Changes

Every major turning point in my pregnancy has been sudden. No gradual shifts. Just big, bold changes. By the time I could really feel a kick, the kicking was non-stop. Two days ago, I saw the kick. My whole belly jumped. Now, it's like snakes under my skin-- and they're only a foot long and a pound and a half. I can't imagine how surreal it will be when they are big. I've been told that I will be able to count toes through my skin. I'm hoping for twenty.

The Question

Swiss cheese. That's what my unborn kid's chest looks like. Today we went for our second of many weekly sonograms to keep tabs on his lung cysts and, even to the untrained eye, the multitude of negative spaces populating his chest cavity are terrifying. But, the doctor reassured us that this was to be expected. These things get worse before they get better. Totally reassuring, doc. I'm left feeling completely at ease. Um, no...

But, his heart still beats. His brother has spun around so that they are face to face. I'd like to think this was on purpose, to lend some comfort. Seeing that they are now both head down explains a lot of the aching I've been feeling in my lower pelvis for the past few days. One mystery explained.

I try not to be scared. What would be the point? There's nothing I can do about it. Just wait and see. Trust the doctors. Go to my appointments. Hope for the best. Put it out of my mind and focus on other things. But, it's always there, looming. The question. What if it all goes horribly wrong?

Battle Royale

The mass in Mr. A's chest is pretty big. After only a couple of hours of ultrasound observation, even I could look at the squirmer being examined and see that something was awfully wrong with his chest. Large black holes orbit his heart. The technician marked the outline of one and typed, "Largest cyst, 1 cm". Largest. Meaning there are more. 

After eight hours of testing and waiting, a platoon of white coats sat us down to explain that the mass-to-baby ration is within the "don't panic just yet" zone- 1.2. At 1.6, we panic. So, he's got some time to cook before we'll really know what we're dealing with. One thing is most certain- the boy can kick.

Mr. B, the quiet one, has just started to make his presence known in my womb. He is feet down (breech). So, you an imagine where he might be kicking. Sometimes, it's my bladder. Sometimes my colon or, even more tickley, my cervix. The MRI tech referred to the spectacle within me as a "battle royale". Lots of sibling rivalry. We are going to need a much bigger house.

The scientist

I've always thought of myself as having a scientific perspective on life and why it is the way it is. Gather information, test hypothesis, make conclusions. My way of dealing with crisis might come across as cold to some people. But, it's really because I want to understand the problem, consider the possibilities, attempt solutions, and be in charge or my own fate. Nothing is inevitable, just probable or improbable.

So, I have been reserving judgement on our situation until tomorrow, when the tests and expert advice show preference toward one conclusion above all others. Yet, I can't help but to have expectations. It's a dangerous beginning for a scientist, to prefer one particular outcome, because the reality is sure to not align with my desire. I expect that there will be a "wait and see, low likelihood of danger" prognosis, which of course means that I am not prepared for the other possibilities.

Several times, Mike has mentioned that he wishes he believed in some higher power right now, something to divert his fear about losing our babies and make him have faith that things happen for a reason. I think that, if I did believe in god, this might be the point at which I stop believing. I mean, what god would do something like that? What would be the reason? It wouldn't make me stronger or teach me any important lesson or give me some sublime insight into the workings of the universe. It would simply make me hate god, and I'm pretty sure that's not what the great intelligent designer would be going for.

No. It's all numbers. We just happen to be on the light side of probability at the moment.

Welcome to the Terrordome

Week 20 anatomy scan. It's a concise way of saying "the ultrasound where you get a good look at your 5 month old fetus". Or, in our case, the day you realize that having babies can be utterly terrifying. Two very unexpected things were discovered in our scan two days ago.

 1) we are having IDENTICAL BOYS. We had been told in our first ultrasound that they each had their own placenta and were, therefore, most likely fraternal. Now, we know that they share a placenta - a situation that brings its own set of potential complications - and that they are identical. More importantly, they are both boys. Man, are we screwed.

2) one of the twins has a very serious developmental problem- cysts in a lung. There are a lot of things that can go wrong here, especially because right next to the sick fetus is a perfectly healthy one whose outcome might be compromised should the sick one get sicker. Primarily, the concern is that the cyst will get bigger and push on the heart until it can no longer beat. In the one of several worst case scenarios, they will operate to remove the tissue in utero.  That's right-- inside of me. Again, the fact that the two babes share a placenta makes this extremely complicated.

We are being referred to Children's Hospital here in Philadelphia for a battery of tests and meetings with every possible kind of fetal, neonatal, and pediatric specialist. It is, so we have come to understand, the best facility in the country to treat this rare disease. In just about every instance where there has been a probability quoted, like 1 in 250 (the chances of having identical twins) or 1 in 30,000 (the likelihood of this cyst problem), we have been that one. The only lucky improbability is that we happen to live in the city in which the best possible place to get treatment is located.  We are, much thanks to good insurance, about to enter the world of ultra-modern (and ultra-expensive) medicine. 

I started this blog to talk about some of the realities of having twins, minus the delicate sugar coating with which so many books and websites patina the subject. So, here you go. Welcome to the Terrordome.

The Mirror

Sometimes I forget that I am pregnant. From my perspective, looking down, my belly does not seem that big. It just seems like I have been drinking too much beer.  Then, I catch a reflection of myself and realize how unmistakenly knocked up I really am. Other mornings, I wake up and roll out of bed thinking it's just another day. Then I see my naked, bulging self in the mirror and think, "Oh, yeah, right. I've got two people in me." Not an average day for anyone.

Two. One for each tit. One for each arm. One for AM, one for PM. One for good, one for bad. The question is, will there be two of us to take care of them? Sometimes, you take a step back and look at your life only to discover that it is not what you had expected it to be. I'm a daughter of the Womens' Lib movement, a 70's girl who was raised to resist the feminine and avoid the pitfalls of my mother's generation. Yet, when I assess my situation, I realize that I do almost all the cooking, absolutely all the cleaning, all the laundry, and all other things domestic in my home while running a custom cabinet business- more than a full time job. We really have made no progress.

If my sixteen year old self could have seen a picture of me right now, she probably would have committed suicide.