Happy New Year

Scooter checking out the world.


Skippy and I hanging out.

Phew! What a couple of weeks we have had.

The boys are doing well. But they have certainly give us quite a few more gray hairs.

We had two meningitis scares. Both of which turned out negative. But not before they had to have lumbar punctures. Mommy bawled her eyes out over that.

Scooter had to have surgery to put a clamp on his PDA, a duct that moves blood across the lungs while they are still in the womb that is suppose to close after birth. Up there as one of the longest hours of my life. Thankfully, he came through surgery just fine and he has recovered nicely.

Both boys went back on the ventilator. This is apparently normal for micro preemies, as they get tired and remembering to breathe and pump their heart is a lot of work for the little guys. So the vent gives them a rest. But both are extubated now, and after a few scary hours of watching their little chests move up and down and watching the monitors for every little dip, they have gotten back in the swing of things. Let me tell you, those seconds where you are waiting for them to take another breath are insane. It is amazing how many thoughts can run through your mind and how many prayers you can say.

They are both back on breast milk feeds and increasing in volume everyday, which will help them put on weight. As of today, they are at 1.9 and 1.10 lbs. So they are both over their birth weight by a few ounces. Yeah! I know that doesn't sound like much, but on these little dudes, it's tons. You can see in the pictures that they are starting to fill out nicely.

They have quite the personalities and being their Mommy, I think every little movement is adorably fascinating. They are so cute when they yawn those huge Grand Canyon wide yawns.


Scooter likes to be curled up tight best, and Skippy is still Mr. Wiggles. In fact, one of the nurses nicknamed him Wildman. Both like to sleep on their bellies, just like their mommy and they like to hold my hand just like their daddy.

Happy Birthday!

Happy Birthday, Caele Bug!

Today, my youngest step-daughter turns the big seven.



She wanted to go to Mamacita's for her birthday dinner, so the family and friends that live near by all meet there last Saturday. Personally, I suspect her decision was based on the big sombrero they plop on your head while all the wait staff sing. An experience I would rather do without, but she loved every minute of it. She "finally" got a DS and would probably have slept with it if it hadn't need to charge. Her Great-Aunt Sharon, Aunt Amber, Uncle Randall, and Cousin Bailee got her her own baseball glove. She has had a blast playing catch with Lelia and Brian. Grandma Linda and I have had quite the blast watching her get the hang of it. As everyone knows, Caele does everything full throttle, and spends much of her catching flying through the air. She has taken several bumps to the nose and chin and keeps telling Lelia to not aim for her body. Although we aren't sure where she wants her to aim.

On Sunday, the boys had a birthday of sorts themselves--one week. They continue to thrive. Still breathing on their own. Hearts and brains still looking good. Skippy's white blood cells are a little high, so they are running tests to see if he might have an infection somewhere. We should have results this afternoon. They have graduated from taking 1 ml of breast milk in their tubes to 3 and 5 mls.

Both Brian and I have gotten to touch them, which we were dying to do, but very nervous and hesitant about. But it was amazing. I immediately started bawling and that scared the nurse half to death. She kept asking, "Are you okay?" I finally got out that I was and it was a happy cry. Yesterday, I got to hold them for a few seconds. My cousin Amber took pictures and as soon as she emails them to me, I'll post them. I also got to change their diapers, which of course are tiny. But the really funny part is that they have NO butts. They look like little frogs and the only thing besides the diaper tape holding up their diapers are their bent knees.





Don't you just love their little hats. They were made by a volunteer organization called "Threads of Love". They sew, knit, and crochet blankets, hats, and pillows for preemies and then give care packages to each preemie when they're born along with their prayers. Isn't that lovely?

Jenna

Surprise

After five days, I still can't believe it, but it's true. The twins were born on Sunday at 7:32 pm at twenty-four weeks and two days of gestation. Despite all our efforts to keep those cute little buns in the oven, there was just no stopping them. I will post later the events that lead up to their debut, but for now, I wanted to give everyone an update on how my guys are doing.

I am ecstatic to tell you that they are doing fantastic. Skippy (Owen Patrick) weighed in at 1.9 lbs and is 12 ¼ inches long. He has light brown hair and blond eyebrows. He has continued his constant wiggling and is happiest when all his limbs are spread every which way. Which now that he is no longer in the vicinity of my bladder, makes me chuckle. Scooter (Griffin Sawyer) followed at 1.6 lbs and 11 ¾ inches. He has dark curly hair, his daddy's feet, and the longest eyelashes I have ever seen. He remains Mr. Mellow, until he gets tired of people messing with him. They resembled little old men with their scrawniness and wrinkles, but already their hands and feet are beginning to fill out and get that pinchable chubbiness. Both boys have been taken off the ventilator and are breathing on their own, which is truly amazing. They continue to receive oxygen through that little tube that sits on their noses. Apparently, the oxygen level in a normal room is 20%. Skippy's level is at 21% and Scooter's is at 24%, so soon neither will need to have oxygen at all and they will be breathing completely on their own. Obviously, this is a miracle and one we are extremely grateful for. And the miracles just keep coming. Their brain scans show no blood pooling. Their heart scans show no murmurs or defects. Skippy's eyes are open and are the normal baby blue. Scooter, on the other hand, hasn't opened his eyes yet. But then again, with those eyelashes, he's probably going to need a crane to help him out. They sound like little baby kittens when they cry, which is pitiful and adorable all at the same time. And I have been reassured they will gain plenty of volume in the future. Yesterday, they had their first baths. Neither enjoyed the experience very much, but then again, they are boys, so not all that surprising. Both have moved from intravenous feedings, to taking breast milk from feeding tubes. At first Skippy's tummy didn't like it, but now he is keeping it down and he had a good little poop. (Oh the things we talk about as parents. But hey, at least we know all that equipment works.) Scooter's introduction to breast milk happened this afternoon, so we will see how he does.

Many people have asked if they will get to come home before Christmas. Sadly, they won't this year, but I have made myself feel better about this by thinking that they won't know it's Christmas anyway. But I'll know, and I am dreading that aspect of what has always been my favorite holiday. I hold onto the hope of them being at home next year. But I also feel that having them still alive in this world is the best present I have ever been given. And I could easily go the rest of my life without another gift after having the honor of being these little guys' mom.

I hope you get your heart's desire this Season of Love, Hope and Joy. I know that I have.

Jenna

Back home

I am back home, in my own bed and in my own PJs. Yeah. There really isn't anything like a trusty old pair of Frosty the Snowman PJs. You know those PJs where the elastic gave out too many years ago to count and the fabric is ultra soft from the zillion trips through the washer. AAAHHH. So much better than the ratty, rough, paper thin gown they give you at the hospital with the classic flash the butt back.

First, I want to say a huge “Thank you” to everyone who called or emailed to check on me and my guys. I appreciate your prayers and best wishes more than I can say.

So, yes, they did the cerclage. There was really no other choice. Normally, a cervix at this point in a pregnancy would be about four centimeters in length, sealed up tight. Or make a fist and look at your curled fingers. Looking down at the side of your index finger gives you an idea of the end. Well, last week, when they checked me, it would be as if your index and your middle finger were pulled away, leaving only two fingers left curled and holding in 3 lbs of babies and somewhere in the neighborhood of 6 lbs of amniotic fluid and placenta and stuff. When I went in on Monday morning, I was down to .9 of a centimeter. So that's down to a little pinkie and even it was beginning to pull away. Leaving (as seen on the ultrasound screen) Skippy's head to float on down out of my uterus and into the canal left in the wake of my fleeing cervix. Obviously, not where the little guy should be hanging out.

So into the OR I went. Surgery is never fun and always seems very surreal, no matter how much reality TV you watch. Ask expectant mother about her fears and labor/delivery will come up. Or rather the pain of the event and pain management. Some are really all for the natural experience. Me, not so much. I would just like to not be a ninny and wimp out. So the day I found out I was pregnant, I had called and ordered my epidural. And since, I have told every doctor that has seen me (one of the many joys of military medicine is the swinging door of docs) that I want drugs for this experience. So I have done my reading and looked at the disturbingly graphic photos of what an epidural involves. Just a little scary, but I figured million of women have survived and it is only one day of my life. Well, up until now, that moment where they would be sticking a needle between my vertebrae and into my spinal column seemed reassuringly months off. No need to panic yet. Plenty of time to give myself the pep talk. But nope, on Monday morning, I found myself hunched over on a gurney in a freezing cold OR being told to “not move” while this complete stranger stands over me, pushing on my back, in preparation of stabbing me with a sharp object. Then come the question, all medical staff asks to distract a pregnant women. “So have you picked out names yet?” I'm thinking, like you really want to know? I know this trick. Can't we talk about this later? I could be paralyzed here in two seconds. But I am beyond relieved to tell you that is wasn't too bad. Actually, the IV being put in hurt worse. The fact that the girl who did it looked twelve and was shaking didn't help that matter any. The bad part about the other was he missed the first two times and his boss had to come numb me up again and start over. Geez.

I will most definitely not relay a step by step description of the operation. So don't panic. But I will say that the position in which you lay or rather they move you in is reminiscent of some really advanced yoga class pose of which you are pretty certain you have never achieved before. I was full of that strange mix of horror and pride that my body was capable of this. The only other human I've actually seen pull it off is an infant whose bones haven't quite solidified. So anyway, they did there thing and then sent me off to recover.

During which time it was discovered that morphine has no effect on me. NONE. So despite the jab in the hip, 10 cc felt like, well, a jab in the hip. I hung in there for the hour and a half until they could give me some lovely Percocet and then life wasn't so bad considering. Best of all, the boys did great. Their heartbeats remained steady the entire process and they were happy to just hang out. Which Mommy was very grateful for. Obviously, that they hadn't been distressed and my water hadn't broke was fantastic, but also that they didn't think it was WWF time was fabulous as well. My poor little uterus was NOT ready for any kind of smack down.

We did have one little scare. I was losing fluid and it was thought for a moment or two that my water had after all decided to make a break. Ha. But it turn out to be left over from surgery stuff. They, of course, could only determined that after a 3 a.m.exam in which they had to look up there using the horrid duck lip thing. Just another opportunity to practice my breathing.

But for the moment, we three are doing fine. I have my pain pills, pills to stop me from going into labor, my own pillow and another week of bed rest. The twins are currently practicing Kung Fu. Probably brought on by the yummy piece of pound cake my sweet daughter Lelia made for me. And despite the soreness, each little jab and kick pleases me.

Jenna

Here we go

The last three times I've spoken on the phone with my dad, he has suggested that I start a blog. In my head, I have poo pooed this idea, thinking, "Do we really need another blog in the world?" But he has been persistent, arguing that it would be a great way for everyone to keep updated on the twins. And here we come to the real reason he has been so insistent on me posting my thoughts out into the ether. It is not that I am full of profound thoughts. Nope, in fact, my maternal mind is astoundingly forgetful these day. It is not that I lead an amazingly interesting life. Laundry, dishes, taxi service, nag. It is that I'm currently lugging around twin boys in my belly. That's right. TWIN. BOYS.

Upon hearing this, most people feel compelled to say, "Better you than me," or some other negative comment, like I've just announced I am carrying the spawn of Satan. Which, quite frankly, I find offensive. However, I try to let it go in one ear and out the other, along with all the really scary labor stories people feel compelled to tell me. I'll be perfectly honest.
When the doctor said I was having twins, I sat up and told him to "Shut UP!" and then proceeded to say "Holy Shit" for the next two weeks. But it wasn't that I wasn't happy that there would be two, but rather, that I was trying to figure out how to afford two of EVERYTHING a baby needs and how do you feed two, and hold two, and change two. You get it, right, TWO. Yikes. But it was a good Yikes. Especially as the road to conception had been long, bumpy and painful. And now that I've read every book on twins written in the last fifty years and joined a support group, the prospect of two seems perfect. I can't imagine having just one.

They have been affectionately dubbed Scooter and Skippy or Skippito. For those of you who are parents, yes, that is a reference to Skippy Jon Jones aka Skippito Friskito, the great sword fighter. For those of you who just said, "Huh?" You need to google him. He will make you bust out laughing. And noooo, we aren't really going to name them these names. I can just see it now, "Do you Skippy Wallace take so and so to be your lawful wedded wife?" Geez. But they had to be called something until we could whittle the name list down to a reasonable size of a hundred.

This is my first, and to be honest, most likely my last trip down the pregnancy lane. From the beginning, it hasn't gone, shall we say, smoothly. I have come to the conclusion that I will never reach the part of this journey where I am not worried or in pain. First, there was the "why can't we get pregnant" part, followed by a crazy round of painful and intrusive tests and exams. Note: if anyone ever tells you a HSG test will not hurt, they are lying. I felt like one of those cartoon cats who rocketed to the ceiling and was hanging there from it's claws. I'll spare you from any further details, but if you want to know about it, there is always good old google.

Moving on, once we found out why I wasn't getting pregnant, Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome--your eggs form cyst around them and can't fit down your tubes and eventually explode inside your ovaries. Sounds like fun, huh. Sorry, maybe I should have told you to google that too. Anyway, I began a round of clomide, a nice little pill you take for ten days. First and second round of clomide were a bust. In the infertility world, you get three shots at most treatment before they up the ante. So I knew going into round three, if we didn't strike it rich, the next step was going to involve sharp objects and the doctor being present at conception instead of my handsome husband. So I had a serious talk with my body, explaining it was time to get it together. Sadly, we were told round three was a bust as well. Apparantly there was no big O--ovulation that is. This left me with the decision of wether to accept my infertility, walk away and mourn. After all I had two wonderful step-daughters. Or to take the next sure to be painful step. While I was still deciding, I was requested to come in and give another gallon of blood so they could monitor my hormones. A week later, the nurse called me and said I was pregnant. I felt the stab to my heart, and politely explained that she must be looking at the results incorrectly because that was impossible. She insisted she was right and I made her check three times. I still didn't believe her and went in the next day for a retest. Shock and delight don't even begin to cover it.

And just when you think the worry and pain ends, ha. It was straight into the "please, please don't have a miscarriage" portion. To be pleasantly accompanied by the "throw up you toenails everyday, all day" portion. Currently, I am in the not so bad part. Except that last week, week 22, during my ultrasound, it was discovered that I am already dialating. Warning: this may be too much info, feel free to skip to the next paragraph. My cervix is shortening. My doctor has been monitoring it and will decide tomorrow whether or not to do a cervical cerclage. This is where they put in stitches so you don't continue to dialate. Yes, they put in STITCHES--THERE. The idea of them sewing my woohoo shut makes me want to hurl.

But enduring this procedure is a much more appealing option than going into preterm labor. Now at 23 weeks, my little guys weigh in at 1.3 and 1.1 lbs and althought there is some chance of them surviving labor, the chances aren't ones I would take to Vegas or anywhere else for that matter. If I can get them to week 28, they have a 90% chance. But that would also include a nice long NICU stay. If I could get them to week 34, we'd be great. So as you can see, we are in another worry and painful portion of this journey.

I'll keep you posted. For now, I am following doctor's bedrest orders and keeping my fingers crossed unil tomorrow.

Jenna