How Big Your Brave Is

I mentioned before that I am a Mom of twins. Twins. It’s been a crazy journey mothering these two, and unlike anything that I could have imagined before I found out that I was carrying two babies. Happiness, shock, joy, FEAR. Things were about to get crazy up in our house. I felt brave. But I really had no idea just how big my brave was. Nor do any of us, really, until we are forced to put one foot in front of the other, and walk into the unknown.

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In August 2010, I went into labor with Brady and Hayden – 9 weeks early.

Never before in my life had I felt such fear as I did right then, rushing in my car to the hospital across town with Justin. Upon admittance to the hospital, I was given a heavy dose of magnesium to slow down my contractions, and to give the doctors time to administer the ever-critical shots to help develop the babies’ lungs. I was placed on immediate bed rest in the hospital, with the doctors emphasizing just how important each day in the womb was to these two babies at their gestational age. I made it through that day, hour by hour, minute by minute, unsure of what would happen next.

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For a solid week, I lay in that hospital bed, only getting up to use the bathroom, contracting regularly, and able to do nothing other than listen to music and talk to Justin.

Even reading was difficult, because the magnesium drip that I continued to be on slowed down all of my reflexes, and even my sight was sometimes blurry. I stayed positive, but I was so, so scared.

I knew that my babies arriving this many weeks early would likely come with some complications, and, even with the doctors consistently reinforcing what this might look like, I had no idea what to expect.

After a week in antepartum, my body took over, and Brady and Hayden were born in a fast and furious delivery. Heck, Justin barely made it back in time after running out to pick up some sandwiches for lunch. I called him frantically from my cell, as I was being wheeled into the operating room, where I had to deliver in case an emergency caesarian was necessary at any point. Our conversation went something like this…

Me: “Justin you need to get back! The babies are coming.”

Justin: “Okay. Like how soon? I just got to the deli. You mean “NOW now”, or “now, but grab the sandwiches first?””

Me: “Like NOW. Forget the sandwiches!!! THEY’RE WHEELING ME INTO THE O.R.!!”

This all sounds funny, of course, but, in reality, mixed in with a heavy rush of adrenaline, what I really felt right then was pure fear. Maybe a little excitement, but mostly fear. I knew that my babies were still only 32 weeks gestational age, and this certainly meant that they would have an uphill battle in front of them upon delivery.

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I was met in the operating room by an “intimate” group of approximately 20 unnamed individuals, nothing like the intimate birth experience I had with my daughter, Grace, almost 3 years before. Two obstetricians, a whole team from the NICU, and pediatric specialists of every kind were all on hand to step in when these two babies arrived. It was a flurry of scrubs, instruments, and bright lights.

Brady and Hayden were born about 7 minutes later, only minutes after Justin arrived back from his sandwich expedition and scrubbed up for the operating room. “It’s a boy,” Dr. Wan said, after delivering Hayden, who was quickly brought close for a kiss before he was whisked off to the NICU. 3 minutes later, “It’s a boy” was heard again as Brady was delivered by Dr. Kasper, and immediately taken away.

I had just delivered TWIN BOYS. 8 weeks early. I sent Justin off to follow my babies.

My brave was BIG.

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My doctors and nurses spent some time tending to me, and I laid there in shock at what had just transpired. “I want to be with my babies,” I told them, and they insisted that I spend 60 minutes in a recovery area before they would allow me to go to my hospital room or the NICU. I lay there, counting down each minute from 1 to 60 until I could be with my sweet baby boys. Finally, the nurse came in and asked if I wanted to return to my hospital room.

RETURN TO MY HOSPITAL ROOM?!?!? All I wanted was to get an update on exactly how my boys were, and what their health looked like!!! I told her to get me a wheelchair, a pump, and a comfortable pillow to sit on in the the NICU. And I probably didn’t say it very nicely. Mama Bear was out in full force. My brave was BIGGER, it turned out.

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A nurse wheeled me into the NICU to see my baby boys for the first time up close.

 

The next 30 days (yes, 30 days) were filled with so many ups and downs. “NICU-talk” of the “one step forward, two steps back” is real, and no joke. On the cannula, off the cannula, CPAP, no CPAP, mild heart murmurs, UV light therapy for jaundice, digestive issues. Big Brave.

Being discharged from the hospital and being forced to leave my babies behind in the NICU. Big Brave.

Listening to the risks that Brady and Hayden could have because of their prematurity. Big Brave.

Day in and day out, barely seeing the light of day. Big Brave.

The beeps of the monitors, the alarms of the machines, and being surrounded by babies in significantly worse health than ours. Big Brave.

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Practically living at the hospital – me taking the daytime shift for “kangaroo care” and feedings, and Justin arriving in the evening and staying until the early morning hours. Big Brave.

 

That month, with both of our sweet boys in the hospital and a toddler at home, was one of the hardest of our lives. We worried, we questioned, we hoped and prayed, and we really, really put our trust in the hands of the lovely doctors and nurses that cared for our babies. But we also stayed strong, and continued to be brave by leaning on those we love. We utilized the support so kindly given by our friends and family. We accepted offers for home cooked meals, play dates for Grace, doing laundry, and stopping by the hospital just to give a hug or a listening ear. We needed it all, so badly, during that time.  

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After a month in the NICU, Brady and Hayden came home with us, and with a clean bill of health. We were overjoyed to finally show them the world outside the confines of the hospital, and to finally, truly, begin our adventures as a family of 5. Looking back, I’m proud of how we weathered that month. In the moment, it was a foggy, murky abyss of unknown that seemed both tortuous and unrelenting. “One day at a time” was all we could do, and our brave meant taking that next right step, one after the other, until we made it through to daylight.

 

I could have never imagined what it would feel like to be tested the way I was tested that summer, and while I would never want to endure that trial again, I learned more about my brave that I ever knew. Sometimes, being brave just means taking that next right step, one foot in front of the other.

Hello There!

My name is Allison! Nurturer Of 4 Remarkable Littles / Married To My Own Modern Day Prince Charming / California Born And Raised / Adventure Seeker / Nature Enthusiast / Memory Maker / Food / Wine / Fashion / Sleep

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