When you're not ready BUT HAVE TO BE
Rebekah Kendal knew having twins would mean they might come early, but she wasn’t prepared for just how early hers would arrive. She tells of her journey with premature twins, and how she realised you don’t know how strong you are until you have to be. As
“WE’RE READY FOR your twins,” said the unfamiliar nurse from the foot of my bed. “We’ve hired extra staff in case they arrive tonight,” she added. Panic rose inside me and I gripped my husband’s hand a little harder. I’m not ready yet. They’re not ready yet! They need to bake a little longer. We have another whole trimester to go. As it turns out, we didn’t. The drugs that staved off the preterm labour for a couple of days eventually wore off, and at just over 26 weeks I was forced to have an emergency caesarean section. Luca, the bigger of the two, weighed in at 1 070 grams. His younger sister (by two whole minutes) Beatrix weighed 890 grams. If you’re struggling to picture that, it’s not even two blocks of butter. I was given a quick glimpse of each child over the makeshift curtain that was shielding me from my bloody abdomen before they were whisked away to the neonatal intensive care unit (NICU). They were still alive! At 26 weeks, there are no guarantees that they’re going to make it, let alone make it through the day.
NO ONE IS READY FOR NICU
When my husband wheeled me into NICU the following evening to meet my babies, I wasn’t ready for what this reality looked like. Our babies were lying on heated beds under sheets of plastic. After six months together in my womb, they were apart in a bright, sterile space. There were machines helping them breathe and their limbs were
white with bandages keeping drips in place. Machines screamed for attention whenever their vitals dipped out of the acceptable range, and there was no newborn baby smell. Just disinfectant. Their skin was too fragile to touch, and yet somehow these tiny little beings – so premature that they were yet to grow nipples – were already fighting to survive. I wasn’t ready, on day three, when the doctor told me that Beatrix had developed a perforation in her gut and would need surgery; for the stoma that allowed her poop to come directly out of her stomach while she grew big enough for follow-up surgery. I wasn’t ready for the call telling us that she had developed pneumonia and – despite the cautionary note from her doctor – I wasn’t ready for the “shake and bake” ventilator that shook her entire delicate body. I wasn’t ready whenever they stopped breathing or needed another blood transfusion. I wasn’t ready when they had drips in their heads, or when Beatrix literally ran out of usable veins. I wasn’t ready for the fact that it would be months before I could hold my babies for the first time. I wasn’t ready for the physical longing I felt – the overwhelming need to be near them, and for the heartache every day when we would return home without our babies.
EVERYDAY SUPERHEROES
Nothing can prepare you for just how tough life in the NICU can be. But there are people to help you through it. Everyday superheroes who somehow help you bear the unbearable. The kind and gentle paediatrician who knows at every moment of every day exactly how your children are faring; a man who has the sagacity to tell you what you need to know, but nothing more. A surgeon who gives you a pep talk about how your breastmilk is doing wonderful things for your daughter. An anaesthetist who speaks to you about her fears as a parent when you’re panicking about the prospect of your child, who’s no bigger than a slab of chocolate, being put under anaesthetic. NICU staff who patiently update you on the status of your children when you call in a panic at 3am because you’ve had a bad dream. And last, but certainly not least, the nurses. Without a doubt, these individuals are answering a calling, even though many of them don’t originally set out to work with neonates. The love and dedication they show their tiny charges is a beautiful thing to behold. And somehow, that love was big enough to hold us too. Gentle words of encouragement, answers to endless questions, patient demonstrations of how to touch and connect with the premmies, lessons in bathing and bottle-feeding, and the constant reassurance that they would be there. Our babies spent three months in NICU. Three long months during which days revolved around trips to the hospital – the rhythms and routines of the ward became our new normal. Beatrix and Luca have now been home for double that period and it still feels as if I’m suffering from posttraumatic stress disorder. Eventually the trauma will fade, but I’m certain that I’ll never forget the people who ensured our babies made it through that first day. And the 90 days that followed.
NOTHING CAN PREPARE YOU FOR JUST HOW TOUGH LIFE IN NICU CAN BE. BUT THERE ARE PEOPLE TO HELP YOU THROUGH IT