Sweet like chocolate
My little bunnies fought for their lives
My partner Anton, then 30, stared at me in shock and I saw his face drain of colour. ‘You’re expecting twins,’ the sonographer grinned.
‘O-o-oh my god,’ Anton gasped, digesting the news.
But a huge smile spread across my face.
It was November 2021, I was seven weeks pregnant and we’d gone for an early scan and been given a big surprise. Double trouble! ‘I can’t wait to tell Mum,’ I giggled as I squeezed Anton’s hand.
We’d been together a year after meeting at work.
I’d always loved the idea of having twins.
Two little heads to kiss, four hands to hold. Matching outfits.
That magical, unbreakable bond.
‘I can’t wait,’ I told Anton later.
Now the shock had worn off, he was excited too.
‘I’m going to be a dad of two,’ he smiled.
That week, both the nans-to-be cried happy tears when we announced our news.
Over the next months, in between working as a deputy manager in hospitality, I prepared for our special deliveries.
Painting the nursery pale blue with dogs and clouds, buying two cots.
My bump was tiny, though, you wouldn’t even know I was expecting twins.
And then one night in March 2022, I was 28 weeks gone when I woke in the night for the loo.
‘Are you awake?’ I called out in a panic to Anton when I saw bright red blood.
Within minutes he’d helped me into the car and was driving me to Doncaster Royal Infirmary.
There, midwives hooked me up to machines to check my babies’ heartbeats.
My body relaxed when I heard the rhythmic thuds.
‘Everything’s OK,’ a nurse reassured, smiling.
To be safe, I was kept in for eight days, before being discharged on Mother’s Day weekend.
Only, within days, I was back in hospital with a throbbing pain in my back.
Doctors started running tests, but as I stood up, I felt a huge gush of blood.
‘It’s everywhere,’ I sobbed as a midwife hit the emergency button.
My room was quickly swamped with doctors, midwives and nurses.
‘Your placenta has separated from your uterus,
the babies are at risk,’ one said as I was wheeled up to the delivery suite for an emergency caesarean.
I was only 29 weeks pregnant.
It happened so fast. Too poorly to stay conscious,
I was put under general anaesthetic while Anton waited outside.
My last thought before I drifted into
a deep sleep was whether my babies would survive. At 6pm that day I woke up feeling groggy. ‘Where are they?’ I whispered to Anton. ‘Relax,’ he soothed, explaining they were both in incubators in the neonatal ward.
I discovered that just before 1pm on 29 March, our son Robin arrived, followed by his twin sister Izzy only a minute later.
Robin weighed 2lb 14oz. Izzy just 2lb 2oz.
So small. Not much more than a bag of sugar. A few hours later, when I felt strong enough, I was wheeled through the hospital halls on my bed to meet Robin.
The nurses placed me next to his incubator and when I peered inside I gasped.
Robin looked more like a little alien than a baby.
Translucent skin, his eyes tightly closed, he was covered in wires.
‘Is he going to live?’ I asked the nurse, heart thudding.
‘We’re doing all we can,’ she promised.
He had chronic lung disease, couldn’t breathe without a ventilator.
I was desperate to hold him, stroke his tiny head.
But even touching his hand could cause infection.
Later, they took me to see Izzy, who was even weaker.
So tiny and fragile, wrapped in a plastic bag to keep her warm.
The next day, wearing hospital gowns, masks and gloves, me and Anton were able to hold them.
‘She’s as light as a feather,’ I said as Izzy’s little fingers wrapped around my thumb.
Anton had Robin on his chest, a cluster of wires beside them.
As each day passed the twins grew stronger.
We were shown how to feed them milk through a tube, how to change their nappies and we had cuddles throughout the day.
When they were a week old, a nurse placed them both on Anton’s chest.
They peered over at each other for the first time since they were born.
Then, as we watched in amazement, they gripped each other’s hands.
‘Friends for life,’ I smiled.
Having each other must have made them stronger as they were soon able to breathe without ventilators. Then, it was Easter. Hospital staff made us a card with footprints of the twins’ feet, and gave us a chocolate bunny too.
‘Look,’ I giggled, placing it beside Izzy.
They were almost the same size!
Finally, when Robin was six weeks old, in May 2022, he was strong enough to come home.
After another two weeks Izzy joined us, too.
Having them both at home was a dream come true and soon we forgot they were born so premature.
Sitting up at eight months, they were walking before a year.
Now they’re almost 2. Izzy is the cheekiest girl. Flashing me a half-smile when she knows she’s been naughty.
She’s kind-hearted too, though, and her favourite word is share.
Robin is a chilled-out lad. Obsessed with buckles, Velcro and zips, he’ll play for hours in deep concentration.
They’re independent, but always end up on the sofa together, cuddling and watching Bluey.
After everything we went through, I still can’t believe I decided to do it all again.
But in January 2024, after a smooth pregnancy we welcomed Ezra.
Born healthy and well, if slightly early, at 34 weeks.
Even so, at 5lb 3oz, he looked huge compared to the twins when they arrived.
Robin and Izzy adore their baby brother.
Now Anton and I look at that photo of Izzy laying beside that chocolate bunny, and can’t believe that’s the same little human that’s with us today.
My tiny little twosome not only survived, but flourished.
And now, with Ezra too, we’re one big hoppy family!
We watched as they gripped each other’s hands