At 28 weeks, pregnant with twins, I went into the hospital for some false contractions. After finding them to be too regular an ultrasound was done. I knew from the moment it was being done that something was wrong. Shortly after one of the doctors came in and told us that one of our babies had died. We had to get to Vancouver right away to help save the other one, which would likely be born within the week. After some denial (i.e. maybe they just made a mistake, maybe we will hear the heartbeat this time) we accepted our new reality that we just had one baby, and if things didn’t get sorted out soon, we may not have a baby at all. The doctors suspected twin to twin transfusion (our babies were identical)…which was causing me to go into labour. I stayed in hospital on bed rest the next few weeks, and our surviving baby’s heart and brain were examined for effects of twin to twin transfusion. After several ultrasounds we were told that our surviving baby had a heart defect (unrelated to the ttts) and would need open heart surgery immediately after birth in order to survive. But we were told it was fixable and this wasn’t the worst news we’d heard in the last few weeks, at least one of our babies was still alive. Four weeks later, at 38 weeks I went into labour (for real).
We knew one baby would be alive and one baby would be stillborn. We didn’t know what our stillborn would look like after ten weeks in utero, whether we would want to look at her or hold her. Tori Savannah (6lbs, 8oz) was born first, she was taken to the resuscitation room immediately. While she was in there, I delivered Lara Jocelyn (1lb, 8oz). I knew immediately that I had to hold her and look at her. It was surreal. I knew this would be my only chance, and that if I didn’t take it, there wouldn’t be another. There was a sense of peace. Not happiness, not sadness, a little bit of relief that we could move on. Tori was brought back into the room and I held her too. I don’t really remember the doctors or nurses coming in and out. We didn’t have any family or friends there.
After those few brief minutes, the nurses came in and took Tori away to be admitted into the ICU. Shortly thereafter, someone came in to take Lara away too. I got stitched back up, and waited there for the epidural to wear off, and then I wanted to go see Tori. When we got the ICU, she had an IV in, some monitors on, and I knew this was the next phase, we had four days before her heart surgery was done. I stayed in the hospital maternity ward during that time coming down to see her as much as I could physically handle (sitting was quite uncomfortable)…I thought a couple more weeks and I can take her home and be a mom.
Those weeks turned into months. The months turned into one year and two weeks. During that time, Tori almost died on countless occasions. She had two open heart surgeries; she had airway problems eventually requiring a tracheotomy and ventilator. She had feeding difficulties eventually requiring a surgically placed feeding tube. She underwent countless tests and smaller procedures in between, and some complications from the procedures (blood clots, stroke). Each time, we were forced to accept a new reality. We were being pushed into a world of medical machines equipment, tests and drama without any choice. But when you have a child, you sign up for whatever you get. You just always think these crazy stories will happen to someone else. It took a long time to realize that our long term reality would be that of a special needs child.
We knew one baby would be alive and one baby would be stillborn. We didn’t know what our stillborn would look like after ten weeks in utero, whether we would want to look at her or hold her. Tori Savannah (6lbs, 8oz) was born first, she was taken to the resuscitation room immediately. While she was in there, I delivered Lara Jocelyn (1lb, 8oz). I knew immediately that I had to hold her and look at her. It was surreal. I knew this would be my only chance, and that if I didn’t take it, there wouldn’t be another. There was a sense of peace. Not happiness, not sadness, a little bit of relief that we could move on. Tori was brought back into the room and I held her too. I don’t really remember the doctors or nurses coming in and out. We didn’t have any family or friends there.
After those few brief minutes, the nurses came in and took Tori away to be admitted into the ICU. Shortly thereafter, someone came in to take Lara away too. I got stitched back up, and waited there for the epidural to wear off, and then I wanted to go see Tori. When we got the ICU, she had an IV in, some monitors on, and I knew this was the next phase, we had four days before her heart surgery was done. I stayed in the hospital maternity ward during that time coming down to see her as much as I could physically handle (sitting was quite uncomfortable)…I thought a couple more weeks and I can take her home and be a mom.
Those weeks turned into months. The months turned into one year and two weeks. During that time, Tori almost died on countless occasions. She had two open heart surgeries; she had airway problems eventually requiring a tracheotomy and ventilator. She had feeding difficulties eventually requiring a surgically placed feeding tube. She underwent countless tests and smaller procedures in between, and some complications from the procedures (blood clots, stroke). Each time, we were forced to accept a new reality. We were being pushed into a world of medical machines equipment, tests and drama without any choice. But when you have a child, you sign up for whatever you get. You just always think these crazy stories will happen to someone else. It took a long time to realize that our long term reality would be that of a special needs child.
