Mom to Quinton Edward and Owen Scott
Born and passed April 27, 2012
Wednesday April 25th, 2012 started out like any other day. I woke up tired and sore from being pregnant. We had just returned from our babymoon and that weekend we painted the twins’ nursery. I was so happy. I got through my work day picked up pizza for dinner and headed home. My husband and I ate, and I went to the bathroom for one of my many pee breaks, except this time when I wiped there was blood. I immediately began to panic. I told my husband I was bleeding; I tried to call my Mom, no answer. I became more frantic. I called the doctor on call, but he was in surgery. My mom called me back to tell me she was on her way. She arrived in seconds and we headed to the hospital. That was the longest 30 minutes of my life…a thousand scenarios went through my head, but I tried everything to stay positive.
Once we arrived at the hospital, the emergency room took me immediately back and began the examination. I had an ultrasound, which revealed two beating hearts, but my membranes were coming out. The next step was to start magnesium to stop the contractions and try to ease the membranes back inside and get a band on my cervix. I cried, I cried so much and begged God to save my babies, begged him to let me keep them. I lay in that bed, all night feeling my contractions, helpless to stop them. I continued to plead with God to let me have the opportunity to raise my babies. It was the longest night of my life.
The next morning, I received another ultrasound, while it still revealed the two beating hearts of my babies, my contractions did not ease enough to relax my uterus and allow the membranes to go back in. My cervix was incompetent. It failed me…my body failed my babies. I was going to lose them. My doctor reached out to another doctor at a different hospital for the second opinion. They said I could be transferred, but the outcome would be the same. I would inevitably lose them. I spoke to my husband about our options and decided to stay hoping for a miracle. They stopped the magnesium and I prayed this all would stop, I continued to plead with God to save my babies, to leave them here with me. My labor progressed. By Thursday afternoon, I was in full on labor, my contractions were intense, but I refused to let them break my water. I just could not except that this was happening. I asked for medicine to relieve my pain but nothing helped. I received an epidural that evening. The pain eased and I held on to hope, I held on to it so tightly. I felt them move inside of me, I felt them moving and kicking the whole day. It all felt like this horrible dream I could not wake up from. I slept because of the medicine, but woke often to cry.
Friday, April 27th, 2012 at just a little after 8:00 AM the doctor came in to check me. My water had still not broken, but when she checked me, I could feel her touching my first baby, and I knew. I knew that my prayers had gone unanswered and my twins were going to die. The doctor told me I had to push. I had to deliver my baby because it could not live in my vaginal opening. At around 8:15AM I felt heavy contractions, the epidural had started to wear off quickly and my body was continuing to force them out. I pushed but not hard. I did not want to do this, I could not bear the thought, I could not. I pushed again. My water broke, when it was half way out and I brought a little boy into this world, his heart beating, but he was unable to breathe at 18 weeks, his lungs were not developed enough. They scooped him up in a blanket and laid him on my chest. He was beautiful. The most beautiful baby I had ever seen. Ten fingers, ten toes, this perfect little face, he moved like they said he would, and he passed away like they said he would. I held onto him, touched face, and handed him to my husband, his first born son, fit in the palm of his hand. The doctor checked me again and Baby B had also moved down with the pushing. I held on to hope. The doctor asked me to push to deliver the first placenta and I pushed only barely, still pleading with God not to do this. The placenta came and, right behind it, a second baby boy. They laid him on my chest just like they laid his brother and I wept. He was so beautiful. They resembled each other so much, even though they were fraternal. Ten more fingers, ten more toes, another beautiful face. I handed my husband’s second son to him. He cradled him in his hands, so proud and so sad. That baby boy held his finger and my husband let go of all of his emotions. I wanted to run to him, but I couldn’t, I lay there while they still worked on me, and I could not hold my husband I could not tell him I was sorry I could not take away his pain, I could not handle mine. He held his second born son while he passed and then he cried in the arms of his mother and my grandma. Again, I was helpless to stop this, helpless to take his pain away and handle my own. The pain our parents feel, the pain of our brothers and sisters. After I was cleaned up I wept in the arms of my mother, the arms of my husband. I could find no comfort. Nothing felt right, everything was in shambles.
Shortly, after their birth, they rolled my boys in, dressed in the most beautiful crocheted wraps, lying on the most beautiful crocheted blankets. They positioned them holding hands. I cried, my husband cried. What was left of my heart was laying there in that hospital bassinet. I felt like I was on the outside watching this happen to someone else. This could not be happening to me, to us. We named our sons. Quinton Edward and Owen Scott weighed less than a pound each and only 8 and 9 inches long. When I felt like I could take no more, I had to make arrangements for them. I had decide how to lay my children to rest. This immediate pain stung my heart. Our options were to bury them, send them to pathology where they would treat them like tissue, cremate them, and I would never know what happened to them, or we could have them cremated and take them home with us. We chose to have them cremated and take them home with us. Everything happened so fast. The hospital called the funeral home, and they came up to talk to us, to pray and to take my sons with them. I asked to see them one last time. We held them, we cried. All the dreams and expectations I had for them. Everything I had ever wanted to see them accomplish was gone. They were gone; my sweet baby boys were gone. I had to hand them over to someone else who promised to take good care of them. But they couldn’t, never as good as we could have, no one could ever love them as much as us, no one. I had to give my babies to God, and then I had to give my babies to complete strangers at a funeral home. I didn’t trust either one of them at that point, but I had no other choice. I just had to keep giving them away, as much as I wanted to keep them, I had to keep handing them over to someone else.
Saturday, April 28th, 2012 we had to go to the funeral home to make their final arrangements and pick out their tiny urn. I had no idea they made urns so small. Ignorance is bliss. I cried in that funeral home, when I signed those papers with each of their names listed at the top. First Quinton’s, then Owen’s. My boys. My angels. We picked their urn, they explained the process to us, and I cried more. My husband put on this strong face, he held me up when I thought my knees would buckle beneath me. The people at the funeral home were very compassionate, they were very kind. I begged them to keep them together. If mommy and daddy weren’t there, all they had was each other. He promised me that they would. The following Friday, a week to the day they were born. I picked up my boys in an n urn. I bought them home in an urn, not a car seat. I held that urn all the way home, and I cried.
The next week was a blur, I stayed home. I talked to our family, my friends, and I cried, very often. I cannot describe this pain. I cannot describe how one minute you can have a half smile on your face and the next be crying uncontrollably. I wanted the world to stop. I still do. I want to grieve this unimaginable loss, but everything keeps moving around me. Life is still going on. I feel like I want to die. I have this burning sensation to be with them, I move because people tell me I have to. I eat once a day because my husband asks me to. People tell me they need me, but I don’t know why. Why would you need me? I am good for nothing. People promise me this will get better. I keep thinking this is an awful dream, every night I go to sleep with the help of a pill and every morning I wake up to the reality that is my life. My grief starts again, and every day it takes on a new face, a new challenge.
My first born children, my sons, my precious beautiful babies. I have to go on without you. I have to find strength I don’t have, that I don’t want to have. I feel so empty without your movement, so unhappy without the anticipation of raising you. Your room, all the things we bought for you. The many things we had planned. Mother’s Day, Fathers Day, your daddy’s birthday Memorial Day, Independence Day, the day that was scheduled for your baby shower, my birthday, the date you were due, Halloween, Thanksgiving, and Christmas. I have to do all of these things without you. I had plans, as crazy as it seemed, I could not wait to show you off, to buy things for you, watch you grow, smile, cry, play, and take pictures of you with all of your family, everyone who anticipated your arrival. I am broken, defeated, angry, a million emotions all rolled into one messed up person, me. I cannot see outside of the loss of you, everything else is so pointless.
I have gone through the motions. I have cried, I have laughed, and I have cried again. I have thought about you both. I have asked God why, everyday. He does not answer me. I talk to you; I hope you can hear me. I love you both more than this life itself; I hope you can feel it. I will live for you if that’s what I have to do, I cannot promise that everyday will be wonderful. I cannot promise that I won’t be afraid. I cannot promise that I will live my life on the edge. I cannot promise that I will not have my days where I just want to curl up and die. But for you Quinton and Owen, I promise that every day, I will pick myself up and I will do this. My heart will be broken, I will miss you every day, I will tell your future brothers and sisters about you, I will teach them how to talk to you. Your daddy and I will never forget you or the day you came into this world, and the same day you left it. I will love you with my whole heart everyday for the rest of my life. You both will always be the first, you have shown me that love this big is possible, where I could have only imagined it before. I will always be your Mommy, and Daddy will always be your Daddy. No one will ever know the measure of our love for you; no one will ever love you as much as us, no one. I will do this for you. I will do whatever it takes to see you again, I will see you again, and you will be in my arms again. It may take me awhile to get there. Wait for me.
Lindsey blogs at http://twoboystwopairofwings.blogspot.com.
You can contact her at firstname.lastname@example.org.