So, we conceived in April 2004. For the first 5 months, everything went pretty smoothly. Or at least as smoothly as it could for a woman carrying three babies at once. There were days that I had convinced myself that I was losing the babies because some of my pregnancy feelings would come and go. I would cry and cry for hours about it. Then there were days when I would have such awful gas and it would hurt so bad that I would be sure that it was killing the babies. My fertility doctor loved when I told him that one. He thought I was crazy. But how can you not be crazy and super emotional when you’ve tried for so long to have a baby. I find it so strange though, that instead of relishing in pregnancy, I kept going to the negative thoughts in thinking that it wasn’t going to happen.
At 20 weeks we found out that we were having THREE boys. I was petrified and excited all at the same time. It wasn’t a surprise. My husband was one of four boys and his father was one of five. I’ll never forget when they announced it to us during the ultrasound. My husband started to sing the theme song to the old TV show “My Three Sons”. He thinks he is just Mr. Comedian, just like his dad. I initially thought “What the heck? There has to be at least one girl in there! Who are I going to go shopping with? I’m not going to get to help plan a wedding? No cute girlie stuff?” I think I wrestled with the thought of all boys for probably about a week. Then, I remembered how lucky I was to be pregnant at all and I remembered that I wouldn’t have to pay for a wedding, deal with female hormones/puberty and I’d always get to be the princess of the house. Now, I think of my boys and I wouldn’t trade any of them for a girl. They are part of my soul.
After those first 20 weeks, the pregnancy was worse than I ever could have imagined. None of the books available explain in emotional terms, what could happen. I got extremely big, extremely fast. Because I am petite and Baby A’s head was pushing down directly onto my cervix, I had a really hard time carrying them for too long. At exactly 22 weeks, on Labor Day 2004, I went into preterm labor and was admitted to the hospital. Being in the hospital, flat on your back and pregnant was more horrific than I ever could have envisioned. Within a week of being in the antepartum wing of the hospital with all the other high risk pregnant women, my belly was measuring that of a 40 week, full term pregnancy. I was extremely uncomfortable. I had to lay on my left side for 9 weeks straight. I was not even allowed to get up to use the bathroom or take a shower for the first 3 weeks I was there because they were so concerned about me going into pre-term labor again. I ended up in Labor and Delivery three times because we didn’t think they were going to be able to stop the contractions. Fortunately, they always were. I was taking the drugs turbutaline and nifedipine daily. It was more drugs than I think I have ever taken in my entire life. I was hormonal, emotional and scared to death I was going to lose the babies. I dealt with a ton of emotional guilt because a lot of times I was so physically and emotionally spent that I just wanted it over. I wanted to go home. I missed my dogs. I missed my own bed. I missed sleeping in bed with my husband. The closest physicality we had was him helping me take a shower or use the restroom. I missed seeing the outside world. I missed having the sun shine on my face. I missed real food. I missed normal every day life. I just missed being me. I guess I really didn’t understand that what I thought of as the “real me” was about to end.
The doctors kept telling me that if I made it to 24 weeks then they could give me the steroid shot to help develop the babies lungs and that would be a wonderful milestone. Then I hit 24 weeks, and all of a sudden, now the goal is 28 weeks. Then it’s 32 weeks. It felt like it was a never ending goal. I missed Halloween and already felt like there was no way I could handle spending Thanksgiving and Christmas in that hospital bed too. I felt like I was going crazy. At one point, they had a psychiatrist come in to evaluate me. He kept saying that I was anxious and that he had a medication that would help with that. I remember screaming at him that I wasn’t anxious. I just wanted to go home! Oh boy, what a winner I must have looked like to him. Only now can I realize that I should have taken the damn medication!
During all of this, I was constantly in labor. I know that sounds strange but I had at least 4 contractions every hour for the next 63 days. Half the time the nurses and doctors would ask me how many I had and I would lie and tell them less because I didn’t want to go back to Labor and Delivery. L&D became this prison. Like the place that prisoners go when they are on death row. Sometimes I get upset that have such memories and feelings like that. I can’t even count how many times I had that thought pop in my head.
When I did go to L&D for the final time, I was 4 centimeters dialated and didn’t even know it. God willing, I was able to carry the babies to 30 weeks, 5 days. The medication no longer would work and the doctor told me what I had waited over 9 weeks to hear. “We’re going to have these babies today!” I was ecstatic. I couldn’t wait. For once, I actually wanted to go to L&D (the former prison). And I was so relieved that this was all going to be over that I didn’t have the time or the care to worry about complications, pain, anything. I just wanted them out.
I delivered all three boys by c-section on November 6, 2004. Baby A was born weighing 3 pounds, 4 ounces at 3:34 pm. At 3:35 and less than 30 seconds apart, Baby B arrived weighing 3 pounds, 3 ounces and Baby C weighed 3 pounds, 1 ounce. I saw them only for a split second and they were wheeled to the NICU with my husband by their side. I was totally drugged up and spent hours in recovery. My husband took lots of pictures of them and then went to dinner with his friends while I laid in bed drugged out of my mind. I actually still think sometimes that he should have been sitting there with me. But, heh, I was in seventh heaven. No pain. It was over!!! Hallelujah!
The next day, I was able to view them. I wasn’t expecting them to look so different. Their skin was very thin and they had this look that had me referring to them as “Little old Men”. The shock of seeing their fragile, small bodies rise and fall with the labor of their every breath was sometimes very hard to take. They were our children though and made it through so many hurdles. I had no idea though how many more hurdles we had before we would be able to take them home.
Posted by TripletMomma 
