Week One

The boys are a week old today, and what a very strange week it has been. The week was a bit surreal, a bit of an emotional roller coaster, and included a holiday. What madness!

My thoughts are absolutely all over the place, so here is the best I can do at summarizing what's been going on.

I was discharged from the hospital on Monday, which was great news because it gave me a lot more freedom to spend time with L and M. (They sound like an episode of Sesame Street - they were also brought to us by the number 2!) Unfortunately, on Monday afternoon we learned that the time together would definitely be spent in the hospital. Due to their rather unusual birth story(ies), and I promise to share my rambling version of it/them soon, they needed to stay on antibiotics for at least seven days, which meant definite hospital time for the week.

Through the week, they have done well and have made all the progress their medical team would expect for preemies, especially given that boys are apparently slower to catch on to life in the great big world than are girls. (Such lazy little boys!) While we have had some issues along the way, right now we have two pretty healthy looking babies who are eating, sleeping, and pooping well. They are still not taking all their food orally at every meal, but Leon is nursing like a champ and taking almost all of his, and Michael is taking more than half orally, which their doctor believes is excellent progress. Apparently with premature babies, there comes a day where everything just clicks into place, and based on their efforts so far, everyone is sure that day for eating will come very soon for these two since they are improving every day.

However, the boys are also facing a very serious issue that has nothing to do with being preemies. In short, the boys are just not producing enough white blood cells, which are needed to fight infection, and everyone is baffled as to why. The NICU at our hospital is considered the second best in the state, following only behind the departments at Duke and UNC-Chapel Hill. (I'm guessing they are combined or else there is some very odd math going on.) Those departments have already been consulted, and the physicians there are also currently scratching their heads as the boys seem to be happy and healthy in every other way. They are running a battery of tests on them to essentially start ruling out what isn't causing the problem, and they are also going to start performing blood work on me. Right now no one knows the problem, or really what it will mean, so Jeff and I are just doing our best to take things one day at a time and focus on keeping the boys happy and healthy in every other way. I'm learning to fight for them, in a nice way, and so far this has resulted in them being moved closer together (they were in two separate halls), allowed them to breastfeed, and now means they can spend some time together every day.

Meanwhile R is adjusting to life as a big sister, and thankfully she doesn't know any other way of being a big sister. She is technically only allowed to visit the boys once a week. We decided that meant one day per week, and she made two trips to the hospital last Sunday. On her first trip, she was a little overwhelmed and her only comment was "teeny, tiny baby" when she saw M. After some explanation that Mommy had a room at the hospital, and L and M each had their own rooms, she did better on her second visit. She sang to the boys and ended each visit with "Bye, M!" and "Bye, L!" The boys had IVs in their heads since they rip them out every where else, but this didn't seem to bother her. She just looked at them and said, "Medicine!" and knew it was just like Mommy's medicine.

Since we found out about the white blood cell issue, I have been staying at the hospital most of the time, going around 8:00 p.m. and staying til 2:00 p.m. the next day which allows me to be there for 5 of the boys' 6 feedings a day. In between, I am home to nap, shower, and spend time with R. She seems to be doing okay with this schedule as I am still spending more time with her than I do when I go to work. She hasn't quite discovered that I don't get weekends off, but with Gran here to help and take her on adventures, I doubt she'll mind.

R was a big fan of Thanksgiving, and her she enjoyed many of the holiday traditions, even if I wasn't around for most of the day. She watched the parade in the morning, and was happy to fill me in on the details I missed, including Dora and Abby flying by and waving. She watched football in the afternoon with Jeff, and she ate turkey for dinner. But her take on Thanksgiving is similar to her take on birthdays. If birthdays mean cupcakes, Thanksgiving means, "Pump-kin pie!!!" and the pie was CLEARLY the highlight of her day. After all the other drama of the week, we enjoyed just kicking back and eating some pump-kin pie too!

The Birth Story(ies)

Twins typically get stuck sharing everything from Legos to bedrooms to their parents' attention. And they almost certainly share a birth story. But knowing how things in my life are always, um, different, it is only fitting that my twins each have their own birth story.

The Birth of Percy
(Yes, we did give them new names, but the old ones will work for now.)
I woke up at 5:45 on Saturday morning having the hideous kind of lower back pain that is only associated with being in labor. I wasn't having any abdominal pain, so I decided to just monitor it. Over the next half hour, I continued to feel contractions at irregular intervals as back pain.

At 6:15 Jeff's alarm went off, as he was planning on spending the weekend coaching his team in a soccer tournament. When he got up, I told him I was "feeling weird," and he raised both eyebrows, but I told him to go ahead and shower.

Less than 5 minutes later, I started feeling another kind of weird that I can't explain, so I called my parents who were thankfully in town and staying just a few minutes away. I told them that I wasn't in labor, but I thought something was going on, and I asked that they come over so that I wouldn't be alone with R when Jeff left at 7:00 since I knew I was in no condition to care for her.

Around 6:30, while waiting for my parents to arrive, my water broke. I went into the bathroom where Jeff was still showering and calmly told Jeff him he wouldn't be coaching that morning. I then called my doctor's office and finished packing for the hospital. When Jeff got out of the shower, he too began packing his stuff, and in hindsight I can't realize how calm we were knowing that our babies would most likely be born that day.

My parents arrived around 6:40, the dogs went nuts, and we got R up to tell her goodbye. Suddenly, I felt my body progressing really, really quickly, and as we walked out the door I could feel Percy descending through the ol' birth canal. I instinctively crawled into the backseat of the car, and my last words to Jeff as I laid on the seat, clutching it in a death grip were, "Get me there safely."

And we were off. Like a seasoned NASCAR driver, Jeff took off at 65 mph driving through city streets while I laid in the back watching landmarks seemingly crawl by. Jeff tried to talk to me, but I was concentrating so hard on my mantra "I'm not pushing," that I was unable to respond. When we were about half way there, the doctor on duty returned my page. In the middle of a monster contraction I managed to tell him that my water had broken and I was finding it very hard not to push. He then calmly asked me if this was my first baby. I told him no. He then not-so-calmly asked how far away we were. I was completely oblivious to my surroundings, but I managed to relay Jeff's "10 minutes," to the doctor. My last words to the doc were, "I don't think I can get out of the car by myself," and after some reassurance from him about there being help, I hung up the phone.

As we continued to speed along, I suddenly felt Percy crowning, and Jeff said that I did manage to shout, "He coming!" I reached down to take off my pants, and that's when Percy just kinda shot out of me. He came all at once, and I instinctively picked him up and wrapped him in my cardigan. He began to cry, even before I was able to clean out his nose and mouth. He actually barely cried, which scared me since Ree came out screaming in a nice, relatively warm hospital room, and this poor little guy was naked and wet in 26 degrees, but Percy was too busy looking around and holding my finger to make much noise.

At some point Jeff glanced over his shoulder and saw our new little man, and about three minutes after his birth at 7:08 a.m. we arrived at the hospital. We pulled up to the door at the hospital, and Jeff went inside for help. Seemingly seconds later, my doctor opened the door to the car and I saw a sea of medical professionals. My doc reached into the backseat and cut the cord, and then a horde of nurses whisked little Percy inside.

I suppose this is about the point where Stinkpot's birth story begins...

The Birth of Stinkpot
Knowing that twins are typically born minutes apart, the remaining members of the gigantic medical crew frantically tried to get me out of my pants, out of the car, and into the hospital. Yes, things happened in that order, and as I sat in a wheelchair wearing just my t-shirt, sweater, and a pair of clogs, I realized it was really, really cold out. I asked for a blanket, and in the chaos, someone ran inside, grabbed a blanket, then ran back out with one for me. Not the most efficient method, but at least I was no longer naked from the waist down (aside from the clogs).

It was my turn to be whisked inside, and they ran me to the closest staff elevator, took me up to labor and delivery, and all but launched me on a bed in the first available room. Nurses simultaneously took off my clothes, inserted an IV, and threw a gown over me. Someone then asked for the position of Twin B, which the doctor couldn't tell from an external exam. Suddenly I was on my back, the doctor was doing an ultrasound, and he announced, "Vertex." After spending so many months lying across my belly in a transverse position, little Stinkpot was head down. A collective "Woohoo!" was heard throughout the room, with me being the loudest. I still had a chance of delivering twins without a c-section.

Jeff soon arrived with a nurse, and I began shaking violently. The shakes were a nasty combination of the usual post-birth shakes and strong contractions starting again. By this time Percy was all clean and cute and swaddled, so they brought him to me for some cuddle time. Not only was it good for me mentally, but they thought it would definitely help my hormones surge so that his brother would quickly arrive on the scene. I definitely enjoyed cuddling, and a nurse took some family photos with her camera since we had forgotten ours in the crazy dash out the door.

And then things slowed waaaaaaay down. I was still shaking, but I had a strong feeling Stinkpot wouldn't be arriving any time soon. I could actually feel him stretching and playing between my contractions. The little guy was so excited to have so much room. I could just sense him thinking, "This is what I'm talking about!"

Since things had ground to a halt, the doctor who cut Percy's cord decided to head home at 8:00 a.m., the time he was scheduled to leave. He filled in the new doc, who turned out to be a wonderfully patient man.

Knowing that Stinkpot was not going anywhere, I inquired around 8:30 or so if I could have an epidural, figuring there was no chance. As it turns out, I was making no further progress, and my wish was granted. As much as I hate unnecessary drugs, it was lovely, and I actually just zoned out for quite awhile in a nice, relaxed state, the shaking finally gone.

Around 9:30 or 10:00, when I had still made no progress, Doc B said it was probably time to give me Pitocin. He wanted to try inducing labor (again) by that route to prevent the boys being born TOO far apart. Some doctors, including several in my practice, insist that twins be born within an hour of each other. I knew I was already on borrowed time, and I was still hoping to avoid a c-section, so I graciously accepted the Pitocin.

They started Pitocin and still we were waiting and waiting and waiting. Finally, around 11:15, things started kicking in, and life started getting pretty painful, despite the epidural. After about half an hour, as things got worse, the nurses encouraged me to go ahead and start pushing, which I did. Stinkpot's bag of waters still hadn't broken, and each time I pushed, I could feel it painfully pressing on the birth canal. Finally the doctor was called in, they checked Stinkpot's position, and they decided it was time for me to push. (The nurses and I didn't let on to our little secret about me having already pushed for quite awhile.) The doctor also decided to manually break Stinkpot's bag of water. It sprayed ALL over him. He was drenched. Even the resident with him had to cover her mouth to avoid laughing out loud.

After that, it didn't take too terribly long for Stinkpot to make his entrance into the world. He finally emerged at 12:16 p.m. during the Ohio State - Michigan game. Unlike his brother, Stinkpot came out screaming, and we knew immediately he at least had some nice, healthy lungs.

After a little cuddling, he too was whisked away, and we sat back and stared at the TV, still in disbelief that we were suddenly the parents of three children.

34 weeks and still cookin'

As of today, I am 34 weeks pregnant. Woohoo! This is a major milestone. While they are far from well done, it means the babies are at least al dente and should be okay if they decide to make an appearance sooner rather than later. It also means the docs are relaxing quite a bit. After going in for checkups twice a week for the past few weeks, I am back to only going once a week like a "normal" pregnant woman.

For those who are curious, I had an ultrasound last week, and the babies weighed 4 pounds, 9 ounces each. Having nine pounds of baby in my belly definitely presents a few problems. Sitting is rather awkward these days, so when at home, I sprawl. Thankfully, we have great couches for sprawling. The question I'm asked most frequently seems to be, "How do you sleep?" and the answer is "Very carefully!" When I'm tired, I flop down on my side with a body pillow and pass out for awhile. Since the boys are so big and I'm carrying them so low, I typically can't lay still for more than an hour or two without having to go to the bathroom. That's when the comedy begins. I have to somehow figure out how to roll out of my locked position and get out of bed and get to the bathroom without stepping on Max who is always at my side. This process can take awhile, particularly figuring out how to roll over. Poor Max generally gets stepped on. Jeff finds this whole process hilarious. I am grateful that he has not taken a video and posted it on YouTube. Then again, perhaps I shouldn't give him ideas...

Things That Make Me Smile

There are many things about R that make me smile. Here are some highlights of the past week.

Jeff told R she needed to help take care of Sick Mommy, so R has been busy cooking for me. Every day she comes in with bowl after bowl of play food for me, and each and every time she demands, "Eat, Mommy, Eat!" And the food she makes cannot be matched in even the finest of restaurants. Her favorite dish is a sandwich containing a hamburger patty, onion rings, peas, eggs, and a hot dog between two buns. She also keeps me steadily supplied with juice and "hot tea."

Apparently this morning she decided that play food and drinks weren't enough for Sick Mommy. We keep R's sippy cups on the door of the refrigerator so that she can pick them up herself when we open the refrigerator. This morning Jeff opened the door for her while making breakfast and didn't pay attention to what she grabbed. She then came trotting into the bedroom where I was working in bed with her treasure. She had a can of Miller Lite for me. My girl knows how to take care of Sick Mommy! (And though I haven't been a big drinker the past few years, after more than eight months without a drink, it did look pretty good even at 8:00 in the morning. So many tailgating memories came flooding back...)

Before the election, Jeff found this clip on YouTube. For those of you not following the link, it's a song called "Obama is Beautiful World" performed by a cheesy Japanese pop group. Jeff played the video once that he can remember. Last Tuesday night we were watching election results on TV before R went to bed. Every time someone said the name of our President Elect R would exclaim, "O-BA-MA!" Apparently it is a very fun to say. This continued for quite awhile, and then she just started singing "Obama is Beautiful World." And she sang it over and over. For several days. You can take the girl out of Athens, but you can't take Athens out of the girl...

Trick-or-Treat, Part II

For those of you wondering what the heck went on with me last weekend, here are at least some of the ooey-gooey details.

On alternating Fridays I was seeing my midwives and my perinatologist (my high-risk baby doctor). I like to alternate between both ends of the spectrum. Last Friday I had a cervical ultrasound with the perinatologist, Dr. Wright. While there, they discovered my cervix had shortened from 3 cm on 10/17 to 1.5 cm on 10/31. I was sent directly to the hospital. There was no going home to get Jeff. It was GO!!!! NOW!!!! So I went.

When I got to the hospital and they discovered that I was dilated 2 cm. I was also apparently having contractions every 2 minutes. I had no idea. Whoopsie-doodle! I was whisked off to labor and delivery where they pretty quickly got me on an IV in case dehyrdration was the cause. (I was pretty sure it wasn't since I had used the bathroom three times since I had arrived and I'm pretty infamous for my freakish need for hydration.) They did actually take my word for it on it not being dehyrdration, and they only waited a few minutes before putting me on magnesium to stop the contractions. I was also the recipient of a nice shot of steroids in the bum for the babies' lungs. You would think this would have been scary, but I was pretty detached. If anything, I was more annoyed because I didn't know what was in store for me and no one would tell me. Also, my gut instinct was that the babies were not ready to come out, and my uterus wasn't doing anything it hadn't been doing for the past 2 or 3 weeks. The contractions were so mild for me (although some looked nasty on the screen) that if I felt them at all, they felt like the babies were rolling over. No squeezing, no pain.

Friday afternoon they got the results of my fetal fibronectin, a test where they check for a protein that indicates whether you will deliver in the next 2 weeks, and the test is over 95% accurate. It was negative. So my body agreed with my gut that it just wasn't time for the little guys to make their arrival in the world. Meanwhile I stayed on magnesium which didn't stop my contractions, but it spaced them out and took them to a level where I couldn't feel them at all.

The weekend was mostly a waiting game. Late Friday I learned that I would have to stay until noon on Saturday when I would get my second steroid shot. Late Saturday I learned I would have to stay until noon on Sunday, 24 hours after the second steroid shot.

On Saturday night, I had a near nervous breakdown. It was a mix of hunger, discomfort, and frustration. Since I had arrived around 9:00 a.m. on Friday, I had been in bed with a heart rate monitor on each baby and the contraction monitor on my belly. I also had an IV with three different fluids in one arm and a blood pressure cuff permanently on my arm because they were all high-tech and it automatically took my blood pressure each hour on the hour. I was hot, stinky, and uncomfortable. My midwives kept checking on me because they just rock, but given the circumstances, they unfortunately had to turn over my care to the OB/GYNs. The OBs kept thinking I would deliver at any second, so they wouldn't let me move for fear it would bring on instant dilation and they wouldn't let me eat for fear that I would need an emergency c-section. (Throughout this, the boys showed NO signs of fetal distress through any of the contractions which would have been the only thing to trigger a c-section.) I was allowed to eat lunch on Saturday, and with a burger and fries in my belly (ahhh...healthy hospital food!), my contractions stopped. But that was my only food between 6:30 on Friday morning and late Saturday night, because when the contractions stopped they cut back on my magnesium, but that started the contraction roller coaster again, so the nurses weren't allowed to give me food until they talked to the OB on duty. And so I waited for her and waited and waited, my belly and boys growling all the time and my contractions increasing due to the hunger. I had seen the OB at 9:30 on Saturday morning, and I didn't hear from her again until 5:30 on Sunday morning when she gave the nurses order to cut me off magnesium completely. (I didn't actually see her then.) Again, the midwives were nice enough to fill me in, and it turns out Saturday had just been a horrible day in labor and delivery. Lots of emergencies, and while being ignored meant I was their lowest risk, they also saw me as a time bomb just waiting to go off like everyone else who happened to be there. I was clearly in the wrong place at the wrong time.

On Sunday morning, I finally talked to the OB on duty, and I let her know that I would like to be able to plan because I needed to work on Monday, and I wanted to know if I will be working from the hospital, from home, or from work. She said she would get back to me as soon as she talked to Dr. Wright. Around 5:30 or 6:00 on Sunday night I started getting nauseous and contracting due to the continued lack of food. (I had been eating about 3,000 calories a day prior to being admitted, and since arriving in the hospital I had already used enough of my fat reserves that I was sporting some skinny legs. What a horrible time to finally have nice legs!) I was still told to just keep waiting for Dr. Wright.

Dr. Wright arrived around 7:00 p.m. and was totally apologetic. No one told her they were waiting on her to make any decision regarding me, and if she had known, she would've been there at 10:00 a.m. Before we even talked, she demanded someone get me food and something to drink since I had also been denied liquids due to the c-section risk. She was very supportive. She also got me off the IV, allowed me to take a shower, and had me moved to the Antepartum Unit with all the other preterm mommies.

The Antepartum Unit was like a spa! My room looked like a hotel room. It had hardwood floors, an HDTV with a DVD player, a couch, a chair, a table, and a nice desk with docking station for my laptop. Also, there was no monitoring, I could use my spacious bathroom all by myself whenever I wanted, I got to wear real clothes, and there was a nutrition room where I could help myself to all the healthy snacks I wanted 24/7. Down the hall there was a lounge with games, books, and nice furniture and an outdoor balcony with patio furniture. It is good that it was so nice, because shortly after my arrival, the OB on duty said I would be staying until I was at least 34 weeks pregnant, which wouldn't happen for 16 more days.

So that was not great news, but at least I finally knew what was going on, and I had a real bed to sleep in, so I got some sleep on Sunday night. On Monday morning, Dr. Wright came to see me, and her first question was, "Would you rather be at home?" I almost hit my head on the ceiling I was so excited. She told me not to get my hopes up, but they were going to run one more hour-long non-stress test (NST) for the babies where they were hooked up to the monitor and then do a full ultrasound of the babies. If everything checked out, I was a free woman (although on bed rest). Bed rest had never sounded SO good.

During the NST I still had contractions, but they were no different from what I had been having, and during the ultrasound, both babies looked great. The babies were very active, they were "breathing" well through their steroid-enriched lungs, and their hearts looked nice and healthy. There was also a great deal of fluid around each baby, which is a good thing. So the OB on duty reluctantly discharged me since he wouldn't contradict the "expert." But he clearly thought Dr. Wright was as nuts as me. (Obviously he has never experienced the physical and mental discomfort of being strapped down for 60 hours with five monitors in/on him with no one telling him what was going on and a toddler that keeps asking when mommy will come home.)

So now I am home on bed rest, and I am pretty excited about it, having seen the alternative. I may end up back in the hospital, but I will enjoy being here while I can. I am still working full-time since I need to save what little leave I do have for actual maternity leave. I have been managing 6 or 7 hours of work a day which means I should actually get a day off from work each week. And there is a part of me that is enjoying the excuse not to have to do everything. R has adapted fairly quickly to the idea of "Sick Mommy," my new name, who can't do all the normal mommy things. My movement is technically restricted to "bathroom privileges" but I am cheating a bit since I was in good shape before and really feel no different. I am at least getting up to sit and read with Ree and to sit at the table during meals. Things could be a whole lot worse.

Trick-or-Treat Part I – R’s Adventures

After Halloween last year, I went shopping and I got the cutest witch costume on sale for R. It was a little black dress with purple ruffles and matching hat. I thought it was a perfect toddler Halloween outfit. A few weeks ago, I stumbled upon this costume as we were getting out R’s fall clothes. I was excited to see them again. I showed R the dress and hat. She took one look at them and said, “No.” There was no emotion over it, just a quick, “no,” as in, no, that is not the dress for me. I tried a sales pitch, and I tried talking about Halloween, but, “no” it remained.

As luck would have it, later that week I had lunch with another mom at work, shared my story, and she just smiled. Her youngest is a super girlie girl and she had just the purple princess dress for us to borrow for Halloween. I was quite happy about that. And when I took the dress home to R, she loved it. She wanted to touch it and hold it and stroke it. So I let her try it on. She did not want to wear it. At all. As soon as I got it on, she took it off. The next night when I got home from work she grabbed my hand, dragged me to the closet, and begged to see the purple princess dress. She wanted to touch it and hold it and stroke it. She did not want to wear it. She didn’t even let me get it over her head this time.

Last Wednesday night I took R to a Halloween carnival at UNCW. It was a huge, chaotic event hosted for all area youth 12 and under, and it was free. The place was out of control, and it was filled with kids of all ages in all sorts of costumes. R loved it, and she was very happy to wear her regular clothes, despite the other kids being dressed up.

On Thursday, Jeff tried a new tactic. He asked R if she wanted to dress up like Abby from Sesame Street. Abby is a new character, and R worships her. She is a fairy with a wand and pig tails. What more could a girl want? By the time I got home from work on Thursday, R was very excited about dressing up like Abby. She was going to wear a fairy dress (the same purple princess dress) and carry a wand (the same princess wand), and she was going to say trick-or-treat. (I wish I could remember how she said it. It was quite cute!)

On Friday morning, she was still very excited. I had a regular check up on the babies scheduled, so while I headed off for that, she and Jeff ate breakfast and planned for the day. She remained very excited about dressing up like Abby, and we were quite excited that we could, once again, use our child to get us a nice supply of candy!

The plans for the day changed when I ended up checking in to the Mommy Hotel for the weekend (more on that in Trick-or Treat Part II). I told Jeff they still needed to go, since she was finally excited about trick-or-treating. He got her dressed up, which I imagine must’ve been quite an ordeal, and they headed off for the neighbor’s house. She got half way across the yard before she started pulling on her dress, trying to rip it off. This was not okay. This was not what she wanted to do. She wanted to put her regular clothes back on.

So that is what she did. They headed inside, she changed into her regular clothes, then our little grandma happily put candy in the buckets of all the kids who came by. For R, handing out candy in her regular clothes every time she heard "ding dong" was a perfect Halloween.