First, I want to apologize that I’ve taken so long to update this blog with a new posting. Writing about our experience kind of makes me feel like I’m reliving it. A lot of what I felt I didn’t really remember until I forced myself too so I could write these posting. So, again, I apologize for delaying the next entry to this blog.

After the three, long, long days of waiting to hear from the boys head neonatologist, we finally sat down in a very sterile, teaching room close to the NICU, to review the ultrasounds with the doctor. I’ll never forget how scared I was. I kind of felt like I was in an out of body experience. They had these little desks spread throughout the room. My mother, mother-in-law, husband and myself all went to attend the meeting. Each one of us sat at the back of the room along the back of the wall in these little desks. There was a large space between us and the neonatologist. He was at the front of the room so he could display the ultrasound films on the light board on the opposite wall.

I think that before the doctor even began discussing the findings, I started to check out. It was too much to take. I kept thinking that we shouldn’t have been there. This isn’t what was supposed to happen. I just wanted to bolt. I wanted to get out of that room and I couldn’t. So, he started showing us in the pictures. It was awful. There was all this whiteness to the pictures and I knew that it really was a Grade IV bleed. The bleeding into the ventricles has resulted in a decreased blood supply to other parts of the brain, causing ischemic damage with subsequent bleeding.

Then, he began the prognosis. It scared me to death. The one thing that I heard that stuck in my head was “Cerebral Palsy”. I couldn’t get away from it. I knew what that meant. Other words he used included paralysis, hydrocephalus, life-long neurological deficits, developmental delay, seizures and even death. I knew what his life would end up being. I kept telling myself that I didn’t just spend 9 weeks flat on my back cooking those babies inside of me to have such a negative outcome for one of our children. Then I started to cry. Besides the voice of the endocrinologist speaking, it was deathly quiet. My jolting sobs sounded three times as loud as they were because of the quiet. The doctor was a very gentle man. He truly cared about Matthew’s outcome. At the end of the conversation, he gave us a glimmer of hope. He made a small statement that there are a very small, tiny percentage of babies who do have the bleed discontinue and the blood absorbs into the brain. If this happens, there is a minute chance that the baby could come out of it without any major problems. That was all we needed to hear. We grabbed at that hope and we took it and began to spread it to all of our family and friends. Matthew had half of our state praying for him.

Matthew – Baby A

Jack – Baby B

Christopher – Baby C

Hi Everybody. I know it’s been a while. Writing that last post took a lot out of me and I’ve felt a little drained. But yesterday was Mother’s Day and I know I needed to continue this chapter of our life.

After I stood there for about five minutes sobbing, I immediately went into survival mode. I needed my husband. He was my lifeline. He was my rock. I left the NICU to call him in the NICU waiting room. He immediately left work and sped down to the hospital to join his father and myself. He wanted to hear it all from the doctor himself. He wanted to be able to process it firsthand from the staff. When he arrived, he went back into the NICU and he told our son’s nurse that he would like to speak to the doctor about our son’s condition. Within a few minutes, an intern emerged, not the neonatologist on for the day. The intern proceeded to tell my husband that the neonatologist was not going to be able to come out to talk to him and that there really isn’t any information that they can give us until the head radiologist does a thorough evaluation of the ultrasound scans. He told us at that time, our son’s head neonatologist would request a meeting with us to review the scans. My husband was furious that such a serious problem that a family needed to ask questions about had to be answered by an intern who, himself, was not very knowledgeable about the situation.

While all of this was going on, I remember sitting in a rocking chair next to our baby’s isolette. He looks so perfect. So beautiful. He looked just like my husband’s baby pictures. He had been the strong one that had been sitting on my cervix and caused so much of my preterm labor. He had wanted out so bad. He looked like such an angel all curled up in his isolette. He was nice and warm and content. It seemed so unreasonable that he had such horrific damage done on the inside of his head. I remember that I kept looking at his head. I became fixed on it. I was looking for any sign that might show that it was there. I felt like if I couldn’t see it, then maybe it wasn’t true. Maybe it was another baby’s scan and it had just gotten mixed up somehow.

After a few hours, I started to go numb. I realized that this was real. It was not a joke. It was really happening. Then, I started to shut down. I had been in tremendous pain from the c-section and had been doing way to much walking around. I’m sure that the stress also contributed to my health that day as well. I went to the bathroom and discovered extremely large clots being passed. Some where even the size of golf balls. I knew that this probably was not a good thing. But I was turning myself off from reality. I couldn’t deal with it. My husband drove me home and I remember just walking through the door and going straight to the bedroom downstairs that I had been sleeping in the night before. I laid down and just froze. My husband says that I just stared out in space. I felt like I just had to run. I was running away in my head. If I ran away, then everything that was happening with our precious boy, would go away. I was like a zombie. No emotion. No speech. No life. I felt dead. I know that this isn’t rational thinking. But it was the coping mechanism that I felt like I needed. I had been through so much in the last 6 years. I couldn’t believe that this was really happening.

My husband knew that I was shutting down. He sat down on the bed next to me and kept saying my name trying to get me to respond. He kept saying it over and over. Then he kept saying, “Please don’t do this. I need you. The babies need you. I can’t do this without you. You have to be strong. You have to be brave. Everything is going to be okay.”

What? How can I be strong anymore? I felt like I had been run over by a big rig truck with everything I had gone through. My body was numb. My mind was numb. I just wanted to curl up in a ball and run from it all. I didn’t want to have to feel. At least for a little while. Didn’t I deserve that? Wasn’t that understandable?

But my husband needed me too. It wasn’t fair to him. He needed support just as much as I did. He had been the rock and positive one for the last 9 weeks. Now he was feeling the weight of it all as well. We needed to be there for each other. We needed to be the team we had always been in our relationship. I sat up in bed and put my arms around him. We just sat there crying on each others shoulder for quite some time. We vowed to be strong for our son. Strong for all our little men and strong for each other. We would have to wait for 3 days now for the ultrasound reviews. THREE DAYS! It felt like an eternity.

Knowing what this next post was to entail, I have prolonged writing it. I apologize for that.

The entire time I was on long term bed rest in the hospital, all the doctors and nurses kept telling me that if I just could make it past 28 weeks, that it would be wonderful. So, I did that. I made it to just 2 days short of 31 weeks. The day after I was discharged from the hospital, I went to the NICU with my father-in-law. I couldn’t drive myself and he was nice enough to drive me in to see the boys. At this point, the boys had been in this world for about 5 days. I was so excited to see the boys. I remember walking in to that NICU with such anticipation and positivity. Today was going to be a good day. But as I stood there, I could sense a strangeness in the air. Something was not right.

Then, the neonatologist on for the day, approached me. I’ll never forget the dryness of his voice. It was monotone. It was unemotional. It was lifeless. “We did Matthew’s first routine head ultrasound and it revealed that he has had a Grade 4 Intraventricular Brain Hemorrhage on the right side of his brain. We don’t know what is going to happen. We’re just going to have to watch him.” Excuse me? No, no, no. This isn’t possible. He was fine. I made it to almost 31 weeks. Everyone said he was going to be okay. What the hell is going on???? I remember that the NICU sent over a Parent Handbook to read while I was on bed rest at the hospital before I delivered. I remember reading that section. I knew what the diagnosis usually entailed.

Intraventricular Brain Hemorrhages, also known as bleeding in the brain is most common within the first 3 days of birth and in very premature babies especially a baby who is born weighing less than 3.5 lbs or born before 32 weeks. This bleeding happens because the brain of a premature baby is very immature and because of that immaturity, the fragile blood vessels will rupture easily. The smaller the premature baby is, the greater the chances of IVH occuring in the baby. There are four different levels of IVH depending on the amount of bleeding in the brain. The first two levels are the most common and usually do not cause identifiable brain injury. The body slowly absorbs the blood. The third level is when the ventricles of the brain are becoming enlarged and the fourth level is when the bleeding begins to seep into the tissues of the brain. This bleeding into the brain can cause damage to the tissue inside the brain. Level 3 and level 4 are very serious and can cause permanent brain injury. When permanent damage does occur, some long term problems have been associated with the damage. Some of these problems can be hydrocephalus, cerebral palsy, speech problems, vision difficulties, trouble with motor skills, learning and memory obstacles, attention disorders and behavioral issues. .

I remember for one split second wondering where the camera was. I was on candid camera, right? How is this at all possible? Then I remember looking around the room. The nurses had moved away, looked away. For the last 5 days they had been so friendly. So positive. Now, I felt as if our family had the plague. To contain myself, all I could do was wrap my arms around my father-in-law and sob. I had to sob. What else was there? I could feel the eyes on me. The stares and pity. Where were the hugs? Where were the words of encouragement? Where was the understanding for a new mother in pain for what may lay ahead for her child when so many of these women were mothers themselves? To make matters worse, the doctor left and I was standing there with unanswered questions. I needed answers. I needed to know exactly what he had laid in front of him so we could plan. I was a planner. I was a control freak. And I had no control, no way to plan. I felt helpless.

Coming from a mother of multiples (especially 3 or more), you know that your children have a really good chance of spending time in the NICU after they are born. Nothing really prepared me though for the actual NICU. Not only did I have 3 very frail children there with all kinds of tubes and electronic equipment hooked up to them which scared the hell out of me, but I also had the atmosphere of the NICU. There are sick babies everywhere. You constantly here the beeping sounds of babies machines for issues such as a bradacardia spell or apnea. Their medication dispension machine could be low, etc. Every time I heard one, it freaked me out. I guess I was just hoping that it wouldn’t feel so clinical. I had just come from 63 days in my own hospital room with machines, tubes, medications, shots, etc. I was just exhausted and wanted a change of scenery. Obviously, that wasn’t going to happen any time soon.  

We named our beautiful babies Matthew, Jack and Christopher. During my first few visits with the boys, I was in extreme pain. I had a hard time moving from my wheelchair to the hard wooden rocking chairs that they had available for us. It was so strange seeing these little tiny babies laying in three separate isolettes. Christopher was actually in the next cubicle down from Matthew and Jack. My wheelchair could not get through that space between the two cubicles so I had to get up to spend time with Christopher. Still fresh from a c-section the day before, I spent a lot of time keeled over in pain while trying to understand what was being done to each of my boys. At this point, I was not allowed to hold them either. This may seem odd but I didn’t want to either. As excited as I was to have them here in this world, I was also very reserved in becoming attached to them. I was so afraid that something might happen to them but I found it really hard to bond with them. I would sing to them, rub their backs, take lots of pictures, etc. But I really had a hard time connecting or allowing each of them to flood my heart with love. I was scared to death that something might happen. I didn’t want to hurt anymore than I already had. I was mentally and physically spent.

I was able to stay in the hospital from Saturday (the day they were born) until late, late Wednesday night. At that point, I had to pack up my life at what had become like home, and go back to my real home. I had to leave my 3 little angels in someone else’s care. I was petrified. I’ll never forget that night in bed trying to sleep. (Sleeping with a large incision in your belly makes it near impossible to sleep on your side and my ass was killing me trying to sleep on my back.) Not only was I not able to sleep in my normal position, but I started to have a panic attack. I actually missed the hospital. I missed my nurses. I missed my roommate who identified with everything I was going through. I missed my call button in case I needed or was worried about anything. I remember sitting up and beginning to cry hysterically. My husband was so incredibly hurt. After 3 months of sleeping separately, I was finally home and able to cuddle in his arms and all I wanted was to go back to the hospital. It had become a safety net. My second home. It blows my mind that I was even thinking that way. I hated the hospital. I hated the loneliness. I hated the food. But that hospital and it’s staff saved my babies lives. What the hell was happening to me? I had such a hard time dealing with all these different emotions, besides the fact that I had 3 babies in the NICU too.

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.

I once started a blog on another blog site but I didn’t really talk in depth about my life. It was more of the fluff stuff. My life for the last 4 years have been quite a physical and emotional rollercoaster. Someone suggested to me that blogging about how it feels daily to be the mother of triplets might be a good thing for me, and on the flip side, maybe I might be able to reach out to others who may be going through similar life experiences. So here’s my story:

My husband and I tried for six years to have a baby. Within the first three years, we did all the usual basic first steps of infertility treatment. We had a Hysterosalpingogram (HSG) to rule out any blockage in my fallopian tubes. That came up normal. Then I had a laparoscopy surgery to rule out endometriosis. They found one of my ovaries had attached itself to the uterine wall, my fallopian tubes were a little irritated and that I had mild endometriosis. They repaired the ovary and the endometriosis during the surgery. After that, we moved into doing inseminations using the drug clomid to help produce eggs within my ovaries. I think we did about four rounds of that. By now, we were about 4 1/2 years into trying to conceive and I had just had it. I was so burnt out on trying to have a baby and then I just quit trying because I emotionally couldn’t take it anymore to see that negative sign on the pregnancy test each month.

Around September of 03, we decided to try again. The fertility specialist recommended that I quit my job because it was really a very stressful job and stress can often play into infertility. That didn’t work either. So finally, in March of 2004, we agreed to give In-vitro Fertilization (IVF) a try. We, along with our fertility specialist, decided to put four embryos back into my womb. He stated that, along with my age of 30, I had less than 5% chance of 3 of the 4 embryos attaching. Well, they did. I’ll never forget the day of our first ultrasound to see how many babies there were. The doctor said, “There’s one and there’s the other one.” We were so excited. “Twins!”, we cheered. Then the doctor got quiet, probed for a second and announced, “There’s another one!”. My husband almost fell to the floor. And of course all he could think about was what kind of car we should get. He loves cars.