My children were born 2.5 months early. I write this for other women who are going through the same thing. They will experience a roller coaster of emotions and I hope my story helps others deal with the emotions they will encounter.
The day I met my children was not the happiest day of my life. It was one of the hardest days of my life. It is difficult to admit the truth. I felt overwhelmed with emotion but not the emotion we dream of when we imagine giving birth. I was overwhelmed with fear, shock, and a bit of self-pity. My son Sebastian was still a fetus. He was tiny. His leg was the size of my finger. I could see his ribs. His skin was transparent. I was scared. My husband made me feel even worse as he seemed to be blinded by love and no matter how under-developed, pale and fragile Sebastian was JP was a proud papa and was beaming with happiness in his son's presence. I was not allowed to hold my son and I need to so I could bond with him. I was deeply saddened. This wasn't how it was supposed to be. I felt like a terrible mom and the tears would not stop coming.
My daughter seemed a bit more like a baby as she was a pound bigger. I couldn't see her face for almost 2 weeks with all the medical equipment that helped her breath but I fell in love with her little body especially her hands. The way she arched her fingers and stretched melted my heart and as she was bigger I was allowed to hold her for 30 min a day. I bonded with her as I held all three lbs of her skin to skin. My husband told me I loved her more than I loved my son and I was filled with anger, guilt and sadness as I did feel a different bond with her. She was more like a baby than a fetus. I could hold her, feel her melt into my body. Again, I was burdened with the feeling that I was a horrible mom.
The first week both of my babies lost weight. How could this be? They have no weight to lose. I would get stats twice a day on their weight, temperature, if they stooled, heart rate, blood pressure and oxygen levels. They had monitors connected to all the vital organs and monitored every breath, heartbeat etc. I became dependent on those monitors and starred at them religiously. Alarms would sound constantly and with every beep my nerves would shoot through the roof. Is my child breathing? The nurse would say, "there was a defib but it was self resolved" or "your baby had a Brady (short for bradicardia). They were throwing around medical terms like it was there job. And it was their job. My job was to be my babies advocate and become as knowledgeable as the NICU staff. I learned that along the way, but that first week I just cried a lot. I didn't leave their little bedsides. They were supposed to be in my body so they needed to feel my presence. I was just taking it in and dealing with the shock.
The day I was discharged from the hospital was another very difficult day. I was well enough to go home, but my babies weren't. My husband had to work, so my mom wheeled me down to the car. I held two balloons in place of my twins that said " it's a boy" and "it's a girl". I sobbed as she pushed me in the wheelchair down the long corridor. How do you leave your babies in the care of people you don't even know? How do you leave your babies period! I felt that everyone in the hospital starred at me with looks of pity. I know they all wondered what happened to me and to my babies. I was going to be in a separate building from them. I didn't know how to be apart from them and my hormone levels were at an all time high.
I got home, unpacked my stuff and went directly back to the hospital. I couldn't be apart from my tough little Sebastian and Daniela's beautiful little hands. For three days and three nights the tears kept coming until finally my husband, also known as my rock said to me, "I know it's hard to leave them, but this is not about you. This is about them. This is about us supporting our children and giving them what they need to grow, develop and get healthy." I was pissed. "Screw him" I thought. He didn't carry them in his body for 7 months. His body didn't fail them. His hormones were all in check. Who is he to tell me that it wasn't about me. He would never know how scary it was to have a life threatening illness. He will never know how traumatic it is to be rushed to surgery let alone be awake while they cut you open. He is a man. He didn't have to deal with anything.
The next day I returned bright and early to visit my children. As I sat sobbing next to Sebastian's incubator I started to process my husband's advice. He was absolutely right. I wasn't helping my children by crying next to them. My father is a physician and I remembered him telling me about studies that showed that positive people have a higher rate of surviving cancer and serious illnesses. That was the moment I changed my attitude. I came up with three words I would recite to myself everyday... patience, acceptance and positivity. I promised My children that day that I would have the patience to let them grow and develop in their own time. I promised them that I would accept the situation for what it was and I promised to always be positive around them as I knew that was the best medicine for them. From that moment on, I sang to them, read to them, touched them as often as I was allowed, held them for the maximum time allowed, and smiled every time I was with them. I realized this was not a tragedy! This was a miracle. I have twins! I have a baby boy and baby girl! They aren't dying, they are living and I am the luckiest mom alive. I could have lost my babies and I didn't. They were just small. The pity party ended and the celebration of new life began.
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