It is a relatively quiet Saturday (as quiet as it can be with three boys in the house) and I am in some sort of remaniscent mood.
Because of that, I thought I would write about my situation, the past 4-years.
After years of trying to conceive, my husband and I finally received the great news....We were expecting!!! As the first few weeks went on, however, I found it quite unusual that I already looked like I was at the end of my first trimester.
Finally, we reached the point (6-8 weeks) where the Dr. said he would do an ultrasound and see what was going on.
He was a very nice Dr.. He explained everything that we were looking at, on the monitor. All it looked like was a piece of rice in a ball of water, with a little blink here and there. As we found out, that blink was the heart beating.
The Dr. made sure that we understood all that he had been explaining to us and after a very "pregnant" (not to be puny) pause, I eventually said "There are more aren't there?". He looked at me and said yes. he then moved around so we could see better. My husband said "We are having Twins!". I looked at him and said "No dear, we are having triplets. These two are Identical twins and the other one (that the Dr. has shown first) is a singlet."
All the way home, I didn't know whether to cry or be happy. We were definately going to have a family, and all with only one pregnancy!
As the weeks continued on, complications arrose and I was put on bedrest. I was also referred to a High Risk Fetal Specialist.
I can't begin to tell you how many ultrasounds were done of the children. I lost count somewhere along the line.
However, I remember at week 22, going to the Fetal Specialist and him going through the ultrasound telling us what he was looking at and how the children (which we already knew were going to be boys - all of them) were progressing......when he said "One of the Identical boys has passed away.". We were devistated! I made him show us how he knew for sure, and it was quite obvious.
Now, we were down to two. Would they survive? The remaining identical twin had a chance of passing away too, depending on how the placenta, he had shared, had developed. Unfortunately, there was no way to find out except to just keep monitoring, hoping and praying that with each Dr. visit he would still be found alive.
The days were eternal. I was home, alone all day long. The only time I was allowed to get out of bed was to go to the restroom. I was also allowed to leave the bed, walk down the hall and lay down on the sofa (I was so glad we have a single story home. I was also glad that we have a bathroom at each end of the house too.)
At week 24 I went into pre-term labor. At the hospital, they attempted to put me on a medication that would have allowed me to go home, but I could hardly breath after the medication was given (a side affect). So I had to stay in the hospital, on a Magnesium drip.
At week 25, my labor again started. For 6 hours they tried everything they could to stop it but to no avail. I was transferred to the nearest hospital that had the highest rated NICU, in the area.
Once there, they were able to stop my labor and start me on steriods (to help mature the boy's lungs faster).
For the next 3 weeks, I was in the High Risk Maternity Ward. Day in and day out I waisted away the hours watching t.v. and sleeping.
Christmas Eve I had fallen asleep while watching a Christmas special. I awoke when I neede to use the restroom and that is when everything started for myself, the High Risk Maternity Ward and Labor and Delivery.
This time, there was no stopping it. The children were going to be born!
They were the first children, in that hospital, born on Christmas day . Both weighed under 3 pounds.
The twins would spend the next 2 months in the NICU and finally, come home around Valentine's day weighing over 5 pounds.
Unfortunately, for me, I had been transformed into "medical staff" and was not afforded the opportunity to be a mother.
I felt overwhelmed. I was tired. I was sad. When the twins were asleep, all I could do was vegetate or cry.
My O.B. told me it was the baby blues. I believed her because she was my doctor and I didn't know otherwise.
For months I went on like this. I was getting worse as each day passed. There was no way that I could return to work and the State Disability department was not convinced that I couldn't return to work.
The Disability department set up an appointment for me to go and see one of their Psychologists.
He was a terrible man! He kept asking all kinds of questions that I couldn't answer. He wanted me to tell him that I was depressed. At that time, I didn't know that was what was going on with me so I told him "It's your job to diagnose me!"
Eventually, after an hour of "Police Interrigation" the appointment was over and I was allowed to leave. I was in tears, big sobbing "buffalo" tears. As I passed by him, on the way out of the room, he said "You had better get yourself some help before you find yourself on T.V. after having done something terrible to your children."
What a monster!
I had never thought of doing anything to my children and I had even told him that.
I had never done anything to my children.
How could he be so cruel!
But, that cruelty sent me to a counselor who worked with me for months.
I had PPD and it has transformed into severe depression.
Would I ever see the light, at the end of the tunnel, again?
Eventually, through my counseling, I came to the point where I realized that I needed medication as well. I started seeing a Psy.D. and have been on medication since.
After only a few months, I felt well enough to return to work and with my Dr. and counselor's approval, I sought out a new job.
Six months later, we were pregnant (not planned) again. This pregnancy had its difficult moments too. At week 9, halfway through a 2 week vacation and a few miles away from home (like over 2000), I had to go to the emergency room for severe abdominal pain. We found out that I had an ectopic in addition to the child we knew I was carrying.
Needless to say, after giving birth, to our third child, at week 37, I went into PPD again.
This time, it wasn't nearly as bad. This time I knew there was light, at the end of the tunnel. This time I impatiently waited for the hormones to pass and the meds to take over again.
Unfortunately, I do not feel as well as I had when I returned to work, after the twins. But there is a lot more on my plate right now: the twins are developmentally delayed (because they were born at 29 weeks) and then have recently been found to be ASD (one is high functioning and the other is low end moderate functioning) and our little one is showing signs already.
Anyway, I did not put my story here to elicit sympathy, rather, I put it here in the hopes that it will bring some understanding to someone else, who might be suffering through any of the things I have gone or am going through.
I had nobody. I want to be somebody for someone who has nobody. That is why I share my story.
