From baby shower to delivery room – one mother’s journey through premature twin birth
In the week leading up to the birth of our beautiful twins, Darcy and Frankie, I was in the maternity centre, hooked up to monitors, having scans and tests to make sure the babies were okay. I was told, “They’re fine, they’re not coming anytime soon.” That couldn’t have been further from the truth.
A few days later at exactly 29 weeks’ gestation, the day of my baby shower, I was contracting and spotting. I refused to believe it was true for hours until I woke my partner up at 6am with, “I think I’m in labour.”
What is usually a 10-minute drive to the hospital felt like an eternity. I felt every bump in the road, every street felt double its distance, and I was desperate for it to be over, but we were far from the end.
It felt like we had every man and his dog in our delivery room. I didn’t realise exactly what was going on until we were told I was 6cm dilated and there was no stopping the babies from coming today. My ears starting ringing like I was in a film, I heard nothing amongst the noise and completely zoned out. I was emotionless and numb. My partner was trying to process exactly what was happening whilst simultaneously trying to take in everything that the doctors and midwives were telling him was going to happen.
I was too late for an epidural and had to rely on anything else that they could give me. I took it all. I never understood when people talked about knowing when to push, but my body was screaming at me to suddenly push after three hours in the hospital. At this point, my waters hadn’t broken, but shortly after my first push, they did – much to the surprise of my wonderful midwife, who had been right by my side moments before. In the moment I didn’t care, I was so fixated on this urge to push. I wanted them out.
Our baby girl came first. She flew out. Before I could even lay my eyes on her, she was taken to the other side of the room to be placed into what looked like a plastic shopping bag, covered in wires and tubes whilst I had to focus on pushing for the second time.
Our baby boy wasn’t so keen on coming out – he wanted to stay a little bit longer. I don’t blame him! I was so exhausted from pushing for Darcy, I had nothing left in me to push for Frankie. The pain was excruciating. I felt sick, I felt faint. It was the hardest thing I ever had to do, and I had to do it all over again. How is that humanly possible? I needed help to get him out. I had an episiotomy and more pain relief, and I still struggled. The obstetrician told me his blood pressure was dropping, and we needed to get him out now. The thought of anything happening to either of my babies because of my lack of strength to deliver them absolutely broke my heart. With that I gave the biggest push and he was born, 13 minutes after his sister.
They were too early. Weighing just 3lbs each, they were both rushed to the neonatal unit, Frankie first. We couldn’t hold either of them. Giving birth is hard, being unable to hold your baby afterwards is harder. We were lucky to spend a bit of time with Darcy by the side of my bed before she was taken, giving the neonatal staff the time to get Frankie all plugged in and safe before coming for Darcy. Three doctors were with us holding onto wires and tubes connected to her to keep her stable whilst they waited to take her up to the unit. I tried to touch her, her entire hand hardly reaching round my little finger. It still hadn’t sunk in, that’s our daughter, we are parents now, our lives have changed forever.
We were soon told that our babies were too young to remain at our local hospital, so a specialist neonatal transfer team moved us to a hospital an hour away – the closest facility with space for both babies. As much as it was the hardest time of our lives, we couldn’t be more thankful for the entire team at the hospital our babies spent their first weeks of life in, and their first Christmas. The neonatal nurses were sympathetic, informative and most importantly, friends. We needed the support, and they provided it to us 24/7. We were able to stay in a private room next door to the unit to save us travelling every day and this helped immensely with bonding, milk production and stress.
We came back to our local hospital just before the new year where we took on every responsibility possible to ensure they were ready to come home. We were as prepared as we could be.
After 67 days of hospitalisation, being connected to multiple monitors, oxygen support, and medicine administered every few hours – we were finally discharged and home as a family of four. Everything felt perfect. The most uncertain, traumatic two months of our lives were in the past and we could now focus on being a family together at home.
Don’t get me wrong, it was hard. We had to give them medicine daily for six months, take them to multiple hospital check-ups and physio appointments, but all that felt so small compared to the feeling of finally having them at home with us.
Our babies are now 10 months old and they’re absolutely perfect. The strength it takes for a parent to have their child born prematurely and need admission to the neonatal unit is unmatched. This experience completely opened our eyes to a world we never thought we’d have to experience. My body may not have been cut out to complete a full term of pregnancy, but I love it for making me a mother, something I’ve always dreamt of being.
