The Walk to Remember

 

Over the past 7 years, I have been asked numerous times about our story. Mostly pertaining to the struggles of parenthood and how our lives, like square pegs trying to fit into round holes, do not fit the norm. Truth be told, it didn’t start when our special needs daughter Olivia was born, or even on her diagnosis day. No, it was 1 year prior with the twins. The trauma initiated when we went in for a routine ultrasound and discovered 2 heartbeats were no longer beating.

Due to my health at that time, we were aware it might be a little difficult to get pregnant, but not impossible. Once I saw the 2 blue lines, like every other first-time parent, I was filled with excitement and joy. We couldn’t wait to tell everyone! Not long after conceiving, I had some bleeding that concerned us, so we drove straight to the emergency room. It was then that they explained there was no health concern at that time, but there was speculation of twins. We couldn’t believe it. Here we thought we were losing a child, come to find out we were blessed with two!

Our minds were racing on the way home. We both called our moms with the good news. Then reality was setting in. I thought, “oh my goodness, how am I going to breastfeed, change diapers, and care for two at the same time?” But the answer didn’t matter because my heart was full. Little did I know, the answer would never come. Each doctor visit after the emergency room confirmed and prepared us for twins, and there were many since we were now even more of a high risk. I was informed they were identical twins. The provider also mentioned that identical twins were the hardest to carry full-term. Each ultrasound concluded strong heart beats and no concerns; it was time we told the world. And I did exactly that. I posted on Facebook and Instagram how elated we were expecting twins. I would receive comments such as, “how fitting, you thought you wouldn’t get pregnant and now you’re having twins,” or “that’s great, you should make a shirt that says natural born twins.” I basked in the love and admiration. I yearned to be a mother, so I was going to soak up every inch of this journey.

March soon rolled around and so did our birthdays. Mine first at the beginning of the month and my husband’s soon to be at the end of the month. My husband bought me a necklace with 2 diamond circles interlocked as a symbol for our twins we were having together as my present. I’m a planner, so early on I purchased a custom mug saying “real men make twins,” with 2 babies inside of a heart. It was the week after my birthday and a week before his birthday that I sobbed on what felt like a cold aluminum operating table for hours. I was lying down on the table per usual getting ready for my ultrasound with my husband sitting off to the left of me. The lights were turned down so the ultrasound tech could properly do her job. She squirted the warm gel on my belly and whisked the ultrasound monitor around and around for what seemed like forever. Swirl after swirl I could feel the fear creeping in. She would look at her paper containing my pregnancy information and then look at the screen. Then she broke the heavy silence and advised us she needed to grab some help from her colleague and would return promptly. Maybe it was experience from working at a clinic or just mothers’ intuition, but I turned to my husband and immediately told him somethings wrong. I started preparing myself in case we heard that one baby didn’t make it.

In walks the same ultrasound tech along with her male colleague. This time she stands behind him, observing as he takes control of the monitor and tries again. They are both silent before he admits he is having a difficult time finding the heartbeats, reassuring us it is not uncommon, and if he can try a transvaginal ultrasound for better accuracy. I agreed and hoped for the best. After the final attempt, he states, “I’m sorry, there’s no heartbeats.” My denial answered him back, “no, they had strong heartbeats at the last ultrasound appointment.” He responds back shaking his head from side to side with sorrowful eyes, “I’m sorry.” That’s when reality set and I understood his words. It knocked the wind out of me. The tears streamed down as I cried in agony. I can’t remember a time I have ever cried that loud in my life. The ultrasound tech tells my husband, “Please stay as long as you need, there’s no rush. We will let your provider know,” as they exit the room. The door shuts as he quickly leans over from his chair to hold me. My body is shaking and I can’t get it to stop. I can hear him as the emotion in the room begins to overwhelm and take him under too. We stayed in this very position for over an hour in that dark room, saying nothing to each other, only tears. I watched as the ultrasound tech would walk by and peer in every 20 minutes or so through the small square window on the door. The logical part of me starting surfacing again as I told my husband we should get going. I figured they needed the room for the next patient. I finally got off the ultrasound table and dressed myself. We walked the halls and stood in the elevator in silence, just merely crying off and on. First me, then him, then both of us, as each time it traded off.

We now sat in the providers office downstairs from ultrasound. We waited for over an hour in the waiting room to be seen. We then waited over another hour in exam room waiting for insurance approval to move forward with a D&C procedure to remove the twins. I was told this was next steps as the twins needed to be removed from me right away to prevent any health concerns. There were no other options relayed to me. I didn’t know what to advocate for so I asked them if I could get a second opinion. They agreed to let me go home as long as I agreed to have the procedure completed in the next 48hrs. We left and drove home in silence in peak hour traffic.

Unfortunately, the second opinion confirmed the first. Our twin boy’s hearts had stopped beating just a few days after my birthday. There appeared to be no rhyme or reason, just two lifeless bodies attached to mine, fallen short of developing. Before I knew it my phone was ringing off the hook. The providers office stated I had missed my procedure. I was lost for days and time. It was like living in the abyss of an underworld. I finally got myself to go in and proceed. In the waiting room they asked my husband if he would like to accompany me in the back during the procedure. He looked at me with eyes yearning for permission and slowly muttered, “I can’t do it. I’ll stay out here and wait for you.” I understood the intensity of the situation and approved. Once I was lying on the table in the back room, the provider advised they would be giving me a medication that amplifies noise, but that it would help calm the pain. She was kind and waited for me to tell her when. I whispered, “okay.” The machine turning on coupled with the ringing in my ears, I could barely hear the other voices in the room. I couldn’t make out their words, nor did I care in that moment. I felt extreme cramping and heartache.

I didn’t want to acknowledge the pain. I returned to work sooner than I should’ve. My boss told me to go home and I didn’t listen. Later that day, I began hemorrhaging in the clinic bathroom at my job. I yelled for help but no one could hear me. I quickly stuffed my pants full of tissue paper and ran to my boss’s office advising her of what was happening. She quickly drove me to the hospital where we learned there were still pieces of the twins inside of me. I was released same day with pills to help complete the process and pass them. I took the pills when I got home and laid on the living room couch waiting for whatever was about to happen happen, as my husband cooked dinner. I began feeling the intense cramping again, later learning they are a form of contractions to help push. I decided to head to the small dim bathroom where I decided this would be the best place to sit and continue to push. My little beagle Lucy sat with me the entire time. A few days before my husband’s birthday a package arrived in the mail. It was the custom mug I made for him a couple weeks prior celebrating our twins. I opened it and cried. How can life be this cruel? Months later my husband would find me in the twins’ nursery laid out flat on the floor next to the white and gray shaggy rug crying mid-day. He had to physically pick me up because I didn’t have the energy anymore. It would be a while before I could even think about storing their things away.

So, you see, parenthood was stripped from me long before becoming pregnant with Olivia. It’s like watching water slip through the crevices of your fingers. You are witnessing every single piece of it. It wasn’t having to update every one of the news, or even the awkward conversations on Mother’s Day. It was, not being able to say goodbye. It was, longing for a child(ren) that suddenly disappeared. It was, not being told I could give birth to them whole and at least get their footprints. It was, having their genetic results come back negative for any abnormalities and having no answers. The mere fact that I can remember so much of this in detail years later portrays how engrained it is in my mind. Or how deeply it affected me. It’s in how I view humanity and loss. It’s in the way I move and how I love.

Miscarriages are so common in the United States and many friends and family experienced a miscarriage or two. Majority of them also moved on quicker than I have. I just can’t seem to shake the experience. It has been 8 years since that incident and I finally made it out to my first “Walk to Remember” event celebrating and commemorating perinatal and infant loss awareness. It was difficult but it was comforting to know I’m not the only one still in this stage of grief. Maybe one day I will hit an advocacy stage for miscarriages too, maybe not. Like all the other stages of stories I’ve shared, this is where I’m at today and that’s okay.