On this day last year, I found myself in Labor & Delivery at 29 weeks pregnant with my twins. I had started experiencing what felt like very light contractions earlier in the day, and as they picked up throughout the day, I went in to get checked out. The nurses confirmed I was indeed experiencing contractions, and needed to do further examination to determine if I was actually in labor. After an excruciating cervical exam that still makes me cringe to this day, they confirmed I had not actually gone into labor yet, and I was given medications to mellow out the contractions and sent home. I did not know then that this was just the first day of the most physically taxing 5 weeks of my life.

When I got home, I cried. Cried because I had thought I had gone into labor at 29 weeks, which in and of itself was scary. Cried because the cervical exam, though I consented to it, had felt violating. Cried because Tim was away celebrating a family member’s wedding out of state and I was at home, in pain, praying I wasn’t going to have to ask him to jump on a plane and come home. Cried because I still had a then-two-year-old to attend to and all I wanted to do was sleep.

After finding myself in L&D yet again about 2 weeks later due to my “irritable uterus”, I was put on modified bed rest. The goal was to keep the babies in my belly as long as possible, and at that point I was 31 weeks along. By that time I was also on a reduced work schedule because the physical discomfort was more than I could bear for an 8-hour workday. I contracted painfully on and off, every day, for the remainder of my pregnancy. I couldn’t sleep or ever find a comfortable position. At 33 weeks, I ended up the hospital yet again when the pain became unmanageable, and that time actually got a prescription so I could get more day-to-day relief.

I kept the babies in my belly for a total of 5 weeks since that first visit to L&D, and ended up delivering them at 34 weeks, on October 19, 2021. (My kids like to be born on the 19th!)

I had actually put off going to the hospital for hours that day because I was convinced I was just going to be sent home again. When I got to the hospital, I was already dilated to 6 cm (at 10 cm, you begin actively pushing), so that just goes to show the level of pain and discomfort I had grown accustomed to experiencing on a daily basis. (The nurses did not believe I was in labor until one of them checked my cervix. She was visibly surprised and said to me, “I have you at a 6, but I want someone else to confirm this”—so lucky me got to have two painful cervical checks back to back!)

A sea of medical professionals were quickly upon us, prepping me for a C section and relaying an overwhelming amount of information to Tim and me. (I recall telling him that I needed him to remember everything for the both of us because I was completely unable to focus at that point.)

Amelia Rose Page and Ivy Mae Page were born less than an hour later! Tim was by my side in the operating room, supporting me while also keeping tabs on two premature babies and being the eyes and ears for both of us, as I was largely out of it. (I don’t even remember half of the surgery, and what I can remember is fuzzy and fragmented.) It was the craziest whirlwind of our lives, but our girls were finally here.

We were filled with joy at their arrival, but it wasn’t sunshine and rainbows from there. From the first moments the twins were born, it was very clear that due to their prematurity, our newborn experience with them would be extremely different than it was with their sister Adelaide.

September is NICU awareness month, and I’ll be writing more about our experience post-birth in part two of our story.