On Mother’s Day weekend, I was admitted to the hospital for an overnight stay due to continuous, intense contractions. But, after 32 hours in the hospital, they sent me home because my blood pressure wasn’t high enough to be considered preeclamptic. Every day after I went home was torturous. I could hardly breathe and my swelling continued to get worse. I had to sleep sitting up to keep from feeling like I was drowning–though I hardly slept. There certainly is nothing quite like the discomfort of the last few weeks of pregnancy! The babies were doing well, though. They were moving plenty and their heart rates were normal, so we pressed on.

Finally, at 36 weeks and 2 days pregnant, my water broke. We ended up going over to my sisters and having my niece’s birthday dinner before heading to the hospital which might sound crazy but I was NOT going to get sent home again!

When we got to the hospital, they’d confirmed that one of my waters had broken (with di-di twins, there are two waters–weird right?). A quick blood pressure read showed that I was severely preeclamptic (BP was measuring between 160 and 180/110) and my swelling was clearly getting worse. After a short wait, the on-call doctor came in and said, “Well, looks like you won’t be leaving here until your babies arrive!” It was a moment of relief and excitement. Our babies were coming. Finally.

I was 4 centimeters dilated and both babies were relatively head down so, we planned for an induction and normal delivery. I was put on magnesium to manage my blood pressure. While magnesium is extremely effective in lowering BP, the side effects are incredibly intense and, you can’t put anything in your system other than a very limited amount of liquids (limited to decrease the swelling).

The nurse came in and insisted that I needed a catheter but I wasn’t far enough along that they’d administer my epidural. Anthony had run home to grab some of our overnight gear and my mom and sister were with me. So, reluctantly, I agreed. That catheter was probably the most painful part of the entire delivery. I begged for an epidural after a few hours with the catheter but I was still only four centimeters dilated so the doctor still didn’t want to give me the epidural. Eventually, the nurse agreed to simply take it out until I had the epidural. Why this wasn’t assumed the first time is beyond me.

After a few hours on the magnesium, the side effects the nurses had warned me about came into full swing. I started throwing up every half hour our so and my brain started to get foggy. My swelling was so bad, my legs literally had doubled in size. I could barely walk because of how tight the skin was on my feet.

After about 10 hours, they finally administered the epidural and induced me. By then, I was barely conscious and I had exhausted all of my energy throwing up. But, my contractions were doing little to move along the process and I was stills only 4 centimeters dilated.

After another bout of sickness, I asked my nurse if we could choose to do a c-section. I knew I couldn’t do another 12 hours of this and I also knew that I wouldn’t have the energy I would need to push the babies out. After discussing with my doctor and she told us the risks, but we ultimately decided to go with the c-section to avoid the preeclampsia getting worse. Things moved quickly from there.

On May 20th, I was wheeled into the OR. I was barely conscious, unable to stay awake or really process what was happening. I’d stopped responding to my husband and mom when they spoke to me and vaguely remember hearing them. My sister and dad sat in the wings, waiting for the babies’ arrival.

The delivery team prepped me. I remember opening my eyes to see the room and hearing the doctors chattering, but, other than that, I don’t remember much. Finally they let my husband and mom in to the room. We had agreed that my husband would go with our babies wherever they ended up and my mom would stay with me. Like they told me I would, I felt the pressure of pushing on my abdomen but no substantial pain.

Eventually, I heard them call out, “Baby A, 4 pounds 11 ounces.” That was small. Smaller than what he should’ve been, but still healthy. I waited, for that moment. The moment. The one I’d been dreaming of when I would hear a tiny screech and the doctors would place a pink, slimy baby on my chest followed by my second that, surely, my husband and mom would have to help me balance. I remembered the conversation I’d had with Anthony, “I want a picture of that moment–the first time I hold our sons.” Before I was induced I said again, “Make sure to bring your phone in with you. I don’t want to miss a thing.” Minutes later a second call came from the doctors, “Baby B, 4 pounds 9 ounces.”

I waited. But my moment didn’t come. The tiny cries didn’t break the air. I couldn’t open my eyes, I could barely speak, but I managed to ask, “Are they okay?” Anthony was with them across the room and my mom was holding my hand.

“Yes, they are okay. The nurses are working on them,” she said.

Anthony came over to me and squeezed my hand. “They’re here sweetie, but they have to go to the NICU.”

“Are they okay?” I asked again, teary-eyed.

“Yes, they are okay. I’m going to go with them, okay?”

I nodded and they disappeared along with my mom while the doctors stitched me up.

The tears kept coming, though. The moment was gone and I hadn’t seen the faces of either of my sons–I hadn’t so much as caught a glimpse of them being carried after being pulled from my body. It didn’t feel right, but I had little energy to fight it.

I was wheeled back into my room where I fell in and out of sleep–unable to stay awake. After what felt like hours, Anthony came back to the room with pictures of them. It wasn’t right. I didn’t want to see them like this–so removed, so distant. They didn’t feel like mine and I didn’t feel like theirs. The nurses told me that I couldn’t go to the NICU until I could get myself into a wheelchair. Essentially, until the anesthesia wore off. After six hours of waiting, of inexplicable fogginess in my brain and nausea still overtaking me, I turned to my nurse and begged to see them. I knew I couldn’t get myself into that wheelchair yet, but I still hadn’t met them. Hadn’t touched or heard them. I couldn’t bear to be kept apart from them for a moment longer.

My nurse looked at me–somehow understanding the stinging in my chest, the motion propelling me toward my sons. She said she’d see what she could do.

Ten minutes or so later, I got the okay to be wheeled in my bed to the NICU to meet my boys.

While everything else is still so hazy to me, the moment I held each of my sons is more clear than any other moment in the hospital. I was parked in between both of them, though I was far enough that I couldn’t reach or see either of them. Both were hooked up to monitors and had IV’s and oxygen. The lot of us had what felt like a hundred tubes and wires connecting us to our machines. I was handed Theodore Matthew first. The nurse untangled him and placed him in my arms and, all at once, the trials and struggles, the three years of infertility, the failed pregnancy tests, the failed hormones, our failed IUI, our successful IVF, the pregnancy, the delivery, crashed into this moment, into me. I looked at that face, that tiny face with the tiny wires, the tiny fingers and tiny toes, and suddenly, they belonged to me. I kissed him gently and said my hellos through tears. Tears of joy. Tears of relief. Because, finally, I could breathe. Finally, I had my family.

I was afraid that my moment with Noah would feel…less. But it didn’t. Meeting Noah Anthony brought me to my knees again. His small arm was placed in a stint to keep it in place so his IV would flow correctly. I took in the helplessness of him, but also the incredible strength. “Both your boys are fighters,” the nurse said. It didn’t surprise me. They’d been fighting to get here for a long time.

After holding, hugging, and kissing them both, I reluctantly said my goodnights to each of them and was taken back to my room. I had renewed strength in seeing the two perfect humans God had blessed us with.

The next day moved achingly slow. I was still unable to eat and still on the magnesium. Once off it, the doctor said I’d begin feeling more like myself. I was still swollen. Horribly swollen. In fact, I was almost unrecognizable. I was placed on medication to remove the excess water. Within 24 hours, I’d lost 10 pounds–3 liters of water. Over the next 7 days, I would lose nearly 35 pounds in just water.

After several hours of being off magnesium and having finally had a meal, I spent every moment I could visiting the boys or sleeping to prepare for bringing them home. They got stronger every day and continually exceeded everyone’s expectations of what they would be able to do. The nurses guessed that they would need to be in the NICU for two weeks, after three days, they moved into our room, and on day four, they came home with us.

Though the delivery was hard and things didn’t go quite as I envisioned them, we got our boys.

Tomorrow, Father’s Day, marks the fourth week of their lives–I can’t believe how it’s flown already.

To those ready to throw in the towel, to those who think their time will never come, I hear you. I was there. Today, I get to look at my boys, my amazing sons, and all I can think is how grateful I am that we kept pushing for them. Don’t give up, almost Mama’s and Daddy’s, your day is coming.