Blogger Template by Blogcrowds

6 years ago today I took my wife to Women's Hospital in Houston to hold her hand while she underwent an amniotic decompression. It was going to relieve the pressure on the smaller of the twins that she was carrying in her belly and allow her to remain pregnant. We had done it before. (Do you like how I throw "we" out there like I'm getting stuck in the stomach with a 12 inch needle too?) We knew what to expect. We would watch on the ultrasound screen as the doctor drained the excess fluid, Kari would have some contractions, they would give her medication to stop the labor and 6-8 hours later we would go home. Kari was up on the exam table covered from neck to knees in what looks like blue paper towels. Her swollen belly exposed and prepped with iodine. The doctor was hovering over her, intently watching a video screen as the nurse maneuvered the ultrasound prob. He was poised with an enormous needle in his right hand, held straight up, elbow bent. His left hand poking a prodding my wife's abdomen, searching for the best area to start the procedure. The room was dark and the tension on my wife's face highlighted by the glow from the ultrasound monitor. It seemed to be taking him much longer than usual to pick the right spot. Instead of inserting the needle he mumbled some techno latin speak at the nurse. He put the needle away and turned to us. "They need to come out." He explained that baby "A" has too much fluid around her heart. It has been working so hard trying to pump all that blood that the other baby wasn't getting. "If we don't take her out we could lose her. And if we lose one, the other won't last long." Within an hour I was holding my wife's hand in the operating room. Watching my twins being born. I barely had a chance to glimpse them as they were whisked away by nurses to be put on ventilators. Up to that day I was sure that they would survive, but seeing them born and seeing them on the ventilators destroyed my confidence. Jordan especially scared me. She was so small, 1 pound 12 ounces. I could have nearly encircled her head with my thumb and forefinger. So pale. Trying so hard to breath. I was terrified. Madison was only slightly bigger and although she looked better to me, she was in worse shape than her sister. Even today just typing this, remembering it, makes it difficult to breath. That is how the adventure really began. When I get home from a trip and watch them run to greet me, flitting across the room on their toes they seem to move without actually touching the ground, flinging themselves into my arms and squeezing my neck so hard that it hurts a little, I feel blessed. Happy Birthday! My sweet little angles!


Post a Comment

Older Post Home