A few months ago, I went to dinner with a group of girls I had not seen in years. We are a group of moms that met while living in the city and we all bonded over having a single child, within the age range of 0 – 1. While I keep up with a few of the girls more than others – the last time the entire group of us had gotten together was shortly after Riley turned 2. We were at a cute restaurant in the city and the topic of childbirth became the theme of our conversation. We laughed our way through everyone’s stories – dropping our jaws at some of the crazy ways our children entered the world, cringing at the thought of painful contractions, laughing about husbands hitting the epidural button a few too many times. It was a bonding moment, a memorable dinner – and I left the restaurant feeling so proud and lucky to be an active member of the ‘mom club’.
Fast forward to a few months ago when we all reunited at a dinner – it was obvious that life had been busy for all of us. We met at a restaurant in the suburbs, we shared updates on our work status, husbands, families, and most excitedly – our children. All of us were now moms of at least 2 – some 3 kids. While I was aware of this going into dinner and was excited to openly brag about how awesome Riley is and how well Tommy is doing – I wasn’t prepared for a very eye-opening ‘trigger’. Half-way through dinner, one of the girls started to share their story of their second birth and how it was different from her first. After her story finished, the girl to her right shared her experience. As the storytelling role was getting closer and closer to my turn – I started to panic. I excused myself from the table and headed to the bathroom where I had a full anxiety attack. I was sweating, shaking, crying, could hardly catch my breath and was afraid I was going to pass out in the bathroom stall. How could I participate in this conversation? How could I share my story of Tommy’s birth? I had only talked about it to few of my closest family or friends – and never in full detail. I realized in that moment that I no longer fit in with this group of moms. My life had changed too drastically and I couldn’t just talk about childbirth in a light, easy, silly manner in which I was able to with Riley. And the heavier realization was ‘how will I EVER be able to speak of Tommy’s birth without wanting to run away, and fast”. And that’s not fair to Tommy or myself, as his proud mom.
The following day I had a therapy session with Dr. N and I was able to speak about my traumatic experience the night before. She didn’t have a quick solution for me – or have a clever ‘elevator pitch’ for how I can share Tommy’s birth story. She did however ask me to re-tell HER the story of Tommy’s birth… minute by minute. It was the first time I had relived the events of January 19th, 2015 and it was just as painful, if not more. Today will be the second time I relive the events – in desperate hope of further healing before I face my biggest trigger of all in two days from now.
January 16th – I woke up in the early morning hours with pretty intense contractions. We called my doctor and he said we should head in to labor and delivery to see what was going on. Since the boys passed in mid-December, I had a few short term stays at the hospital for various reasons – but fortunately, never early-labor. We made it to the hospital, contractions were confirmed and I was given a tocolyctic to try and stop the labor. I stayed in the hospital until Sunday afternoon (1/18) and by that time, the doctors felt the contractions had subsided enough to discharge me and allow me to rest in the comfort of my home. We all knew from that point on – it wouldn’t be long before I was back in the hospital and the doctors were very clear that the next time contractions started – I was having these babies.
We weren’t even home for 8 hours before the contractions came back full force – this time more painful than ever. I woke up Mac at 1:00am and was in excruciating pain. The contractions were 3 minutes apart from the get-go and I knew we were in trouble. Mac had our doctor paged and within minutes I could hear him on speaker phone, in a very somber tone saying “Sara, I’m so sorry.. but it looks like we are having these babies today”. His voice, those words – are forever engrained in my head. Even my doctor was apologizing for what was ahead.
My dad arrived at our house at 1:45am to stay with Riley, we kissed our sleeping girl goodbye, and we headed to Lutheran General – a 35 minute drive from our house. I pride myself with having a pretty decent pain tolerance. I have gone through child birth, I have had emergency surgeries, I have had 5 abdominal surgeries. I’m not necessarily scared of pain. But, contractions 3 minutes apart, over the course of a 35 minute drive, all while trying to mentally prepare myself for delivering my two still babies, and a third that we didn’t know would survive – was too much to physically handle. I yelled at Mac to drive faster and unbeknownst to him – I was silently praying for him to crash. I did not want to keep fighting, I didn’t want to go through with what was ahead. I didn’t want to say goodbye to my boys and I didn’t want to lose another. In all honestly, crashing into a median on the road seemed like the easier option.
Before I knew it however, I was back in triage – all the nurses and staff were rushing to get the operating room prepared as I was already dilated to a 7. I sobbed hysterically the entire time – a combination of pain and fear and overwhelming sadness. Before I entered the operating room, my nurse reassured me “It’s going to be okay. We all have a copy of your birth plan and we will get you through this”. She hugged me tight, Mac left to go get scrubs on, and I was wheeled into the operating room. What I saw next I could have never been prepared for – as prepared as I was.
Lutheran General has the most incredible bereavement team. During my hospital stays, my bereavement coordinator Ms. D helped talk me through what to expect, what options I have, what the ‘day of’ will look like, etc. She helped me pick out outfits Greyson and Oliver would wear and be baptized / cremated in. She found matching cloth diapers to put them in, matching blankets to hold them with. Mac and I created a very specific birth plan to give to all the staff so that the day of – they weren’t asking questions and we weren’t forced to answer under extreme emotion. Our plan looked like this:
In the operating room, we wanted the focus to be on Tommy. We didn’t wish for the birth of Oliver and Greyson to be announced (as they typically would with a living baby), we didn’t wish to see them in the operating room. We essentially wanted nothing said until it was about Tommy – and we wanted an instant assessment and update on his condition. We asked to see Tommy if able to – and then we understood that all three boys would be whisked away while they finished my surgery. I was warned by Ms. D and my doctors to expect a ‘silent birth’ and to not be scared if Tommy didn’t cry because 31 weekers typically have very underdeveloped lungs. We then made a plan to meet Greyson and Oliver once they were cleaned up and dressed, and once I was in my long-term recovery room. We arranged for the on-call priest to be available once we were ready so that he could perform a short baptismal ceremony and bless our angels. This plan was nearly impossible to envision, create, and settle on – but sara + a plan = some sense of sanity.
I knew there may be curveballs added to my ‘plan’ and some unexpected moments throughout the day – I just wasn’t prepared to be knocked down so quickly, and even before the surgery began. When the doors opened to the operating room, I was looking down and breathing through a contraction. They asked me to scoot over onto the operating table and when I looked up – right in front of me were three matching baby warmers. The same kind you see in your labor and delivery room when you’re about to welcome a perfect little bundle of joy. The same one we took pictures of Riley in as she was getting weighed, measured, and her footprints taken. The visual of three baby warmers sitting in front of me, waiting to be occupied by all three of my sons, two of whom would not even be announced, welcomed, acknowledged in that room – was the biggest heartbreak I had and have felt to date. I laid back on the table and screamed in pain.
Mac entered the room once the doctors were in and the screen was up.. he sat by my side and held my hand and I asked him to talk to me about anything other than what was actually happening. I can’t remember our conversation, but it was a lot of random small talk to keep me from jumping off the table. I know from the boys positioning and a later conversation with the doctors that Oliver was delivered first, then Greyson, and finally Tommy. The room was silent other than the doctor asking for medical equipment throughout the surgery. He updated us as he was getting Tommy out – and to what I truly believe was a gift from my other two sons – Tommy came out screaming crying. It felt as if someone had finally given me lungs to breathe with – and I exhaled in relief. No matter what obstacles we had ahead – he was alive, breathing, and letting us know he had fight in him. The nurses held his tiny bundled body over us – Mac and I kissed him in between our heavy tears and he was taken straight to the NICU. I was taken to post-op and was quickly being asked questions about next steps “when do you want to meet Greyson and Oliver?”, “It’s only 4am – the priest isn’t here until 8am and the longer we wait, the more their physical condition will change – do you want us to try to keep them warm in a warm bath?”…. No joke, it was at that question that I asked for stronger pain medicine. I had just been through one hell of a surgery – a much more physically demanding operation when they are quickly trying to deliver two babies in order to get the third the most medical attention possible – and I was having to decide whether I wanted to hold my sons warm or cold.
Mac headed to the NICU to meet Tommy and check on his status, I headed up to my recovery room to get settled in. Within the span of the next 16 hours – we were introduced to our triplets. We held all three of them, we kissed all three of them, we cried over them, and we cried even harder when we left them. Two were now under the care of a funeral home and crematory and one under the bright lights, loud beeping alarms, and amazing nurses of the NICU. The details of this day are so vivid, and painful.. and heartbreaking and heartwarming. I will dedicate another post to the remainder of our triplets ‘birthday’. But for now, I need to figure out how to survive their first birthday.. in two days.
XO,
Sara
The Madness Between 