Yup. I’m going here.
13 weeks. That’s how far along I was when I found out I was having twins.
14 weeks is when I was guaranteed I wouldn’t be having twins. “Baby B is not going to make it and your putting Baby A in serious jeopardy the longer you wait to terminate.”
They must have thought I was crazy. I didn’t cry. I didn’t even hardly react other than to very adamantly stick with my gut.
Appointment after appointment…doctor after doctor….boy did they put the pressure on. Almost as if they would receive some sort of commission.
None of that mattered. I was pregnant with 2 LIVING babies. I sure as hell wasnt going to just cut the chord bc it sounded like a good idea.
Now don’t get me wrong. It was pure torture. I was basically waiting for my baby to die. No one knew. People just knew that I was pregnant with twins but talking about it was hell.
When someone would bring up what my future was going to look like, it was all I could do to not crumble bc what they didn’t know was that one and maybe even both of my babies were going to die. After all, the drs assured me this. More than once.
But then. Day by day…week by week we made it to THIRTY FOUR weeks. And the scariest day of my life arrived.
I delivered two of the most beautiful, perfect babies I’ve ever laid my eyes on.
Baby A tipping the scales at 4lbs 15oz and Baby B – the baby who “will never ever make it”…the baby in utero with 0% chance of survival – defeated all odds and proved a strength I wouldn’t believe if I didn’t see with my own eyes, blessed this world at 2lbs 9oz and not only never needed a ventilator, but ONLY needed oxygen and a feeding tube.
Baby A spent 16 days in the NICU and Baby B spent 29.
And here we are. Almost 2.5 years later.
To think of how different my life could have been had I listened to any single one of those doctors.
To think the day I delivered them I could have STILL made a different choice?! I can’t understand. And I don’t want to.