care unit (NICU), a dark veil lifted and I had vision I’d not had in all my prior years. Forty-six seconds later, Ayla was born, just as sweet, magical, and precious as her sister.
My heart was full! Only minutes passed though, when I found myself alone in the silence of the now-still operating room. My Momo twins were in distress. The chaos and doctors abandoned the operating room, following my tiny, helpless babies, no doubt working to give them breath. My bulbous belly was being mended under the hum of fluorescent lights and two doctors planning dinner.
That night, I was wheeled down to meet my babies for the second time. Wires came from their tiny arms, breathing tubes from their mouths. Flickering lights and beeping machines filled the room, and while I could gaze at the babies, I was forbidden to touch. Their little bodies couldn’t handle the stimulation of touch, and holding wouldn’t come for at least a week. I was then consumed with guilt, shame, and sadness, watching them fight for their lives. I’d not wanted them in the world, and now, they were fighting to stay in it.
In the days and weeks to follow, Lily and Ayla had to learn to breathe and eat on their own. They stayed in the hospital for four weeks, which meant I was in the hospital another four weeks, day and night, smiling, crying, and praying with everything in my body that they’d be okay. I wanted to take them home, and pour all the love I now knew I had into them.
They radiated joy, and watching them day-by-day gave me new life. Although they both weighed just slightly more than four pounds each, it was soon clear they were going to be okay.
In the days and weeks that followed, I battled with my postpartum depression and guilt. I had unfathomable shame for ever feeling like they didn’t belong in the world; that my work was more important, and I had better things to do with my time.
I realized, it wasn’t them I did not want; it was me having to face a new me that I did not want. I knew the moment I heard Lily that I’d be an amazing mother. My life had taken a sharp right turn, and although I first believed this was a tragedy, it was from the crisis, trauma, and fear of being a mom that I grew to an even better version of myself. Nothing in life has taught me how to love and see into the soul of another human, more than when I faced my own demons, and saw into the souls of my daughters.
P.S. Lily has an innocent heart murmur. She is a precious and healthy child, just like her identical twin sister, Ayla, and her baby sister, Ivey.
