Dim Sum Mum - Tess' Little Pieces

as it turns out, charles was up in k10 visiting the babies.

he came back just as the nurses were getting ready to lift my head for the first time following the caesarian. my throat was dryer than ghandi's sandal, and i was gasping for a drink of water. they allowed me a mouthful of icechips. a nurse was holding a bedpan around my neck, and i can remember thinking as they raised me: i am not going to vomit, i think i will be okay.

and i didn't vomit.

woo-hoo! i was batting two for two. i knew i was in labour, and i knew i wasn't going to vomit. practically a doctor.

my incision and the numbness around that area wasn't bothering me as much anymore. the incision was painful whenever i moved, but if i stayed still, thanks for mr morphine, it wasn't that bad. but my throat was so sore, and i was coughing up this red goo that i think they stuff down your throat during surgery. and of course moving my stomach muscles was excruciating. i was trying to push down the cough, or just cough a little, but it was impossible. there were big coughs wanting to come out.

i was hallucinating about drinking water. a cold glass of water.

please, may i have something more to drink?

no.

please? i won't vomit!

maybe a few ice chips.

and charles fed me ice chips.

he had been to see the babies.

are they okay?

yes.

is it two girls and one boy?

actually, yes.

i was glad about this. it was a safe conversation. because we didn't have names for girls. nothing concrete, anyway. so i hurriedly focused on what we were going to call the girls, and which boy's name - gus or jasper, we were going to choose.

but quickly, reluctantly, because i was aching to know but i didn't want to hear bad news, i asked, how are they?

as good as can be expected. stable.

oh okay.i don't want to hear any more.

and the name debate started.

we knew we liked the name carys. but which girl would get it? it wasn't like we could look at the girl and see if the name suited her....

are they all covered up in tubes and wires?

sure

are they warm?

yes, they're under the biliruben lights.

oh. let's not name them just yet, okay?

we were told the babies had a 60 per cent chance of survival. i didn't want to name the girls, that would make them more real. if they died, i felt it might be easier if they were nameless. i didn't know. i just knew i was calm, and needed to stay that way. the precipice between this serene state and the jagged fears was closing in on me. more drugs, please.

we changed the topic and he started listing names of people who were praying for us.

soon enough, it was visiting hours, and while charles went up to the NICU ward to visit the babies and to take pictures, friends stephanie and jane are at my bedside. i had told stephanie to spread the word that i didn't want flowers. flowers are associated with funerals and babies...and at this time, the two were linked together enough in my mind. and also, flowers are associated with joy...and i had no joy in my heart.

but jane had brought flowers. and she arranged the pretty blossoms for me, and hugged me and prayed for me, as did stephanie. and denby, a good friend of stephanie's, mother of g/g twins, who is also becoming a good friend of mine, called from australia. i was calm, telling her i had done all i could, and it was in God's hands now. she was crying, and agreeing with me, and told me God loved them, no matter what.

while stephanie and jane sat with me, dale waited outside. (max: two visitors). dale and stephanie. charles had called them when it had been determined that i was going into labour. her cellular phone wasn't on. eventually, she answered, and she and dale ran from the shop they were in, and took a taxi to the hospital.

they arrived shortly after charles had witnessed the following:

a guard blocking off three of the six elevators.

a ten minute wait and then

a doctor and three nurses whisking a white bassinette on wheels into the elevator. one nurse was bagging whatever was in the bassinette.

the elevator doors closed.

repeat.

repeat again. except the baby is not being bagged. was it dead?

just as the door closed, my mother called charles, and asked him what was going on. he said i just saw the babies being wheeled into the elevator, i don't know what's going on with tess...

how are you, charles?

and he burst into tears.

well, our friends dale and stephanie are coming over to wait with me.

mum was so grateful, and later on, so was i, that charles didn't have to be alone.

do you know anything about the babies?

i don't know anything!

well, when you saw them, could you see..

i don't even know if they are alive!

minutes after hanging up with mum, d&s arrived. and as dale gave him the hug we all wished we could, charles started crying again.

they prayed.

they waited.

dr cora emerged, said they were waiting for me wake up, that the casearean had gone well, and that the babies had been taken upstairs. their weights were very good, she said. right what a singleton's would have been at that gestational age. to have three that weight was a real accomplishment. that was all she knew. charles was welcome to go upstairs, to k10 where the babies were, a pediatrician could best answer his questions.

another doctor left, and upon being asked by charles the babies gender, started the two boys two girls myth.

but that was all cleared up...and the first day of the babies lives was drawing to a close.

stephanie and jane kissed me one last time.

charles returned from the nursery. he had pictures.

i wasn't ready to look at them.

i had read in books, and i knew from the encouragement pictures we had on our kitchen wall how big the babies heads were, how long their feet. i couldn't face an emotional rush, right now i was operating best drained and calm. those babies would rouse love, protection, guilt??? i couldn't look at them.

charles fed me ice chips. he told me that he had told the nurses to call baby boy (triplet one) jasper, as we agreed.

and suddenly, i was ready to look at the pictures. (1st pic Jasper, 2nd Sela, 3rd Carys) thankfully, the digital screen was small, i dont' know how i would have reacted if they were larger pictures that indicated how tiny the babies were, how frail looking, how wet, red and sore looking their skin, how tightly the ventilators stretched their little mouths. but you could tell they were babies. barely. you could tell they were human forms under machines.

we prayed, i probably complained, and i took drugs, had my blood pressure and temperature checked, talked to a nurse about starting expressing the next day, and soon after, charles left. even drugged up, i didn't sleep. i looked at the flowers from jane instead.  regardless of the babies and death association, these flowers were beautiful. colour against the drab curtains, life besides the machinery. i stared at those flowers for hours, and hoped that my babies would have beautiful colourful lives.

and thus ended the babies' first day in the world.

oh no, they're coming

I had a great surprise, around 4.30 I was just sitting in my bed feeling very peaceful and happy about the fact that I am not spotting anymore, and may tsui shows up at the hospital. Somehow God weasled her into the ward! It is so good to see her and she prayed with me and really lifted my spirits. God is comforting me, I feel very protected right now.

I have a nice visit with steph and charles and dale, I even walk outside. Not sure that is too approved of. But hey. No more spotting. WHEW!!! Cora will probably come here tomorrow and I will inquire about going home. I know you can keep your bed here, and I will happily pay the $100 per night fee to reserve the spot in case of an emergency or to get checked up a couple of times a day, but I might as well be at home. I can see the flat from my bed, and it makes me cry. I probably should go home tomorrow, or in a couple of days. I am very happy planning my release, and relieved knowing that our wonderful neighbour Lucy is taking sebastian to libby’s playgroup tomorrow. Little man.

Another good neighbour Mel comes by with charles and we have a nice chat. She has chic, that one. She sits on the edge of my bed, flipping through hello! and assures me I will not go into labour for a long time. She is lovely, mel is.

After she leaves, charles and I go into the bathroom. And he gives me a shower. Oh it is wonderful. I just sit in a chair and he washes my hair, hands me my razor, gives my arms and hands a scrub…oh I love that man.

I have to try and get some sleep though. It is cooler than the other night, which is a blessing, but I am emailing charmaine.

I explore charles’ blackberry a little bit and come across a file. In it, I read that MY MUM Is coming to visit me to keep me company during the last weeks of bedrest! She is meant to arrive in a couple of weeks! Isn’t that wonderful!!! I phone charles and tell him YOU ARE SO BUSTED. He knows immediately what I mean. I tell him I love him. This is so great, I am feeling really proud. I beat superspy charles at his own game! I send him an email that if I can beat him at this game, then I can definitely go to 34 weeks.

I rub my tummy, and it almost seems like there is a ridge. Someone’s foot. I have been drinking lots of water (better chance of getting released if I am a good girl and drink all my water!!!) so what is with this foot?? But I suppose that happened with Sebastian as well. We used to play a game, sebastian and I, it was called catch the foot. I would grab and hold his foot when it poked hard against my stomach, and he would try to shake it loose. I also wonder idly, whose foot is it anyway??

…………….

Again, not much sleep. I am keeping the curtain open tonight, last night the heat was stifling. But still, I am uncomfortable. At around midnight, I get an email telling me that our friends Andrew and jin have headed off to the hospital…their third child is en route. I am very pleased for them, I just wish jin was going to be at this hospital. I would talk with her, get to hold and admire their baby.

And I can’t sleep. But I turn on my side, and send emails, and a very short time later I read that jin and Andrew’s baby, jonathan, has been delivered. A big baby, he’s healthy. Parents are well. I am happy.

I look outside and start trying to write. I have a deadline, my articles for tatler magazine and parents journal are due in three days. I start writing away, amending my words. Sending occasional emails to charmaine, who is awake in Canada. I would be writing to pam, but she is at a conference and doesn’t have cell phone access.

I try to sleep, but it does not happen.

Monday, 23 february

At 6am I trudge off to the bathroom and a clot of blood plops into the toilet. It is huge, starts staining the toilet water pink immediately. And this time, I don’t flush, but I call the nurse, and am hustled off to bed. an internal exam reveals my cervix is still shut. These past 24 hours I have convinced myself that it has been the internal examinations that have caused the bleeding. Or maybe it was the hot water from the shower. I have congratulated myself on being so rational, so calm, so unpanicked. 

but I am no longer sure.

Small pains are flickering from my cervix to my belly button. I remember these pains. My back is fine, but these pains are very familiar. It has been over two years since I last had these pains, but I remember them. I can’t ignore the reason I now believe I am bleeding.

I suggest to the nurses that I am in labour, but I am told my cervix is still shut. The contraction monitor is attached to my stomach, and I am told there are small contractions, but nothing serious. The heartrate monitors are strapped to my belly, and this means I have to lift up three times while they get the monitors underneath my stomach. This is burdensome. makes me tired. My belly is no longer malleable. The contraction monitor is put on as well, wedged underneath my bra. They try to get me to take my bra off, but I refuse.i’m getting sweaty and the last thing I want are sloppy sweaty boobs. I concentrate on the fact that the heartrates are fine, and I am grateful, but apprehensive. I can feel it I can feel it I know something is not right.

I am getting frustrated. I am not going to scream, but I am pretty sure what is happening, and to be honest, it is getting uncomfortable. Fast. I call my mother and I tell her what I think is happening. Why does no one believe me that I am in labour? I have not been a difficult patient (except for the bra thing and that was just a few minutes ago.) I see the medical team approaching my bed and I tell her that I have to go.

The medical team parks their seven strong collective personage infront of my bed. The students look impassive. I think they get this from the noncommittal doctor, who looks at me and the contraction monitor and says,

“you are not very good with pain?”. I look at uncomprehendingly and she explains, “these are very mild contractions, yet you say you are in a lot of pain.”

They don’t look at my cervix. you would think with 12 doctors to be, one of them would want a look, but no. not even just one of them and they move on with their clipboards.

They leave me taped to the machine and I just lay on my side.

And wait. And pray. And will the pains away. It’s not working. I start doing the mental arithmetic…yes we got all the steroid shots in, but do they need 48 hours from the first one or from the last one to work? And does the possible brain damage take 48 hours after the first one or the last one to set in?

I feel a strong need to call charmaine, and Claudine.

I don’t know if I have talked at all about Claudine yet. But she is someone I want to talk with. When we worked together, claudes and I were very close. She got another, better job and moved on, and we still saw each other, just not as much. She is a talented journalist. When we moved to pokfulam we didn’t see much of each other, but I know that I can call her and she will love me. So I call her and burst into tears. “Claudine I am in the hospital and I am in labour and they don’t believe me and I know the babies are going to be born today and I just wanted to call you and tell you that I am scared and I love you.”

And I know she loves me too.

My mum, bless her, has called charles, who arrives at the hospital at 9am. Dr Cora is doing rounds. There are no accidents with God. All the doctors take turns doing rounds, and this Monday, it is cora’s turn.

By the time she arrives at my bedside and opens the curtain a little wider, I don’t really want to talk with anyone, and I am lying on my side, holding my stomach. The pains are frequent, every four minutes. Five hours ago I was trying to pass them off as cramps, but no way. Again, my back is exempt from the pain, and the contractions are five inches long…from cervix to belly button and I think, “man, I give good labour.”

Cora takes one look at me, and instructs the nurses to remove the heartbeat monitors (all heartbeats are still good, by the way). SNAP! SNAP! SNAP! Oh what a relief to have those removed. They are scratchy and tight around my stomach.

“I am having these babies” I tell her.

She moved the contraction monitor down to the apex of my stomach. And VOILA, IDIOTS. The monitor jumps from 18 on the pain range to over 60.

I TOLD YOU I WAS IN LABOUR I TOLD YOU I WAS IN LABOUR.

She does an internal…I am five cm dilated. I am going to have these babies soon, she tells me. She turns to her devoted students and says,

How do you know that she was in labour.

They suggest the bleeding, and I am sure they are thinking my crochety manner, and then dr cora says, “no, she was sweating. Always a sure sign of labour. Hard work.”

Even though I don’t want these babies to be born, I am anxious for these pains to stop. This is tough.

Although the steroids haven’t had enough time to strengthen the triplets’ tiny lungs, an emergency section is needed. It starts to get busy around my bed. And I am not a cryer, but I am feeling emotionall void, because all I want is to be left alone and to talk to charles. There are things I need to tell him.

I am asked repeatedly if I have dentures and try to remember what I have eaten since last night. Four grapes since midnight.

And finally, charles and I do get a few minutes together. At around 9.30 while cora is clearing out a delivery room and putting an emergency team together, we stop worrying about the fate of the babies and accept they are going to be born, soon. And we agree no matter what happens, we do not regret that we did not have the selective reduction performed. They all deserve the chance to live. And I tell charles that no matter what happens to the babies, whether they live or die, I will survive any news, as long as he is with me. I am really hurting by now. Charles is clocking the contractions, they are coming every two minutes now. But although the pain is more frequent, it is hurting less than it did one hour ago. The pain is morphing into another memory…constructive pain. Getting-ready-to-deliver-the-babies-pain. And I know that if these babies aren’t sectioned out soon, I will deliver them. the pain is not nice, but unlike last time, i don't want the pains to stop. i want it to continue and for the babies to stay in. if not for 10 more weeks, at least until 1pm.

And suddenly, it is time. Lots of activity around my bed.

The nurse promises me that charles can stay by my bed until I am put under, and cora had said that it would be okay as well.. And as I am wheeled away I am holding his hand and suddenly I can’t see his face any more. And I am no longer holding his hand. We are in a new, blocked off corridor.

We are in a cold room. “charles?” I say to a nurse. “where is my husband?” he is out there, she tells me. Waiting.

I realise how tough this is for him. I am going to be put under, and he has to wait. How long will it take??? I figure 15 minutes or so…oh wow this hurts.

The anesthiologist and a doctor come in. I am quickly examined and I am told that I am 8cm dilated and in transition. Don’t think in my despair that the pain is blocked out. NO, this hurts.

But vanity and tess are not so easily parted and as cora comes in, I tell her again, “please make the incision low”. You would think that in matters of life and death frivolity would be pushed aside. NOT SO.

The anaesthesiologist picks up my hand. I pray he won’t put anything into my hand, my veins in my hand are so sensitive and it never works out. He is apparently disgusted with my paper thin skin and kinky veins too, because he goes with my wrist. Ouch.

I am praying, and I am ready to give up control. I am also ready to push. This incision will be low, I figure, because it feels like the babies are lined up together ready to jump out.

A nurse squeezes my hand, and tears squeeze out of my eyes. A cool fluid flowing under my skin, meeting my hot blood, counting down from 10, nine and halfway through eighhhhhhhh.

And that is my birth story.

when I wake up, the clock is reading noon. What happened? And there is an incredible searing pain somewhere. My throat is feeling like a skidoo has repeatedly driven up and down it for the last few hours.

I think my babies have been born.

A nurse is there, and I try to talk and the next thing I know, it is 12.20. I try again.

“nurse? babies?”

it is not the same nurse, the kind one who squeezed my hand. It is another nurse.

“upstairs.”

“are they allright?”

“the doctor will come down to you soon. Press this if you are in pain.”

Is she kidding in pain? This is agony! At least you get a break from contractions!!! This is continual, feels like a hot nail is pressing against my tummy and a white hot horseshoe is stirring my intestines and stomach area and I can’t pull away. And my throat…oh man.

Are they girls or boys? I ask the nurse. She tells me two girls and one boy. Hermie is a girl!! Wow! I smile, and then I think more time passes.

Eventually, I am wheeled out into the hallway. I see charles’ face. He is there with our friends, dale and steph. How come they are there I wonder?

And my first loving words to my white faced husband,

“you have no idea how much pain I am in”

and then….”how are the babies?”

they are upstairs in the NICU. Doing okay.

Live?

Yes, he says, looking at me somewhat pityingly, because I am not talking well. My throat is so sore.

Bunny, two girls and one boy.

And now his look is almost condescending, as he reports to me what the doctors have told him, “no, tess, two boys and one girl.”

“really?”

“yes”

“oh”. a new prospect: i am losing my mind or my hearing. i could have sworn that nurse said two girls and one boy. huh. great.

He doesn’t know their weights, he doesn’t know their lengths (we actually never find that out), but he was nearly arrested for videotaping triplet one’s removal from the operating theatre. He does however, after repeated claims from me, have a very good idea that I am in pain.

I start talking to my mother soon after. It might have been a good idea for the drugs to wear off, but add impatient to the vain and prideful list.

I’m fine mum, don’t worry about me, pray for charles and the babies…my throat is sore and I am in so much pain but don’t worry about me pray for charles and the babies. Promise me. Okay bye.

and i can hear from her voice that she is crying and trying not to smile at how ridiculous and confused my repetitive sentences are.

and now charles is gone. has he gone home to get me things? is he hiding the illegal tape he made? or, is he looking at the babies?????

enough memories for today.  more tomorrow.

Well here we go.

Saturday feb 21

The gathering of the storm, Charles and I went in for an appointment with dr cora ngai at 11.20am. it was just meant to be an ultrasound, I had seen her a few days previously. Charles and I discussed as we walked (five minutes walk - it is a flat road) to the appointment how soon I would need to be driven to these appointments. And what we would do later that afternoon. Last time I saw dr cora, I had complained that jasper’s head was jamming into my cervix and I felt like he was going to fall out. She did a quick internal exam and all proved to be well. (aka: there was no baby falling out of my vagina.)

We sat waiting at K5 and I was tired and the seat hurt my back. I put my head in Charles’ lap. This clinic is mainly for IVF patients, who are getting lining checks and we looked at the couples there, some of them watching us, and remembered anew our IVF journey. We looked at the tension and weariness in their faces. How much at stake. And we felt very blessed. I didn’t even complain that we had to wait for 45 minutes. These couples were way more important than we were.

At that time we had no idea that 26 weeks into a pregnancy meant that the babies might live. Dr Luke’s book did mention 26 weeks and surviving babies, but it seemed so unlikely. their heads were the size of tangerines. And then there were all the negative stories. All the mention of “surviving triplets”, which was inconceivable to me. Now that the first trimester bleeding had stopped there was nothing that indicated I wouldn’t go to 34 weeks, although 36 was our secret milestone. Oh we wanted that. Mainly because we wanted to prove to the doctor who had advised selective reduction that we had made the right decision. Tess and pride….virtually interchangeable are we.

So it was a huge surprise when I had assumed the now overly familiar spread eagle position and the magic wand was just starting to interrupt the upside down fuzzy grey fan on the screen, when Dr ngai put down the wand and said, there is something wrong with the machine, excuse me I will just get my colleague.

Charles and I looked at each other, and a very tiny tiny niggling of doubt trembled up my spine. The machine actually looked fine, and after all these IVF’s, we sort of figured we were experts on how ultrasound machines should look and behave. But you never knew, maybe this one needed a new light or something?

I needed a new cervix.

Colleague in tow (head of the obs/gyn department…I recognised him), very slowly, Dr Ngai re-inserted the wand. But it still seemed to be a very external scan. She pointed to the screen and said, “I am not even inside, and I can see the top of the first sac. Triplet one has dropped. We need to do an internal.”

EXCUSE ME?

But jumping into the stirrups was nothing new for me, and so I clambered in, and Dr Cora and Dr Leung (head of the department) checked me out and confirmed what they feared, I was 80 per cent effaced.

Effaced has nothing to do with one’s face. I should note that.

A cervix can do two things…it can get shorter/longer, or open/shut. When they talk about being dilated, that’s the open/shut business. Effaced is shorter/longer, and my cervix was 80 per cent effaced. From 100 it had lost 80 per cent of its…facings???  NOT GOOD. That’s why the sac was peeking through, because there was nothing really holding it up anymore.

I needed to get emergency steroids shots to help develop the babies lungs.

Why?

Because your babies could be born anytime.

These babies? Pointing to my stomach.

I felt confused. The babies born now?? I felt scared. But I also felt God with us. I was calm enough to discuss with dr cora how likely it was that labour would begin. Dr cora and dr leung explained that this does not mean I am in labour, but I do need to be very careful and in case labour does start, take the steroid injections. But…the steroids could cause neurological problems down the road. Yet they recommend that we get started on them right away. They need 48 hours to take effect. They didn’t want to get into huge discussions now…they promised they would come back but right now I needed to get that first shot into me.

I am seriously worried. I get hustled up to the 9^th floor, where I am assigned a bed. I don’t put on the pink pajamas they hand me, instead I wait until charles returns with some XL Victoria secret pajamas and some lunch. I am still trying to eat. I can help my babies by eating. I am given the first injection at 1pm. I have a bed beside the window and I am watching the traffic go by and planning how I am going to survive.

A contraction monitor indicates that while I am having contractions, they are mild and not felt by me at all. They are all registering under 15. and I can’t feel a thing, really I can’t.

By 4pm, the contractions have ceased and I get moved to a new bed. It is also a window view. The ward is hot and some Chinese program is blaring from the television located next to me. I start crying. The nurse asks me why I am crying. I tell her I am scared, and I miss my husband and Sebastian. She says sympathetically, “oh, I thought you didn’t like the bed.” She pats my shoulder and walks away.

Dr cora mentions that there is a chance I will be here until I deliver. The thought of delivering so prematurely petrifies me, but the thought of being here until I deliver depresses me. Because don’t forget, I am delivering in 10 weeks. can I survive 70 days in the hospital? I wonder if I should re-adjust my goals and hope charles doesn’t mind if I suggest the babies be born at 34-35 weeks.

I write in my journal:

Just one week ago I was celebrating Valentine’s day with charles. Just yesterday I could watch television whenever I wanted to or sit down on a toilet seat that didn’t have foot prints on it.

But today I learned that I am almost completely effaced. A cerclage at this point is futile because there is a high likelihood the needle would pierce the membranes, thus beginning labour. The poor cure? A hospital stay. Beginning now, ending apparently with delivery. I just want to go home. I can see our flat from the window. It is so hot on the ward and I can’t imagine staying here for 10 weeks.

On the good side, the babies were measuring well. Little “C” is still dragging behind the others, but only a bit, and you know, all in all, its looking good. They weigh around two pounds each. Can you imagine. Keep growing little ones, you need every ounce. on the lighter side, baby b is either a boy or a hermaphrodite (opinion of most recent dr who did scan, not dr cora. we've been calling that baby "hermie" for the last while.

My heart is aching for Sebastian and charles. Especially sebbie who understands nothing of my absence. The guilt is back. Could I have prevented this? I really don’t think so, and that gives me comfort. Will Sebastian be totally screwed up? Will he ignore me? Are the babies going to be okay??

This is going to be a long day. Visitors are not allowed until 6, and can only stay until 8. then it is quiet. Or as quiet as it can be when ladies are in labour. They are trying very hard to be nice here.

I lay in my new bed looking at my stomach. It felt huge and unpenetrable. When I was squatting to sit, I noticed how bending was now impossible. Over the past couple of weeks I have gotten into the habit of showering twice a day to ease the pressure in my back.

I have been given some medication to stop the contractions and it seems to be very effective. It is not magnesium sulfate, which could be counterproductive with the epilepsy, but it is still a relaxant and I am very tired. Not tired enough to sleep, of course.

Charles brings me a nice dinner of chicken and some fresh fruit. It is exactly what I want and I manage to eat most of it. We hold hands and talk optimistically. I will be fine, the contractions have ceased. This is good news.

It is so surreal to be praying that the triplets stay in place for 48 more hours. Whatever happened to 36 weeks??

I read some magazines and a book, and listen to some music. Charles has brought me a cd player and it is soothing. Lights are bright, even though it is late. I cannot sleep. It is hot, and I open the curtain so that I can get some air.

At 1am precisely, I get the second steroid shot. A huge sigh of relief. Halfway there. I send out some email messages on charles’ blackberry to tell friends and family how we are faring. I am tired but the night is dragging. And I cannot sleep. I am already tired of having my temperature and bp taken.

Charmaine is one of the people I send an email to. I love charmaine. She is a fellow IVF survivor, and although we have only met once, we are tres simpatico. when I was hospitalised at the beginning of this pregnancy for OHSS, she called me twice a day, and cried with me when I told her I thought I was dying.

In my emails I try to be upbeat.

I am feeling pretty confident. In the back of my mind, I am planning how I am going to get out of here. The danger is over, let’s start scheming.

Sunday February 22

At around 4am I get up to go to the loo. And I notice that I have passed a clot of blood. I actually have slept for about one hour. Before then I was constantly going to the loo. New rule: tonight, except for medication, drinking stops at 5.30pm or so.

This is scary.

I notice that my cervical mucous has changed from milky white (typical pregnancy yuk) to threaded with blood. Oh this is ominous. I remember being pregnant with Sebastian and MSN’ing pam about this threaded blood stuff. With a shudder of fear I recollect that six hours after I msn’ed with pam about this threaded stuff, sebastian was born.

But the staff is optimistic.

since there are no contractions, it is not labour, they declare.

I am worried that I don’t feel “hermie” kicking. “hermie” is baby b, who is supposed to be a boy, but no one is really certain. We call baby “b” hermie, short for hermaphrodite. I am concerned about hermie.

I am worried these babies will not wait 36 more hours to be born.

I am worried they will die.

I am worried that I have not seen the neurologist who is going to prescribe extra medication for me.

I am worried that I will begin to dilate and that we will have waited too long and we will be in real trouble.

I am worried that I am not getting more monitoring or internals.

I haven’t had an internal since 5am and it is 10am.

Or a fetal heartrate monitor since 8am. I know it takes a lot of time when you are checking for three, but still.

I am going over in my mind wondering if I have done anything wrong. Last Friday I went to the valentines dinner at the church and walking up the stairs really winded me. Was it that? A few days ago I had a yeast infection. Could that have brought about labour? So many women, shorter women than me, go to 35-36 weeks with triplets. That’s what I wanted to do. I wanted to show the doctors who recommended selective reduction to charles and I that our decision to keep all three was the best one, that we had not suffered for it.

While guilt swamps me, the nurse pops along, checks my blood pressure and as she is taking my temperature, another nurse comes along and finds the babies heartbeats. Waiting for them to find the heartbeats is scary business. It seems to take forever. They are practically scanning my lungs the monitor seems so highly placed. They don’t seem to understand the triplets are very close together, and as I have been present every time the heartbeats have been taken I like to think I know where the hearts are located. I end up guiding the monitor myself,

I can understand why the ward doesn’t allow husbands, but I have never needed mine more.

The bleeding continues throughout the day. I see Sebastian and am so happy!!! And even better, the bleeding stopped at 5pm so I have good news for charles upon his arrival.

Sebastian seems fine though. I don’t think he is missing me at all. Hurts the pride, but it is good for him. There are pictures of Sebastian, he has had tea at annie’s and his bath there as well. Paula took and downloaded pictures. They make me cry. Our neighbours continue to be so good to us.

I have also had the third steroid injection. Apparently they will give me some in a few weeks as well, because these ones are going to wear off after a while. I am not sure I want them in a few weeks, because of the potential neurological dangers.

stay where you are babies.....

EVERY DAY COUNTS
EVERY DAY COUNTS

EVERY DAY COUNTS

And although it sounds dramatic, right now, every hour counts.

tomorrow hopefully my sadness will cease

tomorrow the babies turn one.

this above fact and, oh yes, the seizure thing, explains my recent silence. as their first birthday looms, i am feeling depressed. i know their early birth was not my fault, but i just wish things had gone differently.

how good of me to question God.

how human of me.

oh i am NOTHING if not human.

i know this sounds self-pitying, but this is how i am feeling and i am not afraid to share it. i know how lucky we are, and i also know that being part of a miracle doesn't guarantee an easy bump-free road!

one year ago i was in hospital, and every hour that the babies weren't born was a blessing.

their health is too precarious to have a party, which is okay, i don't want to jeopardise them. noses are drippy taps kids are coughing and clearing their throats like they've had a 2 pack a day habit for 25 years. better safe than sorry.

and i know that alot of you around the world are congratulating them for fighting so hard to celebrate their resiliency, endearing qualities, and lives with us.

tomorrow: the beginning of their birth story.

from the "she's not too sick to be trivial" files...

...do you remember when greek salads were sans lettuce?

the millenium greek salad apparently is nothing more than a garden salad with olives and a couple of cubes of feta. (and they are carefully cut cubes, which indicates the cheese has been cut from one of those plastic containers of feta you can get at a grocery store). there are a few obligatory alternative vegetables decorating the top of the salad, which is a mountain of iceberg and boston lettuce underneath. who wants that?? this just isn't a hong kong phenomenom either.

i remember crumbly, erratically sized chunks of feta roaming about those greek salads of the past. crushing the cheese with my fork and ploughing it into the tomato. kalamata and onions together. cucumber.

it was so simple and perfect.

RIP greek salad.

***

well, i got sela's ultrasound moved up to march 1.

and me, status quo. thank you for your comments and suggestions and support....so appreciated. fueled me into action.

****

girls, interrupted

sela is taking centre stage. her hydracephalus is causing concern. (not enough concern that she can get an ultrasound before march 15, but apparently, concern.) her fontanel area is swollen and spongy looking. because she is follicly challenged, the swollen area is very visible. it looks like something has expanded under her skin and is pushing its relentless way to the top of her head. sela is also vomitting, whenever she hits her head. as you know, sela has always been a vomitter after meals, but for the past two weeks, she is always vomitting after she hits her head. but this is anytime, and a clear expulsion. so, the worry licks at the back of my stomach, and i wait for march 15.

as for me...

this uncertainty is driving me mad. i wake up in the morning with cold fear. i don't know if i am going to be having petit mals. if i am, the day is pretty much a write off, when i am able to talk without dropping the phone, i cancel my day's activities. if i seem to be functioning normally, i think, great! and proceed on with my day. except then i face the risk of being halfway to lunch like i was today, having to cancel, and rush home to bed. and the lunch was with aloo gobi richard, to add insult to (almost) injury.

i can't plan anything. i am getting quite adept at deleting plans, however. i can't have a life. i have never experienced this continual uncertainty and fear. i have so much respect for the epileptics that do have uncontrolled seizures and still have a life.  they really are remarkable.

this uncertainty is what bothers me most. i have no idea why this is happening now. i am taking my medication. really. i have never been on this high a dose, ever. and i am so tired of fighting the weight gain/increased appetite that accompanies one of the drugs i am on. wasn't losing weight from triplets enough to prove that i can do it?

this uncertainty, these days of "now we pick up the petit mal seizures from where we left off yesterday..." is so exasperating that i almost, almost feel like stopping my medication and bringing on that grand mal that is lurking in the back of my brain.  the forgetfulness, the sore and swollen tongue, the tell tale horizontal red line around it where it was bitten, the aching joints and cramped muscles, possible bruises...it almost seems worth it if it would get this seizure out of my world. my plans.

i am going to see a doctor. this is a big thing for me. epilepsy has always been something i have been ashamed of, (i think it is the "fits" thing...i hate that word, but then again, i hate the word epilepsy. it is an awkward word, and i have always thought that. too many p's and that l in the middle of it...)

but i am going to see a doctor, which means i will acknowledge i need help and i will talk and tell what is wrong. i will cringe when he asks if i am having "fits", but i will be honest. i don't need to be embarrassed, i know this is not my fault.

anything has to be better than this raging uncertainty.

simply magnificent

this isn't a valentines day letter, but it is about love. and written for love. i don't call him magnificent charles just for fun. he is magnificent. you’ve read how i nearly missed the plane to phuket. well, those almost seizures that leave me unable to care for babies and the flat and sebastian were not a one-off experience.

last night, i was so tired i didn’t go to small group. i was in bed lights out by 9.45. and at 10.15, jasper started wailing, and continued on in such a way that really made it clear he wasn’t planning on being quiet anytime soon. he had thrown up earlier in the day (the girls still throw up, and what’s worse, they have enlisted their brother into this most reviled pastime), so hunger was behind it.

but the crying woke me up sharply, and a very few minutes after getting into the bedroom i realised i had to go and lie down again. when I say this, i don’t mean, i was really desperately tired and craved sleep, i mean, I HAD TO GO AND LIE DOWN because if i didn’t, i would have had a seizure. i’ve been playing this game long enough, i know the rules.

back to bed i went, and though i am having the petit mal seizures, they aren't getting much worse. as they are abating, charles returns. (pictured above at Sebastian's age) i tell him what almost happened and hasn’t happened so far, and he cuddles me. he then sees the sweaters i had bought him that morning and tells me he loves them. (he actually wore one of them today so i think he “really likes it!”, a la sally field).

then he got into bed. and when jasper again started his plaintive calling (the bum-rubbing that mum gave him wasn’t enough to get him to sleep through the night, he woke up around 2, and 3.30 and 5 am demanding attention…..) charles got up with him each time. at one point i heard the crying and got up, and charles was in the kitchen, heating up a bottle. he just looked at me and said, “back to bed, love, i’ll take care of jasper. he’s just hungry.”

you would think charles has going on in his life without his day job, nocturnal activities and permanent tiredness. but he does it all, uncomplainingly. there is never a “tess, can’t you do it this time…” he just takes care of it, again and again.

at a 1999 marriage counselling session the group leader said, “you're in love now, and that is great. but you don’t know what love is yet. wait until you have survived grief, babies, fear, and uncertainty together…and have shared years together. time together will show you what love is.”

although i had cold feet when i married charles, i never seriously hesitated because i KNEW i loved him and that he was the BEST i could ever find. i was no prophetess…but i was right. and years down the road, we’ve shared deaths of friends and parents and grandparents, the birth of children and the frustration of infertility, uncertainty as to whether those children would live, and late nights and delayed planes, losing money on lost flights, donating money to those less fortunate than we, …and i am just beginning to see the beauty of charles.

i don't think i will ever see all of it. every day i see a new way he is committed to me, our children, his friends, his integrity. he is tender and patient with the children, loves and jokes endlessly with my family, and is kind and gracious to his own family. he changes nappies, wipes up vomit, wipes tear streaked and hot faces with a cold cloth, hides my favourite hot chocolate in his suitcase when we go away so he can bring me a cup right before i go to bed, dances around with one, two, three babies in his arms and sebastian clinging to his legs. every day the reasons to love him are deeper and greater. i tell him more these days that i love him than when we were careless newlyweds. his ways of expressing love are there, and i don't have to look too closely to see his love in action.

i may be 34, but i am still learning about love. i hope i continue to learn for many years to come.

thought for the day

whoever invented the term

coitus interruptus

definitely had children.

opportunity and memories lost

you know how sometimes you just have a feeling. a gut instinct that you'd rather ignore but you can't.

when sebastian was a toddler, we took him to toronto. my family had all been to hong kong to meet the bald headed wonder, but magnificent and i wanted sebastian to meet his toronto family as well. and so we headed off to eastern canada.

before our travel plans were even firm, i said to charles,

we need to get a Caldwell family photo this summer. of everyone. there are two new babies in the family, we need to get a family photograph.

the last family photo of charles' side of the family had been taken in 1999 at our wedding. but it was now 2002! my nieces no longer resembled the flower girls they had been. and i had this insistence that we had to get a family photograph taken. i didn't closely examine the WHY? just went with the instruction.

i bought some special black and white film. if this photo was not taken, it would not be because of lack of film. magnificent was originally pleased with my photo mindedness, but the constant referral to it must have been wearying.

and i did often mention it. usually, my obsessions would operate like this:

mention and repeat for one week: "wow, i wish they still made wig-wag chocolate bars. they were the greatest." (anyone else remember wig-wags??)

for two weeks ruminate and refuse to be distracted: don't distract me with talk of other chocolates, all other chocolates are eschewed.

it ends: magnificent: "enough wig-wag chit-chat. i can't bring them back." and then i eat a skor bar, and i'm fine.

but this was more of a fixation on getting a family photo...this was an insistence. the reminder to take the opportunity. the nudging feeling this must be done SOON was constant. i mentioned the photo to my in-laws and they all agreed to sit for one. excellent. it was going to happen. i also knew, this was our last chance to get a complete family photo. and as the visit drew closer, i again didn't analyse WHY.

we were together as a complete family twice that visit. both sil's and bil's were working during the days, we couldn't expect them to take the week off for us. we have friends in toronto that we were also spending time with, so nights we might have gotten together as a family, mag. charles, "wassin" and i had already made plans. it's tough returning to a place. they have their lives.

the last day we were together we went over to the club. a beautiful location, and i had my camera. i mentioned the picture to charles and his father. we needed to get this picture.

we ate lunch, and afterward i suggested the picture. no one really took up the idea or wanted to discuss it.

and this is where you know you should stop mentioning it because you are irritating others. especially since this isn't your family, and maybe the emphasis on family photos isn't as important and they think you are insane.....ENOUGH WITH THE MENTIONING IT.

but the GUT INSTINCT wasn't letting up. so i mentioned it one last time. (of course i did).

we didn't take the group photo.

it's not like they were ignoring my request. nothing like that. it just didn't happen. and i whinged on the going home how i wished we had taken that photo. i needed some outlet for the disappointment and dread in my stomach.

and a few months later, magnificent charles' mum died.

should i have been more persistent that day? probably. i wanted that photo for magnificent, for sebastian. and me. i wanted it for me less which is how i can justify that i wasnt being selifhsly greedy in pushing for it. charles does not see his family often, sebastian wouldn't remember them....i wanted sebastian to be able to see the family of which he is a member. i wanted charles to have an updated picture of the faces that surrounded him as he grew up. to look at in between the phone calls and emails....i wanted him to have this photo!!!

and i knew there would not be another chance.

my family takes a family picture every year. (we also fight and make up every year and dissect each other psychologically.) that is our family. i know there are many ways to make someone far away feel close to the family. calls, emails, recommending books they are reading...oh believe me I KNOW. we know his family loves him. but i just wanted this picture for the men in my life.

i dream about charles' mum maybe once a month. at first, upon waking, i would try to analyse the dream to determine if she had mentioned or alluded to the lost photo opportunity. she hasn't yet.

but charles has.

and that saddens me.

someone was kind enough to send this to me, and i think it applies to most of us who have endured a hard road to parenthood. i have friends this applies to, and it is so true. hats off and hearts overflowing for these women. i don't know if i will be one of you, but i know if i need be, i will.

Mothers of children with disabilities worthy of praise By Lori Borgman Knight Ridder/Tribune News Service

Expectant mothers waiting for a newborn's arrival say they don't care what sex the baby is. They just want it to have ten fingers and ten toes. Mothers lie. > Every mother wants so much more. She wants a perfectly healthy baby with a round head, rosebud lips, button nose, beautiful eyes and satin skin. She wants a baby so gorgeous that people will pity the Gerber baby for being flat-out ugly. She wants a baby that will roll over, sit up and take those first steps right on schedule (according to the baby development chart on page 57, column two). > Every mother wants a baby that can see, hear, run, jump and fire neurons by the billions. She wants a kid that can smack the ball out of the park and do toe points that are the envy of the entire ballet class. Call it greed if you want, but a mother wants what a mother wants.

Some mothers get babies with something more. >

Maybe you're one who got a baby with a condition you couldn't pronounce, a spine that didn't fuse, a missing chromosome or a palette that didn't close. The doctor's words took your breath away. It was just like the time at recess in the fourth grade when you didn't see the kick ball coming and it knocked the wind right out of you. Some of you left the hospital with a healthy bundle, then, months, even years later, took him in for a routine visit, or scheduled her for a well check, and crashed head first into a brick wall as you bore the brunt of devastating news. It didn't seem possible. That didn't run in your family. Could this really be happening in your lifetime?

I watch the Olympics for the sheer thrill of seeing finely sculpted bodies. It's not a lust thing, it's a wondrous thing. They appear as specimens without flaw -- muscles, strength and coordination all working in perfect harmony. Then an athlete walks over to a tote bag, rustles through the contents and pulls out an inhaler.

There's no such thing as a perfect body. Everybody will bear something at some time or another. Maybe the affliction will be apparent to curious eyes, or maybe it will be unseen, quietly treated with trips to the doctor, therapy or surgery. Mothers of children with disabilities live the limitations with them.

Frankly, I don't know how you do it. Sometimes you mothers scare me. How you lift that kid in and out of the wheelchair twenty times a day. How you monitor tests, track medications, and serve as the gatekeeper to a hundred specialists yammering in your ear. I wonder how you endure the clichés and the platitudes, the well-intentioned souls explaining how God is at work when you've occasionally questioned if God is on strike.

I even wonder how you endure chmaltzy columns like this one -- saluting you, painting you as hero and saint, when you know you're ordinary. You snap, you bark, you bite. You didn't volunteer for this, you didn't jump up and down in the motherhood line yelling, "Choose me, God. Choose me! I've got what it takes."

You're a woman who doesn't have time to step back and put things in perspective, so let me do it for you. From where I sit, you're way ahead of the pack. You've developed the strength of a draft horse while holding onto the delicacy of a daffodil. You have a heart that melts like chocolate in a glove box in July, counter-balanced against the stubbornness of an Ozark mule. You are the mother, advocate and protector of a child with a disability. You're a neighbour, a friend, a woman I pass at church and my sister-in-law. You're a wonder.