This is something I posted on Facebook on October 25th, but for anyone who comes across my blog, this is part of me and I thought it was important to add to the blog. 

 

Thursday, October 25th, 2012

I woke up to a beautiful day, excited about our next ultrasound. Both Brandon and I had taken half of a personal day in order to go to see our three miracles’ growth. Brandon had not been to many ultrasounds up to this point, so I was excited for him.  

 I went to school for the first half of the day. At 11:00, I packed up my items and told my students, “I'm going to... my doctors appointment, I will see you tomorrow.” These five words haunt me often. I am a women of my word and it bothers me still that I told my students that I would see them the next day, when I could not live up to my word. After leaving school, I went to Brandon’s place of employment to pick him up.  

 We arrived at the hospital and went to the high risk doctor’s office. At 16 weeks, this appointment should have been super exciting. The ultrasound tech entered the room and was very pleasant, although she was a different tech than the one who had scanned me at every other appointment. Up to this point, I had had so many ultrasound appointments that I was really getting good at reading everything they were looking at. My regular ultrasound tech would talk her way through the examination, letting me know what she was seeing. As the new tech started her scan, I KNEW something was wrong. I said to the tech, “something doesn’t seem right. Is everything right?” She kept measuring my cervix as she said, “The doctor will talk to you when he comes in.” That was the worst ultrasound I had experienced up to this point. The tech proceeded to scan the perfect babies. All measurements looked amazing and their growth was right on if not larger than where the average triplet would be at 16 weeks. All along, I KNEW that something was not right and I just could not enjoy all the great measurements. Deep down, I had the feeling that we were in for some really bad news.

As the ultrasound tech left the room, I looked at Brandon and said, “something is wrong!” “Just wait for the doctor”, he will tell us what's going on. After about 10 minutes, that seemed like a million years, the doctor entered the room. He came in, very pleasant and calm, shook our hands and said , “Well, the babies look great. But, your cervix is shrinking and funneling. What is your occupation?” I told him I was a teacher and he said, “Not any more.” WHAT?!?! I was getting too much information all at once. First he was telling me that my body was failing me and then he was taking away one of the things I took so much pride in.

I lost it. I can’t remember if I was more shocked or scared. I just wanted to go home and start the day over again. He then proceeded to inform me that I was going in for surgery in two hours. SURGERY?!?!?! What a minute, I wanted to scream, we are here for a 16 week check up to show us how perfect our miracles are, and now he was telling me that I needed surgery?!?!

At this point, through sobs, I had to call parents and family members to let them know that the appointment had taken a turn for the worst and I would be going in to surgery to attempt to stitch my cervix shut and keep the babies in as long as possible. Next, I had to call my principal and co-teacher to let them know that I would not be returning to school the next day, even though I had just told my fifth graders that I would “see them tomorrow”. How could this be happening?

I was then taken into a room and prepped for surgery. As I went back for surgery, they gave me a spinal and then put me under. When I woke up, I couldn’t feel my legs. The doctor came in to the room to let me know how surgery went. He said that he performed a “rescue cerclage”. Sounds great, right??? I felt so happy that he had “rescued” our babies!!! Things were going to be ok, right???

He proceeded to inform us that not only had my cervix shrunk and funneled, but I was also dilated. At this point he put his thumb and pointer finger together to form a circle the size of a quarter. He said, “Baby’s membrane was already on its way out. I pushed back in and stitch you up because you were dilated this much.” I wanted to hug him, I wanted to jump up and thank everyone for saving our babies. At this point he said that he was putting me on antibiotics, a medicine to stop contractions, and bedrest.

 So, now we had to rely on my body and the gift of time. Both of which failed me. At 16 weeks, the babies would have to stay safe and inside for at least another 8 weeks. And even at 24 weeks, they were not guaranteeing that the babies would even survive.

 I stayed in the hospital for a few days because I was contracting at 16 weeks after the procedure. They decided to give me shots of something called tributaline. These shots were HORRIBLE. They gave me the chills and made my heart race for a half an hour. I sucked it up and knew that if the shots and being in the hospital meant meeting my beautiful triplets in many weeks down the road, I would do ANYTHING!!!

Several days later, I was sent home and told only to get up to use the bathroom and to shower……..

An so, this Thursday, one year ago, my world began to unravel even though I really didn't know the grave ending to our story. I stayed as positive as possible. Other's lives have continued, and I am sitting her with flashbacks of me in a hospital gown, laying in the hospital bed, thinking and believing that the babies were safe inside of me and bedrest was going to solve the problem. Boy was I wrong.......