The Arrival

Jillian Elisabeth and Maxwell Mark made their entrance into the world on Friday night, January 12th. What follows is the best of my recollection of their arrival.

January 11th; 6AM --- we were scheduled to call into L&D to make sure they had a bed ready for us to come in for our induction. After a pretty restful night's sleep, we made the call. Unfortunately we were told to call back at 830AM to find out what time we should come in. Already dressed, showered, hair fixed and make-up applied (I figured I should look nice for the pictures later that day), I fell back to sleep for another hour or so until we called back in. They told us to come in at 1130AM to start the induction. I was a little dismayed at the time because I figured that the induction could take a few hours until it actually started working and I was worried I would miss the 1/11 birthdate.

January 11th; 1130AM --- we arrived at the hospital and entered our room. I immediately became overwhelmed as they already had the baby warmer in our room waiting for us --- it was labeled Baby A and I started to cry just at the thought of what's to come. In a few minutes I was checked to see how far along I was and to determine what type of medication they'd give me to start the induction process. Knowing that I was a fingertip dialated nearly 3 weeks ago, I was hoping that I'd at least be 3 cm dialated. Unfortunately, our first report should have been an indication of things to come --- I was still only a fingertip dialated. At this point we learned that the induction could take until Saturday! Never in my wildest dreams did I think the process would take that long.

January 11th; 130PM --- I was finally started on an IV of pitocin, a drug given to stimulate contractions. I immediately had a great reaction to the pitocin and started producing beautiful, consistent, strong (and I'll admit, not that painful of contractions). Throughout the day, the dosage was increased to help bring on the strong contractions that ultimately end up giving one the urge to push. I watched the clock all day and all night knowing that as the seconds ticked away, my chance for another reason why "11" is such a great number greatly fading away.

January 12th; 2AM --- I was checked again and learned that I was 3 cm dialated! Finally, some major progress. Just before 2AM I was given some pain medicine through my IV (not the epidural just yet). The pain medicine worked wonders, but the doctor who came in to tell me I was 3 cm dialated asked what I wanted her to do to get the ball rolling. Completely knocked out from the pain medicine, I told her that all I wanted was 2 McDonald's cheeseburgers. Unfortunately, she said it wasn't possible and she left my room, I think somewhat disappointed because she wouldn't have the opportunity to deliver the twins.

January 12th; 8AM --- 4 cm dialated. More progress! I spent the next several hours in various positions sucking on freeze pops and ice chips. Mostly I spent the day on a birthing ball rocking back and forth with the hopes of more dialation. Throughout the day, we watched and listened to our babies' heartbeats on the monitors. The thumping sounds were so relaxing to us; while all the other soon-to-be mothers (and fathers) had their televisions on, blasting throughout the ward, I couldn't even consider drowning out their heartbeats with the sounds of some lame talkshow. My contractions throughout the day were described by the medical staff as "perfect" and "textbook". They were off the charts (literally - the chart paper didn't register as high as they were); surely these perfect contractions would lead to some good dialation.

January 12th; 430PM --- they decided to break my water. After being checked another time and registering still at 4cm, the breaking of the water was meant to bring on heavier labor. I told them I wanted to have the epidural ready so that the second my water broke, I could have the epidural. My water - or as Mark likes to call it, Niagra Falls - was broken and within 5 minutes there was a team of anesthesiologists in my room having me sign consent papers, explaining the epidural process and then ultimately sticking the needle in my back. A slight pinch later, and the epidural was in and I was confined to my bed for the rest of the night.

January 12th; 8PM --- the attending physician visits my room with a short statement. "We're going to check you in 2 hours and if you're not any further dialated we're going to do a c-section." With that, my bed began to shake as my nerves overtook my body; I immediately got so scared after I heard those words. The entire 30 some hours I spent in the hospital in labor, I can honestly say I never thought about it ending in a c-section. True, throughout my pregnancy I always said I'd be okay with a c-section and at times even considered just asking for one. But the entire time I went through labor, I still felt I'd have them naturally. For some reason, after his statement and the initial shakes wore off, I fell asleep. I awoke at 9:30PM and said to the nurse: "Get the doctors in here to check me because if we're not any further along I want to have this c-section now. I don't want to wait any longer." Within the 1/2 hour, I was checked and learned I was no further. Five minutes later, a new team of anesthesiologists entered the room to give me the numbing medicine. I was prepped for surgery. Mark was whisked out of the room to get dressed for the surgery, but not before he ran downstairs to the waiting room to tell our family and friends what was happening.

January 12th; sometime after 10PM --- I'm wheeled into the OR. "Remain calm. Don't freak out." I told myself over and over again. The room was full of doctors and nurses. (We think there were about 16 in total). After they hurled me onto the table and everyone got in place, Mark was ushered in. I remember telling the doctors to make sure someone was in place to watch Mark because I wasn't sure he'd be able to handle being there without passing out. Mark held my hand and an extra doctor took our camera out of Mark's hands to take pictures.

A few minutes later, I could feel the tugging and the pulling and the pressure. It's such a weird sensation because I could feel everything they were doing, I just couldn't feel pain.

I remember the first baby being pulled from me and moments later hearing her scream. A minute later, the second was born and a sharp cry escaped from his lungs. My emotions flooded the room. I was happy, relieved, scared, overjoyed. You name it; I felt it at that instant.

"How big are they?" I kept on asking. It felt like an eternity afterwards until they gave us their weights --- Jillian weighed 7 pounds 10 ounces; Max weighed 7 pounds 7 ounces (we later learned from some of the old nurses on the L&D floor that they were the largest twins born there in 26 years).

The NICU doctors and nurses spent some time with them; Mark heard the doctor say, "I don't need to see these babies." What a relief. After months of praying that our babies would spend minimal time away from us in the NICU, our prayers were answered. They wouldn't be spending anytime in the NICU at all. After I was put back together (I don't even want to know what they had to do; I've asked Mark not to tell me what he saw), I, along with my precious babies, was wheeled back to my room to recuperate for an hour. After the hour passed, our family and friends were allowed to meet the babes.

So, now it's been two weeks since Jillian and Max made their way into this world. I'm so amazed by them that I could spend hours just staring at them. It's unbelievable to me that these creatures are here, and they're mine. They are so healthy. They eat well, they sleep well. They are alert and happy. They poop and they pee; I change a lot of diapers and I clean a lot of bottles. I don't wear makeup and I live in sweats. I don't fix my hair and I haven't left the house in 2 weeks. I sleep in 3 hour increments. This was exactly what I was waiting for. Life couldn't be better.

Reflections

As I enter my last 3 days of pregnancy, I find myself replaying these last 9 months over and over in my mind. At times it feels like the time went so fast; other times these months (always counted as weeks in pregnancy) seemed to have dragged on.

But it amazes me how clearly and specifically I remember things --- like dates, emotions, feelings, words said.

May 17th (early evening) - I took a home pregnancy test; it immediately came up positive. I, in turn, immediately called Mark on his way home from work. We were excited; but cautious. I had an appointment set for May 22nd for bloodwork to confirm I was pregnant.

May 20th and 21st - We went to a friend's wedding on Long Island. She knew I was trying and knew that any day now I would know if I was pregnant. "Well, do you know anything yet?" she asked at her own wedding. Mark shot me a glance, but I wasn't ready yet. "No, not yet." Later, he said "you should have told her." But I wasn't ready yet. I wanted the bloodwork to confirm.

May 22nd - I had my blood drawn in the morning and in the afternoon I got a dreaded call. Not from the doctor's office, but from Mark's partner at work. When I picked up the phone and heard his voice on the other line, my heart dropped. This was the call I was hoping I would never receive; I was convinced he was calling to tell me Mark was shot. "Mark's at the hospital," he said. "But don't worry; he just dislocated his shoulder." Relief. I left work immediately to embark on the 2-hour drive to the hospital. On the way, I got a call from my doctor's office confirming a positive on a pregnancy test. "Your numbers look great. Your first HCG is 848. We'll need you back in 2 days to confirm that the numbers continue to go up." That was my first clue that this pregnancy was bound to be different. First HCGs are usually around 200 or so. At that moment, I immediately wondered if there was more than one baby growing inside of me. I made it to the hospital; Mark was completely drugged up. He threw up in my new BMW on the way home he was so sick. "Oh, by the way, I heard from the doctor today and I'm definitely pregnant."

That week, despite what we had originally planned, we decided to tell my parents, mainly because with Mark's shoulder being dislocated and my pregnancy, I would need their help to do things like cut the grass, etc. They were excited, but cautious as well.

Two more appointments by the end of May confirmed this was a viable pregnancy; my numbers continued to rise as they should.

June 5th - We had our first ultrasound scheduled. We knew it was early and there was a chance that we'd be too early to see anything. Worse yet, we also knew that we could get bad news at this appointment. We barely spoke to each other on the trip to the doctor's. Neither one of us wanted to jinx the appointment with words of joy or excitement.

I remember the look on the doctor's face as she worked the ultrasound wand. "There's the two sacs," she said. I thought for a second she meant the yolk sac (how the early embryo gets nourishment) and the gestational sac. But she had a smirk on her face. "What do you mean 'two sacs'. Do you mean twins?" "Yes, there's twins in there," she said.

Mark, who was standing, somehow made it to a chair in the exam room. The look on his face was a combination of excitement and dread.

I don't know what kind of code they have in that doctor's office, but the second we emerged from the exam room, everyone started congratulating us -- the nurses, the lab tech, the receptionist. How'd they all find out so quickly?

We scheduled two more ultrasounds just to keep an eye on the pregnancy.

I called my mom on our way out of the parking lot. "How'd it go?" she asked, again very cautiously. "We got good news. In fact, we got doubly good news." She got it right away. "Twins!" she screamed. I told her I would call my dad to let him know of the results.

I told him the same thing. "What's the doubly good news?" he asked. Not as quick as my mom. "Twins!" I exclaimed. "Get out of here!" he said.

The drive back was equally as quiet as the way down. We were both so happy with the news, but still deep down knew that it was too early to get too excited. After all, we knew the complications - vanishing twin syndrome (where one twin just "vanishes" early in pregnancy); premature labor - Mark's cousins delivered twin girls fairly early as did our friends. We knew the heartache they endured having to leave their babies in the NICU because they were born too soon.

Future ultrasounds revealed that we had the "best" type of twin pregnancy --- they were both in different sacs, which besides meaning they wouldn't be identical, it also meant they wouldn't be sharing food or blood sources, so complications would be kept to a minimum.

At our ultrasound on June 19th, the technician cleared us for telling others, saying that the twins were developing right on target and that there was a 95% chance that the pregnancy would continue to be viable.

Over the course of the summer, we told more family and friends. I went "official" at work in early July. Earlier than I had originally wanted to, but my regular clothes weren't fitting. I knew I had to start wearing maternity clothes so I went public.

The pregnancy continued to be pretty uneventful throughout the summer. (The only time I threw-up was after a meeting with some co-workers in Philadelphia that summer. It was a warm day and I was feeling nauseous from the start-stop of the vehicle - darn Philly traffic - and asked to stop at a rest stop. The combination of already being slightly nauseated and the smell of the rest room caused my one and only "sickness" of the pregnancy).

In early August, right around my 16th week of pregnancy, my sister and I took my two nieces to Sesame Place. Two miles from the entrance of the park, we were involved in a minor fender-bender. I immediately worried about the health of the babies. I didn't hit my stomach at all, but I was worried about the jerk of hitting the vehicle in front of us. I had a terrible time at the park the entire day worrying about the babies. Luckily, I had an appointment the next day and it was immediately confirmed that everything was okay.

That same appointment, we found out what we were having. Up until this point, everyone was asking what we wanted. I always responded with "I don't care." In fact, I didn't and I was glad it was the one decision I wouldn't have to make along the way.

The ultrasound tech said to us, "okay, if I can tell what the babies are, do you want to know?" "Yes," we said. She put the wand on my stomach and almost immediately she said, "Baby A is a girl." I was so shocked. I mean I knew it was a 50/50 shot that Baby A would be a girl, but that it was announced so quickly and with no drumroll or fanfare was a little disappointing to me. Immediately, I started crying but also started praying. "Please God, let Baby B be a boy for Mark." Let me preface this by saying, I truly believe Mark will be a great father to a girl - he's got two nieces that he adores - but something inside of me thought Mark should have a boy.

After a few minutes of probing around, the tech announced, "Baby B is a boy!" I was so overwhelmed I began crying even more. I probably would have had the same reaction had she announced two girls or two boys, but I thought life couldn't get more perfect.

This appointment was also the time we first met with the high risk specialist; since we were having twins we were immediately classified as high risk. It was at this appointment that we learned I'd be put on precautionary bedrest starting at week 24. The shock of it all - knowing the sexes and knowing how life would change for both of us once I went on bedrest was overwhelming.

We stopped at my mom's job (she works minutes from our hospital) to share the good news. Early on, she had said she hoped it was one of each. I called my dad and Mark's mom to share the news. On the way home, I blackberried everyone I knew.

And then, we prepared. We shopped for cribs, for furniture, for bedding; we registered; we agreed on names; we went out to dinner with friends and "dated" each other for the next 8 weeks, knowing that bedrest would limit our social life and once I emerged from bedrest, we'd be changed forever. We'd be parents. We would be responsible for two lives. We'd be a family. No more Saturdays or Sundays sleeping in. No more worrying just about ourselves. No more shopping sprees or weekend getaways on the spur of the moment. Our nieces would have cousins to play with. Mark's parents would finally become grandparents; my own parents would have 2 more to add to their collection.

And now we wait. The bedrest worked. It's intent was to limit my activity so that the chance of premature labor would be kept to a minimum. Now considered term, I'm anxiously awaiting the signs that labor is coming.

If you've read this far, thank you. Thank you for caring enough about me and for Mark and for our two little Buddahs growing inside me. The next time I write will be to share the birth story of Maxwell Mark and Jillian Elisabeth. Wish me easy labor vibes resulting in two healthy babies.