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