I didn't mean to go dark—I really didn't. You'd think that I'd be cranking out blog posts from here in my hospital room. But for some reason, I've been stuck. Still, Mamadhi's been calling me to write, so I'm finally answering.
First, let me quickly catch you up on our family's recent sequence of events:
- Jeff had robotic mitral valve surgery on his heart on February 8th. The surgery was a great success, and he was released 5 days later.
-One day after he was released, I had my 24 week appointment with my perinatal doctor and was placed on strict bed rest at home.
-Three weeks later, on a Saturday, Jeff started to feel "off". He was dizzy, lightheaded and unusually fatigued. The following Monday he was admitted to Piedmont Hospital for atrial fibrillation. On the same day, I had another scary perinatal appointment—I was showing signs of preterm labor—and I was admitted to Piedmont as well.
Jeff and I were both at Piedmont Hospital for three days before he was released. I stayed on, and two weeks later, I'm still here. I had another blog post in the works describing our experience with Jeff's surgery when this madness ensued. I really don't know how to sufficiently describe how frightening and emotional these last few weeks have been. And how much I've missed Vivienne. And how terrified I've been that these twin boys will come far, far too early. And how worried I've been that Jeff will have other heart complications, or exhaust himself with working and being Mr. Mom.
The nurses were fascinated by our little family's drama: "Really? You both were admitted here on the same day?" they'd ask, incredulous. Jeff was in true form when he was here, a mere 1 floor above me. His nurses told him he couldn't come down and visit me because of his heart monitor, but he snuck down here anyway and told the nurses that he was going for a walk.
More than once, he walked in my hospital room with a proud grin on his face and announced, "I snuck out. Do you have any of those cookies for me?"
Little moments like that helped us get through our own little private hell. That, and daily visits from Vivi. She comes everyday and bursts in my hospital door, saying. "MOMMY! HI MOMMY! MOMMY LAY DOWN NOW." The first time she came to visit me, I'd gone two days without seeing her and I was desperate to lay eyes on her. When our nanny brought her in, Vivi stared at me without saying a word. She didn't smile, but she didn't cry, either.
"Hi, Vivi! Mommy missed you so much!" I said, trying not to melt down and scare her. "Can you come up here and give Mommy a big hug?"
Then, magically, she climbed up on my bed and into my arms— and held on to me for a good twenty-five minutes while I cried all over her. Every once in a while she'd look up at me and softly say, "Mommy." In that moment, I was propelled back two years in time to when she was first born in the very same hospital. I vividly remembered when they laid her on my chest and she looked directly into my eyes for the first time. Here, in this parallel universe, with her little arms grasping my neck and her occasional glances up at me to make certain that mommy was really here, I was reduced to a messy, sniffling puddle.
Of course, now she's used to me being here, and when she comes in it goes like this: I get a quick hug—then she's off and diving into the pile of toys and books we keep for her in the hospital room. These little fixes—these much anticipated visits from her and daddy are what keep me going.
I'll back up a moment to explain why I'm still here. Last week I was feeling confident that they might let me go— I wasn't having any major contractions and I was feeling pretty good. My perinatologist asked me a series of questions, seeking assurance that I would stay on "true bed rest" if they let me go. I told her I'd do my best and do everything in my power to maintain the same level of "bedrestiness" that I had here at the hospital. She seemed relatively convinced, but then mentioned she wanted to do a quick cervical check. That was when she discovered I was 2 cm dilated.
"I'm so sorry, but you're not going anywhere, Molly."
And so here I am. I have to say, it feels really good to break my blogging silence and finally write it all down. I know these sorts of complications can be fairly common when you're carrying twins—or multiples for that matter, but I had no idea how hard this would be. It helps to lurk on forums and read about all the women going through the same thing. My friends and family have also been an incredible source of support.
Most importantly, it helps to know that our little twin boys continue to be healthy and strong—and as of today, both are over 3 pounds! I'm powering through each milestone, and next week I'll be 30 weeks...that's a big one. I know that every day I'm in here will be one less day our babies are in the NICU, and I try and bear this in mind when I want to start throwing things.
In the meantime, I'm going to give Mamadhi some more love and keep telling you about operation keep babies in.