Too tiny to live?
I’d given birth to two babies but would I take both home..?
Caroline Wirt, 37, Copthorne
Slowly, I heaved myself out of bed – I’d just kissed my husband Andy, 34, goodbye as he shot off to work.
I had to get our son Nathan, 15, and son Keane, 9, and daughter Blaise, 6, to school.
But six months pregnant with twins, I was exhausted.
It was January 2015, and the last few months had been tough.
I’d had bleeding from the start and there had been times we thought we’d lost our baby girls – yet each emergency scan showed their hearts thumping.
But now, as I grabbed my dressing gown, I felt a gush of warm liquid. No! My waters had broken. I was only 23 weeks pregnant – it was too early!
Half an hour later, I was being rushed by ambulance to Royal Sussex County Hospital, with Andy by my side.
‘We need to keep those babies safely inside,’ said the doctor soon after arriving. ‘If they’re born before 24 weeks, they have practically no chance of survival – and, legally, we wouldn’t be able to intervene.’
I could hardly believe what I was hearing.
I’d turn 24 weeks pregnant on Sunday, but today was only Monday.
Six days suddenly felt like a lifetime…
‘You mean you won’t help them when they’re born?’ I cried, distraught.
‘Unfortunately not,’ the doctor frowned sadly. ‘Not until they reach 24 weeks.’
Given medication to try to postpone my labour, I was settled into a ward to rest.
Over the next few days, I barely moved, stroking my tummy and feeling the twins wriggling around inside me.
It was the longest week of my life, but I made it to Saturday. Then I got really ill... ‘We’re going to have to get the twins out now, Caroline,’ my midwife told me in the early hours of Sunday morning.
‘You will help them now, won’t you?’ I begged, feeling weak and groggy.
‘If they’re born alive, we will do everything we can,’ she said.
But, sadly, the chances of that were slim to none.
Just before midday, Sapphire was born by Caesarean section, weighing 1lb 2oz, followed by Ruby just a minute later – she weighed 1lb 5oz.
With transparent skin, they were smaller than my hand.
The girls were wrapped in bubble wrap to keep them warm, and taken to ICU.
‘They’re going to make it,’ Andy reassured me.
But the doctors weren’t so sure.
‘We’re doing everything we can,’ said our consultant. ‘But it’s unlikely they will both survive.’
I was desperate to hold them, to try and keep them both safe.
I just wished that they were back inside my tummy.
Later that day, I was wheeled down to the Neonatal Unit.
Sapphire and Ruby lay side by side in their incubators, covered in lots of wires.
Their heads were smaller than tennis balls and they’d been given tiny woolly hats.
‘Look at them,’ I wept to Andy, overcome with emotion. They looked so vulnerable. Then, days later, we got the worst news imaginable.
‘Your babies have contracted necrotising enterocolitis (NEC),’ said our consultant.
It meant that Sapphire and Ruby’s intestines were dying.
‘We need to operate, but the chances of them surviving the surgery is only about 10 per cent,’ he explained. ‘What if we don’t operate?’ asked Andy, voice quivering.
‘Then they will definitely die, and they’ll be in pain,’ replied the consultant.
We had no choice but to put our faith in the experts.
‘Please get through this and come back to Mummy,’ I whispered to my two tiny babies as they were wheeled down to theatre.
Kissing them both on t the cheek, I closed my e eyes and prayed…
Please get through this and come back to Mummy...