I learned I was pregnant in January of 1995. My husband and I had met and married while in college (we were both engineering students) but had decided to wait to have children until we owned our own house. We had been in the house exactly one week when I learned I was pregnant. We were both so excited we could hardly stand to wait nine whole months! This was to be my parents' very first grandchild so the whole family was celebrating.

I went to my first OB appointment in March. I wasn't expecting the doctor to do an ultrasound but he said that it was standard in his office. I even got to keep a video tape which I was told I could bring back on successive visits and keep for the baby book. As the doctor began the ultrasound I waited breathlessly, half afraid he would say the home pregnancy test had been in error and I was not pregnant after all. Finally after what seemed like an eternity I asked "Do you see anything?" He replied "Actually, I see two babies. You are going to have twins!" I was so shocked I couldn't even reply. The possibility of twins hadn't even crossed my mind. But there they were, two little bodies squirming and twisting next to each other. My whole family thought I was joking when I told them. Luckily, I had the video tape to prove it. My life felt at that point like a beautiful dream. My due date was determined to be October 14, 1995.

At the end of April, I went back for another appointment. My husband was with me this time. He wasn't going to miss out on this one. We waited with anticipation as the doctor located the first baby, and we saw the beating heart and the little arms and legs swimming around in the blackness. The next several minutes were completely silent. The doctor kept searching and searching. Tension began to build in the room and for the very first time, I began to feel an awful, dreadful fear that something wasn't right. Finally the doctor spoke. He told us that it appeared that one twin had died. We needed to have another, more detailed ultrasound done at the hospital to be certain, but our doctor said he was almost positive that was what had happened.

My husband and I drove to the hospital where another ultrasound confirmed our doctor's suspicions. One of our babies was dead and no one could determine what had caused it. The ultrasound lasted nearly an hour while the radiologist examined every inch of both twins, trying to find some indication of what had happened. We were trying to learn if the remaining twin was also in danger. We learned nothing. I could no longer look at the video tape. It had recorded the awful moment of realization that one of our precious babies had died. It was a long time before I could stand to watch it again. When I did, I sat in front of the TV with tears running down my cheeks, my fingers tracing the outline of the child I had lost. He looked like he was asleep, curled up at the bottom of the screen while his twin kicked and squirmed above him.

The remainder of my pregnancy was nearly uneventful. I had one occurrence of premature labor at 26 weeks but all the pains left as mysteriously as they had begun. I carried both my babies, the living and the dead, to term. On October 18, we induced labor and I gave birth to a beautiful baby boy. My other baby was also born that day a few minutes after the first. I asked the doctor if I could see him. There wasn't much left to see by then but I finally got to say "good-bye" to the child I had carried for nine months. I named him Connor and his living twin, Ian.

The next four months were bittersweet. My life was a roller-coaster of grief for the loss of one child and thankfulness for the life of the other. Every time I saw twins, I could not keep from crying even though I felt guilty for my grieving - like I was somehow unthankful for the life I had been able to keep.

I did not know it, but this was only the beginning. When Ian was four months old, our family doctor noted some odd things about our son. She thought he might have some type of thyroid problem and referred us to another doctor who was more familiar with that type of problem. Unfortunately, I was alone when I took Ian to that appointment. I'll never forget the feeling of the room collapsing around me as I heard the doctor ask "Are you familiar with the term 'cerebral palsy'?" I nodded dumbly with mental images of drooling, vacant-eyed children in wheel-chairs. "Your son has cerebral palsy." My fingers felt numb as I placed my precious son in his car-seat, tucking the blankets around him to protect him from the cold. It was February 28, 1996.

A CT scan was performed to see if it would reveal any clues as to what had caused Ian to have cerebral palsy. The results were absolutely devastating. My son was missing 50-60% of his brain. The radiologist said that he would not be able to see or hear because those parts of his brain were just not there.

A few days later, another phone call from the doctor added a new word to my rapidly expanding vocabulary: hydrocephalus - water on the brain. The doctors (we had quite a collection at this point) agreed that we needed to monitor him closely over the next several weeks to determine how serious his situation was. He had to have a checkup at least once a week where his head was measured to see if it was growing too fast. Finally in May, the neurosurgeon performed a procedure called a tap to determine exactly how much pressure the extra fluid was putting on his brain. He was given a sedative and then I had to hold him down while the surgeon inserted a needle into Ian's fontanel (soft spot). It was awful. It worked much like a tire pressure gauge works. Ian needed surgery immediately or chances were, he would not live to see his first birthday.

The surgery was successful but Ian did not handle it well. The changes in pressure to his brain were so traumatic that the morning after the surgery, he had a seizure that lasted 15 minutes. Even though he was in the ICU, he had seized for several minutes before anyone noticed. My husband was the one who walked into his room and found him seizing.

The next several days were very stressful. The nurses in the ICU were wonderful and allowed my husband, my mother and I to stay with him round the clock. I even slept in his room in a chair at night. He was conscious for only a few minutes over the next two days but on the third day, it was like someone threw a switch. He woke up and smiled at me. It was then that I felt that he might make it. Later that day he was doing so well that they stepped him down from critical condition. They next day they released him from the hospital -- straight out of intensive care.

Ian has continued to improve. He is 2 1/2 now and is a beautiful, loving child. Unfortunately his gross motor skills are so limited that he cannot sit up, roll over, or even pick up a toy. So far he hasn't spoken any words although he does respond to certain words indicating that he understands what they mean (food, drink, mommy, daddy, nap - not on your life . . .) He is an extremely social child and tries to charm everyone he meets by smiling at them and flirting with them. His father and I are also improving. We have learned to accept the loss of Connor, and we live every day thankful for Ian. He has taught us so many things and through him (and because of him) we have been able to touch the lives of so many people we would not have otherwise known. We have also gotten to "meet" many new friends via the internet and have been able to experience the wonderful support of other families just like us. It is good to know we are not alone!

Hester

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