The 12th Day of Christmas

The past few months have been a strange time for me, with many dates making me think about what we were doing on the same date the prior year.  I was a wreck all day on Halloween, just waiting for someone to go to the hospital, since that was the day I was admitted with preterm labor.  Thankfully, despite my pessimism, no one went to the hospital and party-planner Ree made sure it was a great day.

The next big even was Leon and Michael's first birthday, and it was just a joyous, amazing day.  I tried not to think much about the surreal day of their birth, although it is pretty hard to forget just how dang cold I was sitting in a parking lot in 27 degrees with a windchill, naked from the waist down.  Modesty was not a factor (especially since my belly was still almost touching my knees).  I just wanted to be warm!  Everyone was so worried about the silly, little baby who was wrapped in about 42 blankets.  What about the mommy????  They could've at least given me one blanket, thrown a sweater my way, something!

December 11th was a bittersweet day.  It marked the anniversary of the boys' release for the NICU, but in hindsight I knew it also meant Leon went back to the hospital the following week.

Winter solstice occurred on December 21st in both 2008 and 2009.  There is a tradition of burning a candle all night to mark the solstice.  I'm not sure the exact reasons for the tradition, but they are along the lines of brightening the darkest day (and longest night) of the year and ushering in the light.  I was in traumatized, post partum depression (PPD) hell as I lit my candle in 2008.  I placed the candle on the sink in the master bathroom, since the last thing I had time to worry about was burning down the house, and in doing so, I had to walk by the boys' crib.  I can't describe the emotions I felt walking by the crib and just seeing one baby in it, knowing the other was again locked away in the hospital for an indefinite period.  It was horrible.  But as I stood in the bathroom, staring at the candle, and most likely crying since that is how I dealt with PPD, it occurred to me that it was the darkest day of the year.  That meant the next day wouldn't, and couldn't, be as dark.  Things would get brighter.  It was a crazy metaphor, but it really helped me.

And the next day things did get better.  I had an amazing nurse practioner go to bat for me, and while it took all day, she managed to get Leon released into the care of a home health nurse.  On December 22nd, the boys' one-month birthday, our family was finally home and complete again.

Our journey wasn't over, though.  There was one pesky detail to wrap up.  They had been released from the NICU on the condition that we take them to see a pediatric hematologist (since they appeared to have a blood disorder), which was no small feat since the closest one was located in Chapel Hill, which is 160 miles away. 

Our big appointment was on January 6th.  Jeff's parents were in town to meet the babies, and to help us with this insanity.  They watched Ree for the day while we took off on our crazy adventure.  That morning the temperature was in the upper 50s in Wilmington, and the high was supposed to be in the low 70s, so I dressed the boys in short sleeve onesies and little stretch pants (they were wider than they were long!) and threw light blankets over them for the nearly 3 hour car ride.  (Ya always have to assume you will get stuck in Raleigh traffic!)  Knowing we would be gone all day, I took two changes of clothes for each, in case of disaster.  When we got to Chapel Hill, it was 43 and raining.  Oops.  Should've checked their forecast too!  And although we parked in the garage closest to the building, we were still a LONG way from shelter.  It turns out UNC Hospitals have a huge campus.

So as we walked with the boys, wearing nothing but jeans and short sleeves ourselves, we felt like horrible parents.  We also felt pretty cold.  (I'm sensing a theme!)  I tried to change the boys into warmer clothes and discovered that milk had spilled all over the four extra sets of clothes.  Then we had to spend 45 minutes shuffling from one reception area to the next trying to get to the correct waiting area.  We were done, and we hadn't even really started.  But when we finally got to the correct waiting area, everything changed.

Our hematologist was part of the pediatric oncology department.  That is practice that shouldn't exit.  There just should not be a reason for it.  The building was undergoing rennovations, and we all sat together in a hallway outside the treatment room.  We were literally surrounded by kids who were pale and balding from chemotherapy.  As we sat there, we realized how insanely lucky we were to have two happy babies.

Everyone there was thrilled to see the boys.  They thankfully don't see many infants, much less premature twins.  Our time in the hallway turned into a bizarre game of pass the baby as patients and nurses looked at them and smiled.  In a strange way, this put me in an amazingly good mood.

Although there are apparently many different versions, I grew up believing that January 6th is the Epiphany, or the 12th day of Christmas.  It marks the day the three wise men arrived with gifts for baby Jesus, and in the eastern tradition, it is the day gifts are exchanged.  On January 6th, we got an amazing gift.  Both boys had blood work done, and both boys had neutrophil counts in the normal range.  The antibody had passed through their systems, and although it was impossible to know for sure, their hematologist felt confident that they would have no lingering problems.

People keep strange souveneirs from their children's lives.  Some keep locks of hair and baby teeth.  The nurses in the NICU packed all of the boys' leads, foot monitors, and other seeming devices of torture in case we wanted them.  (I really didn't, and I quickly threw them away at home.)  While cleaning out over Christmas break, I came across my strange souveneirs.  I kept both Leon and Michael's blood test results from that day.  To me, they represent the boys' being granted freedom from future medical intervention.

So to me, January 6th, the 12th day of Christmas, will always represent the best gift of all.  It was the day we were allowed to finally just be a family.