This day is seared into my mind for eternity.

7 years ago today I was determined to break out of the depressive funk I was in.  I took 3 of my 4 kids, who were 5, 3, and 1 to the downtown library storytime (instead of the base one).  The 7 year old was in school.

It was 40 below with windchill.

The baby, who was a 20-month old Hammy, peeled off his socks and shoes on the way to the library and SCREAMED at the top of his lungs the rest of the way there-- because he was probably getting frostbite in the van.

I was determined to be positive and happy and bust the down, depressed, guilty feeling I had.  I had kids who needed puppet shows and books from the library and I had errands to run afterwards.

My period was late.  I was pretty convinced it was messed up since the miscarriage in May.  Or maybe it was hibernating.  I had been hibernating after all.

After the library, I went to Target.  I picked up a pregnancy test.  It was a double pack.  I had to use the bathroom so I took it right then in the Target bathroom.  And it didn't work.  I slipped it back in the box and took it home intending to call the company and get a refund.

I called the company from home and they apologized and promised coupons would come in the mail.
So I threw the defective one in my trash.

5 hours later, when Danny was home and I was able to use the bathroom again, I noticed that pregnancy test that didn't seem to work at all, now had two lines.  Dumb defective test.  I mentioned it to Danny.  He said he saw it in the trash and figured it was past the 10 minutes as is written on the box-- so it couldn't be accurate.  We decided I'd give my period a few more days to show up before testing again.

But then I ended bawling over something insignificant and decided to just test again that night.

I tested.  It was positive before I even set it down on the bathtub.

It would be another 2 1/2 weeks before I found out I was carrying triplets.

The Twin Birth Story part 7: The day I lost all touch with reality

I couldn't breathe.  I was sure I was having withdrawals from my pain meds.  I was convinced they had neglectfully given me too many drugs over the last five days and now I was hooked!  

"I can't breathe," I gasped desperately to Danny.  "I'm scared; I think I need my inhaler."

Danny found it for me.

"It's not working!  I can't breathe!"  I wailed desperately.

"Yes, you can breathe.  Calm down," he reassured.

"No I can't.  I'm trying!  It must be this stupid 'raging infection somewhere in my body' thing.  No!  I'm having withdrawals from the pain meds.  They just kept giving them to me every so many hours and now that I don't have any except Motrin my body doesn't know what to do!"  I jabbered on.

"Try your breathing apparatus," he encouraged.

"I can't breathe!"

"Don't you have faith in Heavenly Father?"  Danny said exasperated.  "Don't you believe that he will heal you?"

Not the best thing to say to your imbalanced wife.  I tried to breathe in s-l-o-w-l-y through my nose, out through my mouth.  My heart was racing.  I could feel it beating in my ears.  LOUD.  I couldn't just feel it, I could hear it.

My mouth felt weird.  What was I going to do with Pookie and Gabbers?  Tomorrow would be the fourth day of the school year and I hadn't taught them anything in their homeschool lessons.  GASP.  How could I possibly teach them?  I couldn't hardly walk!  What if I wouldn't cover teaching them everything they needed to know at their stage in school?  Where would we homeschool?  The homeschool room was still filled with boxes waiting to be organized still from the move.

Other parents of multiples say the first year is the hardest.  ONE YEAR!  I couldn't even comprehend one month.  How would I nurse my babies without an adequate milk supply?  What if they didn't learn to nurse simultaneously?  Even if they did how could I homeschool two older children, diaper three, and nurse two simultaneously?  What will I do when my mother-in-law leaves?  Is she going to leave right after Baby A gets home?  She's going to leave me!  How will I homeschool, diaper, nurse, AND cook?  WHATWASITHINKING?!

I didn't know it at the time, but I was experiencing my first anxiety/panic attack.  And sure, they happen to people.  But what continued on through the night and next day was scary. 

I was afraid of not breathing.  It seemed already that I couldn't breathe despite my desires to continue breathing. 

I could not have the lights turned out.  I had to sleep in the recliner facing the bathroom door with the bathroom light on.  Whenever I got up to use the bathroom (which was an ordeal being less than a week post-partum from a c-section), Danny had to help me up and it always resulted in my heart beating again in my ears.  LOUD.  I watched the clock in the bathroom from my recliner in the bedroom. 

1:00 a.m.  THUMP-THUMP  THUMP-THUMP THUMP-THUMP my heart was knocking loudly in my ears.  I breathed slowly and deliberately.

1:10 a.m.  thump-thump  thump-thump  thump it was quieting and slowing
1:30 a.m.  I watched the clock nervously knowing my heart would harrass me again but trying to use "The Secret" to convince it I really wasn't worried.  I told myself I could get through that minute.  I did.  I could get through five minutes.  I did.
2:30 a.m.  Phew.  I slept an hour. 
2:40 a.m. Danny fed Squdge while I pumped bre.astmilk trying to encourage a miniscule milk supply.
3:30 a.m.  I was parched and I was freezing because of a 102 degree fever still.  Danny tucked blankets around me and brought me a drink of water.  I couldn't drink it.  I was afraid of being suffocated by it.  I was afraid of being suffocated by a glass of water.
3:40 a.m. We prayed together.  Danny was calm.  He brought me a straw and encouraged me to take a sip at least.  I needed to take some meds anyway.
4:40 a.m. Bottle-fed my sweet baby with Danny's help and repeated the whole heart-thumping episode complete with loads of thoughts of being overwhelmed followed by another pumping session. 
5:40 a.m. staring at the clock again, willing the minutes to move toward daylight.
6 a.m. daylight starts to sneak into the room through the faded yellow curtain.
6:40 a.m.  Pump again.  I wanted to cry.  But I just knew if I cried, it would suck the last bit of air out of me and that would be the end.  I had anxiety about the inability to cry.  I had anxiety about only producing half an ounce each time I pumped.  I had anxiety about the baby that was still in the NICU not gaining weight fast enough.

I was starving, weak, dehydrated, and completely loony.

Everything was trying to suffocate me.  I couldn't be in my confining bedroom.  I could not handle the children's noise.  It made my heart race and my throat tighten.  I had a deep strong desire to hold my baby and do nothing else.  Not pee.  Not shower.  Not pump.  Not eat.  Not drink.  Not talk.

I had to call my doctor and find out what the heck was wrong with me and to get my prescriptions that I was supposed to get on the way home from the hospital.  I had an appointment set for the next day to have my staples removed.  But I needed help that day.

"Dr. H's office, this is Tammy," the familiar voice said. 

"I'm having severe post-partum anxiety and I'm really scared and I don't have an appointment until tomorrow and I'd like to know what Dr. H recommends and I also need some medication because I'm in a lot of pain," I blurted in one breath.

Tammy was soothing and knowledgeable.  It was the major hormone changes.  I talked to Dr. H.  He called me "dear" and said it would be okay and that I'd start to feel better in just a couple days.  I believed in him.  If Dr. H said it would be okay, it would be okay.  He called in a prescription for Zoloft to the base pharmacy.

I had taken the first step.  Now I needed to eat so I could take an antibiotic, iron pill, Zoloft, and pain meds.  And I needed to talk to someone.  I needed to make sure that if something happened, they would know the background.  I told my mother-in-law.  She was just the perfect reassurance I needed.   We talked about some coping measures.  It helped.  We talked about a family fast and a call for prayers.  That's when I posted the prayer request.

I still couldn't bring myself to eat.  I forced a bite of banana gasping desperately to breathe.  I drank water with the aid of a straw.  But not nearly enough.  I drank just enough to get my pills down.

I was scared.  My heart was racing.  Danny took the children on errands with him so it wouldn't be so noisy.  I was upset that Danny was leaving me like that.  At least I wasn't alone.  I had my mother-in-law.  She took good care of me.  I called my mom and shared my night before's experience and my current state.  I called my dad.  I called my sisters.  I called my dear friend Candace in North Dakota.  I called my visiting teachers.  Then I called the school and enrolled my school age children. 

Even though I called a bazillion people that day, every single call was difficult.  I could barely breathe all day.  Danny came home between errands and set up a folding camp chair in the backyard at my request.  I dragged my yellow blanket out there and my phone.  I sat in the backyard and soaked in the sunshine.  I spoke quietly and slowly to Gabbers who was playing outside around me.  I talked to her about public school and how much fun she would have.  I choked back tears of regret and sadness. 

I sat in the backyard for several hours.  I took in the beauty of the blue skies and green trees.  I prayed.  I prayed all day long.  I slept a little.  I prayed and pleaded and reasoned with the Lord that I needed my sanity to be a good mother.  I breathed.  I practiced every relaxation technique my mom taught me growing up.  I sang church hymns and primary songs in my head.  I couldn't sing them out loud.  That would require good steady breathing. 

My mother-in-law tried to feed me.  She settled on giving me juice with a straw and a piece of bread.  I nibbled at the bread.  When I came in the house it was way too dark and suffocating.  The walls tried to suffocate me.  I might get stuck back in my bedroom and no one would be able to hear me and rescue me.  I only came in when I absolutely had to use the bathroom and couldn't possibly hold it any longer. 

But by 5 p.m. I was feeling like I could quite possibly survive.  I had a coping technique thanks to the suggestion of my visiting teacher, who was also Pookie's primary teacher.  Nature.  The beautiful outdoors that Heavenly Father created.  I could connect with Him.

Eventually I had to go inside.  It was getting colder and we needed to have dinner and bedtime routines and scriptures. 

I sat on the couch and told myself I was fine and that I could sit in the backyard again the next day.  I told myself I'd be okay.  But I didn't believe it.  It started to get darker and my confidence darkened as well. 

I had barely a germ of hope left.  Then we started to read our scriptures.  I listened to my sweet children, husband, and mother-in-law read.  I could read along silently listening to them.  I let the words pour into my soul and start the healing process.  I didn't want them to stop reading.  No matter how bizarre everything in my world became, I knew the gospel to be true.  I knew I could always pray.  I knew that the scriptures would ALWAYS be true and be there for me.  And that is what I held tight to. 

I needed to shower that evening since I had an OB appointment in the morning and they'd be removing my staples from the incision site. But the shower was far smaller than it usually was.  It was darker than usual. Danny encouraged me reasoning that I would feel better after a nice shower. I was in too much pain to comprehend showering but smart enough to know you don't go to the OB's office all stinkin'.  I sat on the shower stool with the shower door wide open and the louvered windows cracked to let in cool air. I equated cool air with being able to breathe. My body was freaking out still being high with fever. Danny sat in the bathroom in case I needed rescuing from rapidly collapsing shower walls. I survived. barely.

Warm and dry and medicated and with my yellow blanket, Danny tucked me in to sleep in the recliner.  I repeated a night similar to the night before but without an anxiety attack.  Throughout that week with the prayers of my dear friends and family around the world, I made a drastic recovery back to reality. 

A few weeks ago Danny and I talked about this day when I was one week post-partum.  I recalled to him how freaky it was.  He said, "Yeah, I was scared.  It was the day you lost all touch with reality."  I wouldn't have known it.  He was my pillar of strength.  Him and his mom.  :)

I am not foolish to think it's all over.  The anxiety that is.  My hormones are still changing.  It's like I'm on a roller coaster sometimes.  Zoloft does a pretty good job to keep me on a fairly even keel.  I walk the kids to school several days a week.  The sunshine and the exercise helps.  But mostly, it's the scriptures and prayers.






To read part 6 of The Twin Birth Story click here. 
To start at the beginning click here.

The Twin Birth Story part 6

If you're just joining us for the Twin Birth Story, start with part 1 here. 

August 23rd I was discharged from the hospital with Baby B. Baby A was being kept for observation to make sure he gained weight adequately.

I was feeling weak and in pain. But my fever had dropped and I was approved for discharge.  They did not remove my staples from the C-section.  I was so swollen (read:  hippo retaining water) that the doctor feared the incision would bust open if she removed the staples already.  She said to give it a couple more days and have my local OB take them out.

Upon discharge, I was given a breathing thingamajig to help strengthen my lung capacity and prescribed four medications:  800 mg Motrin for pain, Lortab for mega-pain, an antibiotic for the "raging infection somewhere in [my] body" and iron for the crazy severe anemia.  It was Sunday afternoon.  By the time I was back in the small town near our base, Wal-Mart's pharmacy was closed.  We called the hospital to have them call it in somewhere else.  Walgreens was closed.  The base pharmacy was closed.  When we located a pharmacy in a larger town 30 minutes from base, they couldn't call it in because there were already prescriptions called in to Wal-Mart that couldn't be cancelled because remember:  it was closed.  And when you prescribe Lortab to someone it is not good medical practice to call it in to multiple pharmacies.  I went home drugless.  I did have iron pills at home and Tylenol.  I also had a small bottle of 100 mg Motrin.  That was going to have to get me through the night until the base pharmacy was opened in the morning.

When I arrived home I was so freezing cold walking in (remember I don't live in North Dakota anymore and this was August on the West Coast) that I didn't realize how hard I was clenching my fists until I burst a blood vessel in my right hand. 

I shivered on the couch under my yellow blanket.  I finally asked Danny for the thermometer figuring I probably had a fever.  It was 103.5.  That is stinking high for an adult (you know, in case you're from Mars and don't know that kind of thing).  We called one of our home teachers and Danny and he administered a priesthood blessing.

I retired to my bedroom for the evening.  I was so excited to be sleeping in my own bed again.  For several weeks before hospitalization I had to sleep in the recliner.  I layed down on the bed and immediately was in immense pain and couldn't breathe.  Luckily Danny was in there with me to help me sit back up.  I was upset. 

"This is so unfair!  These stupid ginormous ovaries are preventing me from laying down in my own bed!  I just want to sleep in bed with you and now I have to sleep in that chair.  AGAIN!"

Danny was brave and tried to use his calming influence on me.  And then the scariest thing I've ever experienced in my entire life, and that's including the c-section, happened.  The "major hormone changes" kicked in.

to

be

continued . . . 



What?  You missed part 5?  Click here.
Go to part 7 here.

The Twin Birth Story part 5

I called my dad early the next morning. Truth be told I was scared to death to get a blood transfusion. I had been privy to this information for nearly six hours and growing more and more worried. Dad was calm. I'm not sure if he truly was, but that's the face he put on for me. The main thing I kept telling myself was the blood transfusion would help me return to "normal" faster with some extra (hopefully healthy) blood in me.

My doctor wavered back and forth on the blood transfusion. She kept hoping the fluid enhancer was going to work. All it was really doing was puffing me up into ginormous proportions. One would've thought that it would also help bring my milk in. No such luck.

By day three having been pumping every 2-3 hours and drinking a gallon of water a day, my body was still only producing less-than-minuscule amounts of colostrum. The NICU was giving my babies formula, and frankly it depressed me. The lactation consultant consulted me for nearly an hour reassuring me that it was because my body was in "survival mode" and working on making enough blood for my body to function and not extras like brea$tmilk.

They called in the blood transfusion. Danny was getting ready to go home and relieve his sweet mom of the sometimes daunting task of taking care of Pookie, Bun, Gabbers, and Ham.

"Please stay for a little bit to make sure I'm not allergic to the blood," I begged. "I'd hate to croak with you gone."

"That's not funny," he said. "And you're not going to croak. You'll feel better with good blood in you."

I felt calm with the nurse that was administering the blood transfusion. She was confident and comforting educating me about the whole process and explaining each step as she went through it. It was a smallish bag of blood. I had envisioned something much larger. Little bits of plastic on the side of the blood bag looked like the red licorice I was eating. I told Danny, "I'm done with the Nibs. You can have the rest."

Danny asked me if he was good to go home. He set me up with snacks and ice water on my rolling hospital tray. My brea$tpump was cleaned. My puke bowls were in close range and the laptop so I could read blogs and pop bubbles.

I was extremely weak and I fatigued easily. Even moving the mouse for the computer tired me. I wondered how long it would take to feel "normal" again. I promised myself to take my vitamins daily and to take seriously the notice of low-iron levels should they happen again in the future.

The nurse stayed with me for the first hour of the transfusion making sure my body didn't reject the blood. I grew more and more calm. I wasn't itching. My vitals were steady. The nurse told me, "I'm going on break now. If you need me just press your button and the girl at the desk will tell me."

I fell asleep. Two and a half hours later when I awoke I noticed the bag was almost out. I attempted to pump. Popped a few bubbles. Checked my email. Now the bag was empty. I paged the nurse. No response.

I paged the nurse again. The girl at the desk said, "How can I help you?"

I told her, "My blood transfusion bag is empty."

She said, "I'll tell your nurse."

"Thank you," I said.

A different nurse came in and started the new bag. She asked about my IV site and how long it had been in. She said, "Hmm. They'll probably change it tomorrow." She left.

I started to straighten my sheets and get comfortable to go back to sleep when I noticed a growing blood spot on the bed. And by spot I mean as big as Grandma W's pumpkin cookies-- about 3 1/2 inches in diameter. I lifted my arm and it dripped to my elbow. My hand was covered in blood. It looked like a crime scene. I paged my nurse again. No one answered. I paged again. Finally the girl at the desk came in. She called over to Labor & Delivery for a nurse from there to come help. Life in my room calmed down and I slept comfortably (well, in a semi-upright position) until morning.

After lunch I felt chilled. I called for some more blankets. The nurse brought them in, asked how I was feeling, and checked my vitals. My temperature was 102 -- and that was with Percocet.

to be continued . . .

read The Twin Birth Story part 4
read The Twin Birth Story part 6

Why I haven't finished the story

Dear Devoted Pookieville Supporters,

I am sorry I haven't yet posted part 5 of The Twin Birth Story. I quite possibly had a condition at the birth called Gestational Ovarian Theca-Lutein Cysts that caused my milk to be delayed in coming in. I've been pumping like crazy. I'm nearly up to the full amount that the twins need now-- now that they are two months old. However, they both have a condition called "posterior tongue-tie" and they also have very tights jaws that prevent them from opening their mouths very far. So it is impossible to nurse. But I have not given up.

On Tuesday the babies have an appointment to see the best ENT on the Central West Coast. We are praying that he will be able to perform the procedure right there in his office at the appointment to help them have a wider range of movement in the tongues and also be able to help us with their tight jaw problem.

I am thorougly exhausted with the extra time it takes to pump and wash the pump and the bottles in addition to feeding them. Danny of course has been a great help prepping bottles and getting up throughout the night to feed one while I feed the other.

Because of the exhaustion I have memory loss. I don't want to finish the story without the right details. I do have the post saved and I add to it as I recall details. Hopefully I'll have it blogged soon.

Sincerely,

The twin birth story part 4

Between the nurse checking my vitals constantly and the euphoria that I had healthy twins, it was difficult to sleep that first night.

The next morning the doctor who delivered me came around to follow up. She checked my incision, pressed down on my stomach to feel my uterus, and then talked to me about my ovaries. She said, "Each of your ovaries has about 12-15 golf ball size cysts on them. They will probably shrink back down to normal size eventually. The biggest risk is having them torque and causing excruciating pain. You'd probably think your appendix burst. But your ovaries are pretty even and round so they're not likely to do that. And I tucked them in using the uterus to hold them in place. They're the biggest ovaries I've ever seen. Be aware that you'll have major hormone changes following a twin birth- especially with your ovaries in that condition. Make sure you prevent pregnancy right now -- or you will most likely have at least a twin pregnancy."

The thought of a twin pregnancy in my immediate future was absolute horrifying. I dwelt on the "major hormone changes" part.

"What do you mean by major hormone changes?" I asked.

"Oh," she stammered, "you know, like anything that's from hormone changes." It was as if she was worried about scaring me with her answer.

"So like crying or depression?" I inquired.

"At least," she said.

Okay. Noted.

"Do we know if the placenta is a single placenta? Or is it two fused together?" I changed the subject trying to find out about everything I had questions on before she left.

"It's been sent to pathology. That process sometimes takes a couple days."

"So my ovaries are huge then?" I asked, back to my ovaries again.

"Well yes. Do you have a local OB?" she asked.

"Yes, right off base from where we live."

"He will follow up with you and likely scan the ovaries at six weeks post-partum. Or you can come up here and we can follow up. But don't be worried about that. The thing we are concerned about most is your anemia and blood levels. Your H & H (hemoglobin and hematocrit) after the delivery indicate your iron level is 5.9. That's very dangerous. Normally I don't like to recommend blood transfusions, but I think it's what we need here."

I asked about the risks of a blood transfusion and how it actually happens. She explained the very minor chance of getting Hepatitis or HIV from it. She then explained the blood transfusion is just with a bag hung from an IV pole just like an IV. I guess I was envisioning Dialysis. I was relieved. She asked me if I would accept a blood transfusion. I agreed.

I asked her about my pain during the c-section. "I felt a lot of pain during the c-section. Is that because of my ovaries? Would I normally not feel anything?"

She looked uncomfortable. "Well, your anesthesiologist was very quiet. He wasn't communicating what he was doing and by the time he started to administer more drugs, it was too late and your body wasn't accepting them. Normally you don't feel anything."

Shortly after she left I was finally approved for solid food again. I was so excited. It was 9 a.m. and they were still serving breakfast. Lunch was at 1 p.m. the day before, and other than a couple contraband Dove chocolates, I had only had ice chips in the entire time- not even water. I ordered Cheerios, milk, a banana, and two sausage links and orange juice.

When breakfast arrived I inhaled orange juice and ate a sausage link. That stayed down about 90 seconds. I paged the nurse to say I was nauseas and before she could get there Danny held pressure over my incision as I puked it all back up. I was so disappointed. I love sausage. She said it was most likely the drugs and asked if I wanted some saltines. Oh yum, saltines.

Later the doctor called the nurses and requested I be given a fluid enhancer holding off on the blood transfusion to "try to trick the body into thinking I had enough blood." My body was sure tricked as I swelled up to the size of a hippo. Nurses for the next day would come in and check my swelling by poking fingers into my cankles and seeing the indention stay there. My vitals and blood tests didn't change much other than discovering I had a "raging infection somewhere in my body." By midnight they decided they needed to order the blood transfusion.

to be continued . . .


read The twin birth story part 3
read The twin birth story part 5

The twin birth story part 3

Trying to keep my eyes open and filled with the usual questions like, "How much do they weigh? Do they look alike? Can they breathe on their own?" Danny probed the nurse in the recovery room about my ovaries. Danny leaned over to me and said, "Your ovaries are the size of small cantaloupes."

Eh? Did I hear that right? "Aren't they usually the size of a walnut?" I ask.

The nurse was very nice and busily pulling up information on the computer to show me. She explained as she showed me two pictures, "This is what a normal ovary looks like. This picture here shows an ovary like your ovaries. See how it's covered in cysts?"

"Wow. No wonder I was so huge. Cantaloupes? Really?"

Danny then proceeded to tell me that the doctor accidentally nicked one and had to cauterize it. The nurse and Danny were talking about my large amount of blood loss during the c-section and whether it was more than just amniotic fluid I had lost as I continued to pass in and out of consciousness. They also discussed how ovaries get to be the size of cantaloupes.

The nurse explained to me, as I struggled to maintain consciousness, "Either the ovaries caused the multiples pregnancy or the pregnancy caused the ovaries to get like this."

I responded an appropriate response to Danny like, "Danny, it was so awful. It was so painful." And then more of, "How much do the weigh? How long are they?" I was less-than-interested in the ovaries at this point and wanted to know about the babies. "Did they label the card for baby B as baby A since he came out first? Did you call your mom? Did you call my mom and dad? What time is it there? They're probably still awake."

Danny said, "We're still waiting for news from the NICU and then we'll call."

The nurse called over to the NICU to ask about stats. They told her they weren't ready yet. She called again a little later and got weights. Then a little later we got the lengths. We informed the anxious grandparents. The nurse was still pulling up info on the computer to educate us about my "overly-excited ovaries" as the doctor put it.

It was just a little while later when they told me I could go see them in the NICU. "Why are they in the NICU? Do they need oxygen? Are they okay?" I probed. The nurses from recovery and from the NICU reassured us that it's just a precaution since they were five weeks early and they appeared to be doing just fine and in need of no assistance so far.

In the NICU I couldn't really see them except from the side through the clear plastic bed they were in. They were hooked up to monitors for heart rate and blood oxygen level and various other things. I asked Danny to take pictures to show me since I couldn't see from my gurney.

All through the night my nurse referred to me as "Casper" because of my completely colorless face. She'd check and re-check my vitals and shake her head and ask me how I was feeling. I was tired and hungry since I hadn't eaten since lunch but I had no pain due to adequate amounts of drugs. My main concern was the babies. "Can I use a pump to help my milk come in?" I asked the nurse.

"There will be opportunity for that later. I can get you one to use in your room. But right now we're worried about your blood loss and your iron levels. According to your stats, you shouldn't be okay. or conscious."

to be continued . . .


read The twin birth story part 2
read The twin birth story part 4

The twin birth story part 2

The doctor performed a test to determine if I was numb. She said it was pinching. The first two pinches I could feel the tug but not the pain. The third pinch I felt a little pain. She did the test again a couple minutes later. Same results. But for some reason, she started to cut anyway. I didn't feel the initial cut and I prayed hard to Heavenly Father that it would continue that way. But then the moving of stuff a opening and separating my innards definitely brought out the pain. I squeezed Danny's hand as hard as I could and begged him not to watch. I was so worried that he would pass out and I wouldn't have any support through the pain. It was awful. Like my friend's mother described to her when asked about her experiences with a not-numb c-section, "you know in those nature shows when it shows a lion eating a gazelle? That's what it feels like."

"It hurts. It hurts. I need drugs," I found myself repeating. I kept praying in my head and tried to focus on babies coming out any moment. I tried to tell myself that giving birth to Hammy was more painful. But I wasn't convinced. I felt like if I could just apply pressure to my right side I would feel better. Danny kept saying, "No. Don't touch," and grabbing my hand. At some point they strapped both my arms down.

Moments after the second baby was born and I heard a little cry I knew an end was in sight. I asked Danny, "Do they look alike?" He said, "Well, it's hard to tell because they're all slimy."

The placenta was delivered and finally the silent anesthesiologist said in response to Danny's inquiring to what he was doing, "I'm giving her morphine."

My neck tensed up and I felt hot from shoulder to shoulder across my back. I felt the vomit coming. I said, "I feel so sick." The anesthesiologist placed a little emesis basin next to my face. The doctor said something to him about controlling the pain level and he replied, "If the morphine doesn't work, I'll put her under."

The next thing I remember is being rolled into the recovery room and Danny saying to the nurse, "So, tell me about her ovaries."

to be continued . . .



read The twin birth story part 1
read The twin birth story part 3

The twin birth story part 1

First one out

Tuesday, August 18, 2009, 35 weeks pregnant, I went up to the county hospital with many signs of Preeclampsia, ie. swelling from the hips down both legs and feet, severe headaches, blurry vision, raised blood pressure. While I was there they discovered I had a large amount of protein in my urine-- which is typical of Preeclampsia.

The blood tests to determine if my liver was functioning well came back normal. But they realized that my iron levels were low. 6.7 to be exact.

They also decided to observe me for the night in case I was in the beginning stages of Preeclampsia. The doctor did an ultrasound to check on the babies and found them both in the breach position.

The doctor ordered continuous baby monitoring and contraction monitoring.

Within the next two hours it was apparent I was in active labor.

The doctor had gone home- being his day off and being exhausted from not really having a day off anyways. So I got a couple of lady doctors that work with the hospital anyway.

They prepped me for a C-section.

The drugs did not work. I was not numb.

to be continued . . .

read The twin birth story part 2