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.

 

Kicking, not yet screaming

Yesterday, we felt it for the first time. As we sat in the cold watching the Phillies lose to the Nationals, a hard little bump formed just below my rib cage. A foot? A hand? It lasted a minute and then went away.

I've been feeling them on the inside for a couple of days now. Today, I can feel the one on top (medically referred to as Baby B) making little jabs at the same spot. Very active kid. Mike thinks it's a boy. The one on the bottom is harder to feel through my belly. But, at band practice the other night, it (she?) was moving around quite a bit, dancing or perhaps really annoyed.

Very exciting. You go through all this crap that makes pregnancy seem like just a long series of calamities. Then, you start to feel that they are alive and it makes all the bloating and heartburn not so bad. I am starting to feel that the worst of babydom is probably not so bad either.

A lesson in the magic of hormones

There is no shortage of fascinating changes occurring in the pregnant body. One that, despite the warnings in the books, I was not quite prepared for is how much my gums bleed. I mean, gush like I just stepped out of an ultimate fighting ring. And, I kind of have to floss because my gums get cranky and will bleed even if I don't touch them. I went through a quart of Listerine in a month, trying to rinse that ferrous taste from my mouth.

Here's why it happens : all the extra hormones loosen the membranes and the muscles in the body. It makes sense. You're stretching. You're adding blood and other fluids. All that needs somewhere to go. Your blood vessels, lungs, and abdominal muscles need to be able to expand quickly. Thank you hormones for making this possible.

On the downside, some tissue that does not need to expand does. That would be your gums. Oh, and yeah- there's also all that extra blood in your body. Good luck with that.

It's all in the legs

Gravity... the arch enemy of the pregnant woman.  As skinny as I have been my whole life, I have not avoided the leg swelling made famous by gestation. Do other mammals swell like humans when pregnant? I can't imagine what it feels like to be a knocked up horse. They sleep standing up.

Basically, we women with child have a whole lot more blood than our former selves- about twice as much by the time the child is done with us. And, as you might imagine, most of that finds its way to our lower limbs as the day goes on. Thus, the kankles, the spider veins, the cramping, etc..

I'm still working (building cabinets). I have about three good hours in the morning before I feel totally exhausted and my feet start throbbing, regardless of what I'm working on. Surprisingly, I'm more mobile than I was a few weeks ago, probably because the uterus moves up and out, allowing for less crowding in the lower abdomen. Nonetheless, bending over is literally a pain. Sometimes, I feel like gravity is conspiring against me, slyly pushing writing implements to the floor so that I have to double over for a mere pencil.

Crystal Balls

Undoubtedly, now that we are sure that the uterus does not wander and that orgasms are not just between a crazy woman and her doctor, it's safe to proclaim that books on female reproductive health are fairly accurate these days. In fact, our species knows so much about the subject, reading one of these books is a lot like going to see a psychic. Every week is laid out for you in extreme, clairvoyant detail. You will feel sick this week, crampy the next, and great three weeks later. On this day, you shall feel a kick, find out the gender, experience this or that profound feeling. It's both comforting and totally creepy. Why doesn't this kind of book exist for adolescence?

Then, there are the real psychics- moms. I recently ran into a friend of mine as she was out walking her dog and her one month old girl. She gleefully, I dare say even sadistically, said, "It's really, really, really hard. Harder than you think it will be. You've got two. I feel sorry for you."

Hmm. I haven't imagined that first month being especially easy. I'd like to think that I have a pretty clear picture of it: me, half asleep, reclined on a mound of pillows in bed trying to get two screaming infants to latch on at the same time. Later: me, almost totally asleep, tandem diaper changing, laying the little guys in their crib, cranking some Steve Reich on the iPod, then putting in some ear plugs so I can do what my body is telling me to do.

But, the psychic is telling me that I have it all wrong. She has said that there will be no more me. I will devolve into a blithering, incomprehensible mess of womb-man, incapable of controlling the situation nor defining the terms- a mindless being with shattered crystal balls.

The book doesn't tell us this part. It talks about the labor, the post-partum blues, the recovery, positions for breastfeeding. Nowhere does it say that I will be destroyed by this. At this part of the story, the book that has been so accurate gets very foggy.

The Honeymoon

Firmly in my second trimester, I find pregnancy to be a little less annoying. Well, except that my belly is growing exponentially, I feel like I'm going to herniate something every time I bend over, my legs are turning into spider-veined sausages, and I am still terrified when I envision my future life.

Sometimes, I find myself already in love with Nick and Nack, imagining cuddling them as infants and making claymation movies with them when they are kidnergarteners. I see all the good things to come. 

Then, I feel a swell of panic as the reality of parenting consumes my pretty dreams. C section. A hundred and forty diapers a week. No sleep for a year. A house full of toys. Disney movies. Bullies. Boring as shit T Ball games. Ballet recitals. College funds. Or, maybe none of the above. Maybe Ritalin, expulsion from school, drug habits, prison visits. Perhaps both, as I have two imaginary futures to consider.

I have no idea what I am doing. This seemed like a good idea. Now I just feel in way over my head.