On Thanksgiving Day last year, November 24, 2011, I had been lying in a hospital bed for 17 days, hoping and praying that my babies would be able to continue to grow stronger.
It was lonely. I slept most of the day, in and out of a groggy state, wondering how much longer I would carry my babies and if either would live.
The nurses only came in if a baby was off the monitor, but other than that, it was quiet.
I watched the gray sky. I felt the movements, and I listened to the heartbeats. I slept.
I may have prayed. I may have talked to my girls. I probably cried.
I cursed this stupid disease. Twin to Twin Transfusion Syndrome. Why us?
At a little after 5pm my family arrived with some leftovers. I had no appetite.
While the family was there, one of the doctors came in to check the babies’ Dopplers. Since Baby B (Tiny) has intermittent absent end diastolic flow (basically with each of my heart beats she is supposed to be getting blood and fluids through her cord, but there are gaps, making it harder for her to grow) and they have told me if she starts to reverse the flow, we will have to deliver.
Thankfully the test showed no signs of reverse flow. I would stay pregnant for at least one more day.
Kathryn was big, fat, bloated with fluids, but moving around as if she was happy. Tiny was still difficult to find on the monitor, tiny, scrunched up under my hip bone.
My other children missed me. My son had been asking for his mommy all day. I grew sadder as each day passed that I was not with my son and daughter.
I was depressed, swollen, and the only thing that I could do to try and save my babies was to suck it up, lie in that bed, and hope for the best.
And be thankful that we had made it this far.
Thanksgiving 2012 was much better. At home, surrounded by family, home cooked meal, beautiful weather.
But where there should have been two babies crawling on the floor, there was only one.
My surviving twin. My heart. My constant reminder of what I have lost.
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