Sh*t That Pisses Me Off

That's right, I just cursed.  I can't help it.  All I was doing was trying to check the weather and here this was.  Front and center.

Mom Pleads Guilty in Death of Twins

I will say right now that I have no idea what this Mom's circumstances were and I have no idea how her sweet babies died.  I don't care.  I am pissed off.

People try to reason with us on why something this awful would happen to us.  How it "wasn't meant to be" and "they are in a better place".  I call bull sh*t.  This mom was given her girls and she killed them.  She was given what was taken away from us and that is what she did with it?

Please people, I beg of you, stop trying to find a reason!!  Sometimes in life there is no good reason.  This is one of those times.  There is nothing anyone will be able to say that will justify what happened.  There will never be a time when I go "oh sure, I see why we never got to be amazingly awesome parents to our twins and this woman was blessed with them instead".  You will never be able to convince me that "this was the right ending" for us, when I look around and see parents like this.

And while I am at it, don't convince me that being mad about this is not ok.  It won't work, you will waste your breath.  It is ok for us to mad.  It is a legitimate feeling.  And at this moment, right now, that is it what I am feeling.  It will go away.  Tomorrow will be better.  But right now, I am mad.

Too Much To Say

Sometimes I feel like saying nothing is easier than saying something when you have too much to say.  The unfortunate part about this has been that I can't seem to shake some things off that have been said or done, or certain ways that I feel.  I haven't wanted to write about certain things because I haven't wanted to offend anyone or hurt any feelings.

The thing about this blog is that by writing, I am getting through what has come to be the largest obstacle I have faced.  I appreciate putting it our here, for essentially everyone, because already in this short span of 3+ weeks I have been contacted on how what I have written has helped another person understand, cope, or grieve themselves.  That makes my soul feel good.

The disadvantage to this platform is the same thing; it is out here for everyone.  That means people I know, who may be involved in these experiences, will be reading this blog.  They may misunderstand my intentions, which is to clarify with myself what I am going through, not attack anyone else.  I am terrified that something, or everything, or a part of what I say will be taken incorrectly.  Because of that, I keep bottling things inside, or venting to a few people about the same things over and over again.  I feel like there is a knot in my stomach that may never leave.

So, here's the deal.  I am going to write about what I need to write about.  I am going to be honest while still being respectful.  By putting my words here, they are permanent and I am not wishing to hurt anyone with my words.  The goal in the end will be that everyone who is reading this blog will know in the future how to perhaps better handle a situation such as ours.  The fact is, people don't know, and they are not trying to be hurtful, but in the end we are hurting because of things that are being said or done.

I promise to ask myself "will I regret writing this?".  If the answer is yes, I know not to write it.  I promise to think of others, and not just myself as I write my way through this journey.  Some may wonder why I just haven't spoken with them about these things before spewing it on here.  The fact is, talking is harder.  When I write, I can consider my words thoughtfully and change things as I feel fit.  I am an emotional person, it is not a secret to people how I am feeling.  When you are trying to talk thoughtfully to someone but you can't check your emotions well enough to get the words out right, you fail in your message.  I want my message to succeed.

So, please bear with me, and remember, reading this blog is always an option.

And because I think every blog post is better with a picture, here is one of my little guy after his first haircut from this last week.  I can't believe he will be 9 months old tomorrow!

Friday Phone Dump

Our week in an Instagram

Poor Verizon

I feel slightly bad for a conversation I had with the lovely people at Verizon Wireless this last week.  Last month, when things were hitting the fan, we realized that between calling my family, friends, doctors, etc... I was totally going to go over my minutes.  This was before the girls had passed away, but during a time when things were getting sorted out and when my family lost both my Grandpa and Great Aunt Virginia less than a week apart.  Needless to say I was on the phone a lot.

I have never had an issue with minutes before, so after we asked the people at Verizon what we should do, they told us to go online and switch to the next plan up; we would be charged the difference on our next bill and we wouldn't then be charged any overage fees.  Awesome.  We could totally do that.

Jim hopped online, made the changes, and that was that.  Or so we thought until we got our bill.  Our regular fees, plus the difference, plus a ton of overage fees.  Huh???

I called them last week to try to get it all figured out.  Turns out that you have to specifically say online somewhere that you want the new plan to be retroactive until the beginning of the billing cycle and apparently Jim didn't do that.  They offered to make the change for our next bill and take off 30% of the overage fees.  Totally not good enough.

Anyone that knows me well knows that I can be pretty strong willed, and might tend to get a bit angry in these situations, and, dare I say it, I generally even curse.  I know....so lame.  This time, I just started sobbing.  Literally sucking my breath in, making gosh forsaken noises, and sobbing to the poor Verizon woman.

First of all, I was just upset because we did what we were told to do, and had the worker just done it for us this wouldn't even be an issue.  Second of all, just thinking of what the circumstances were and why I was on the phone so much just pushed me over the edge.  I couldn't even explain it to this woman on the phone as she put her supervisor on, who I still proceeded to cry uncontrollably to, constantly apologizing and explaining that I am not normally like this.

In the end, they got everything fixed and all of the charges reversed, and were really rockstars.  I, on the other hand, was not as thrilled with myself.  I know I have cried a lot lately, last week was better than the week before, especially in the realm of tears shed.  I tell you what though, the minute they started flowing, I could not stop them.  One of those cries where you can't catch your breath well, are sucking in air, stomach heaving, kind of cries.  Oh...and I was in the car.  I had pulled off into a parking lot, thank goodness.  This situation was just one of those friendly reminders to me that even in the most regular of circumstances the girief can hit like a mack truck.

On the way home I thought both Charlotte and I could use a little pick me up (I am glad both the kids had fallen asleep in the car when I lost it) and so we stopped for some Starbucks.  It had been an awfully long time since I had one of their wonderful iced coffees (they don't come decaf and I was pregnant).  I even got Charlotte her own special treat.

I Love You Less

Charlotte and I have a pretty solid tuck-you-in ritual down.  I always lift her into bed.  We decide who is going to say the prayers.  She tells me whether or not I should have folded or steepled hands while we are praying (she always does the opposite, we like to cover our bases).  Then we give each other kisses while I tell her, "I love you to the moon and back".  She always responds with "and I love you to the moon and front".  I will refrain from going on and on about how much I love her saying that (but seriously, so cute).  Anyhow, then she blows me kisses, and I give her the 'I love you' hand sign and we have our final words for the night which go something like this:

Me: "I love you"
Charlotte: "I love you too"
Me: "I love you more"
Charlotte: "I love you less"
Me: "I know baby.  Good night.  Sweet dreams."

I love you less.  In her 3 year old mind, that is totally the right thing to say, and to be honest, it kind of is.

You see, any parent will tell you that they had absolutely no idea how much they would love their child.  The love is so strong, so fierce, and so deep.  There really is nothing like it.

I am not underestimating a child's love for their parent, or our love, as children, for our parents.  What I am saying, however, is that the loves are a bit different and I would even venture to say that as parents, we love our children more, and they love us a bit less.

I am not sure when you begin loving your children, but it definitely before they are born.  It intensifies the moment you see them, and NEVER, EVER declines from there.  When we had the girls, we knew we loved them.  That love intensified the moment we saw them, and it will never, ever decline.

Please, if you ever know of anyone who has lost a child during pregnancy, never assume that the love for that child doesn't exist.  It is there, it is huge, and it is not comparable to any other love a person experiences except for the love of their child.

So, to Ruthie and Imogene, Mommy loves you, and I love you more.

The Cut

Since Ruthie and Imogene passed away I have truly wanted nothing else but my kids with me.  The funny part is, we have never had so many people offer to watch them or sit for us.  The truth is, they are uplifting.  They remind us constantly that we are loved and have love to give.  

Are there times when I look at Charlotte and think, "man, I really wish I could see the girls running around together at this same age", or "geez, I wonder if Ruthie and Imogene would be as spirited/independent/caring/etc..."?  You bet there are.  Everyday we are so thankful for our time with Charlotte and Oliver, and everyday we are in turn reminded of the times we won't get to enjoy with Ruthie and Imogene.  Given that, in all likelihood, Oliver and the girls would have been no more than a year apart, I think it will be all too easy over the course of our lives to think, we could have been doing this same thing next year for them (kindergarten, high school graduation, heading to college, birthdays, etc...).  

What I struggle with lately is that as much as I want to be with my kids pretty much every second, my patience feels like it is being tested often.  Do I think it is any coincidence that both of the kids are acting out more since this happened?  Absolutely not.  I have never been able to understand adults who act like their kids are not affected by their actions and moods; or when they act like their kids don't know that something is going on when clearly there is turmoil.  Our kids are no different, and they have certainly been needing a bit more from Mom and Dad.

I have been desperately trying not to feel guilty when I get frustrated too easily, or when a time out is given (although deserved), or when, despite our best efforts, we need a moment away.  Ever since leaving the kiddos with my family so that we could go deliver the girls Oliver has been clingy to say the least.  The minute I leave the room he screams shrilly and continues to do so until I come back.  I know part of that is his age, he is right at the age when separation anxiety begins, but I also know part of it is because he has always been around me and wasn't for two days and that scared him.  

Charlotte has been testing limits.  She had started getting a bit testier before this all shook out, but certainly upped the ante over the last couple of weeks.  She is being sassy, talking back, and throwing fits.  In between that she is insanely sweet and caring.  She loves 'nuggling Mommy and knows exactly what to do or say to lift mine and Jim's spirits.  Even so, her tough moments have been pretty tough for her and pretty uncharacteristic.

On Tuesday of this week Charlotte spent most of the day doing a craft off and on.  She loves arts and crafts so this is not unusual.  It was the first time I let her use scissors on her own for her craft...I am sure you can see where this is heading.  She was cutting out pictures from magazines and gluing them on paper.  She was having a blast.

It was about time for Jim to come home and time to pick up.  I was on the phone with a friend of mine and distracted.  Charlotte immediately threw a fit about picking up, which she does every time.  She got her standard warning, and was asked to head to time out until she was ready to pick up.  A few couple minutes of wailing later she told me she was ready to head in and pick up.  I was still on the phone so distractedly I told her to go ahead and head in her play room and begin picking up.  

I looked in her playroom a minute later and she was gluing stuff again.  I told her that was enough and it was time to pick up, no more chances, and again went back to my conversation.  She came out not 30 seconds later to ask me something and I looked down and noticed a chunk of hair on her dress.  Oh dear.  Sill on the phone I exclaim "what did you do?!?".  She said "I  told you my hair needed trimmed because it was too long!".  I turn around look in the playroom, leap up to go look at the pile of hair on the floor.  Oh my gosh.  I let me friend go and started panicking.

I am not proud of every decision I made after finding that pile of hair.  I made a big scene about throwing her kid scissors away and we went into the bathroom to take out the braid in the front of her hair and comb it out so I couldn't see the large clipped off section staring me in the face.  I was doing pretty good at not yelling or freaking out too bad until we went back into her playroom to pick up and she still threw a fit about helping.  Then I lost my cool, which was literally the second Jim came through the door.  He had no idea what he was walking into.  A couple minutes later I sent her up to her room so that before I acted any more irrationally (seriously it's just hair) I had the chance to calm down.    

When I went up to her room she was in her bed.  I asked her what she was thinking about while she was up there and her little chin just started quivering trying to hold in her cry.  I knew that feeling, I had had it a lot lately.  I scooped her up and we sat cuddling there for a few minutes.  We talked about the big choice she had to make now, to cut her hair or to try to hide it.  She still wants to trim it some.  I am good with that, in fact it will look much better.  In all fairness to her, she has been asking to get her hair trimmed for awhile now.  Who knew she would take it so seriously?  We cuddled some more and talked about the choice she had made.  Jim came up and together we decided on some consequences; cleaning her playroom really good and no tv shows for 2 days (missing Clifford is pretty rough stuff for her).  

The thing that bothers me most about this whole story is me.  I was distracted, as I have been off and on lately.  I wasn't paying enough attention to her and I was getting slightly emotional on the phone off and on talking with my friend, and she really doesn't like it when I cry or get too emotional lately.  I am not claiming that talking with one of my greatest friends was a bad choice, but not recognizing that Charlotte was demanding my attention was wrong.  

It never even dawned on me that morning when we opened the scissors for her for the first time that she would ever cut her hair.  Anybody that knows Charlotte knows that she is wise beyond her years.  She is not an impulsive kid and she rarely acts in the same childish ways that other kids do.  Not because we have conditioned her not to, there are times when Jim and I really wish she would let loose and be a bit more free and kid like.  The thing is, that's just not Charlotte.  At jubilation at church every week she rarely plays with the other kids, instead she connects with the teenage helpers.  During dance class she follows instructions to a T and gets annoyed when the other kids act frivolous and run like crazy instead of following the directions.  Her vocabulary is huge and she expresses herself in ways that always impress people who don't know her.  It's just her.

So, the thing is, I know that this cutting hair thing was all me.  I know that she would not have done this if our house wouldn't have been so full of emotion lately.  I know that if I would have just gotten off the phone she never would have sought out my attention in that way.  I know that it is my fault.  I can try to convince myself otherwise, but I know that if this event would have played itself out a little more than two weeks ago she would not have made the same choice.  

Sometimes you need a wake up call, I guess this was mine.  The past two days with her have been much better, I am sure because I have been much better.  Now if we can just convince Oliver that I am going to come back every time I leave the room we would be on a roll.  Here's to hanging in there I guess.  

Miracles Happen

Somedays we want to hole up in this house and hang out together, giving ourselves time to think and process; other days we want to keep as busy as possible so that we don't have time to think.  It doesn't work as well as it sounds.  Saturday was a keep busy day.

We headed down to the farmers market, something we do often.  It was finally less than 100+ degrees out so it was nice to get some fresh air.  Unfortunately, all I could think of the whole time we were there was the last time we were there.

The last time we were there was July 7th, the day after the doctors confirmed the babies were mono mono.  While we were walking around the market that day we were feeling at peace.  We ran across a booth that I had seen there a few times called Twinplicity.  I ventured in and marveled at all the cute onesies and shirts made for twins.  They were all pretty cute, but one stood out to me in particular and I picked it up and showed it to Jim.  I said that we were definitely going to have to get these for the babies.

You see, just the day before the perinatologist we were seeing, Dr. Drake, told us a story of the last set of mono-mono twins she had.  The babies made it to birth, and ended up not actually being mono mono.  She said that family gave her a sign that hangs in her office that says "Miracles Happen".  She said it was very special to her and one of the only items that she has kept and displayed because of its importance.  We really felt like we were the next miracle.

When we ran across the booth this week I still stepped in.  I glanced at the other cutesy twin onesies, but I stopped on the "miracles happen" ones.  I couldn't believe in the timespan of 2 short weeks things had changed so drastically.  I took a picture, bit my cheek, and joined Jim and the kids as Charlotte got some mini donuts.

Most of the farmers market was the the distraction we were looking for.  Charlotte played and danced with the musicians.  Oliver gawked at all of the sights.  We bought some food for baby food making.  Charlotte made a bee headband and watched them make honey.  Overall it was great.

I imagine it will be this way for quite some time, probably the rest of our lives.  Distraction followed by a reminder.  Happiness followed by heartbreak.  I know we will adjust with time, but I don't think it will ever fully go away.  To be honest, I am ok with that.  I don't ever want a time to come when we "forget" about our girls, and I know it won't.  

To everyone out there who is experiencing a miracle, savor it.  

Bringing Them Home

This past week, or slightly over now, has been, by far, the most excruciating week I could have ever imagined.  I had no idea how much it would hurt.  When it comes down to it, I think we have been conditioned as a society to not understand the pain of miscarriage, fetal death or stillbirth.  That is something that Jim and I have really struggled with.

People say things like "just a miscarriage" or "at least you weren't further along" or "better now than after they were born".  Don't they get it?  Our children died.  Two, of our four precious little ones died. It is not the absence of living, they were living.  We saw them kicking, moving, squirming.  I felt them move and I lived for them. Their hearts were beating one day, and the next day they were not.  They did not simply fail to live.  Our children died.  It is hard.  It is more than hard.

I have to admit, even I didn't get it until it happened.  I had absolutely no idea how I would feel and how much it would hurt.  I have completely underestimated how much miscarriages must hurt those that go through them.  I don't know why I ever thought that that pain would be bearable.  Do I think our grief was compounded by the fact we had to give birth to our sweet babies?  Yes.  I would be lying if I said anything different.  But even so, any of us have been there have lost a child, not because they didn't live, but because they died.

We visited the funeral home on the Monday after the girls were born.  We had selected cremation and had spent some time over the weekend looking for urn possibilities.  Because the funeral home is so generous with families in circumstances like ours (a small nominal fee that basically covers the paperwork), we wanted to make sure we checked our possibilities there first.  To say that nothing fit the bill would be an understatement.  Part of it was because we were already hung up on one we found online, and part of it was because everything they had to offer was just too urn-y.  We wanted a vessel that meant something.  We wanted something that wasn't made to hide the girls, but rather to celebrate them.  We went home and ordered the urn we had seen online.

The urn arrived on Thursday, one week since our babies had come and gone.  It was perfect.

The bottom slides out and the vessels in the bottom hold the ashes.  We are so glad we made this choice.

On Friday we called the funeral home and set up a time that afternoon for us to come in and finally be able to bring our little girls home.  We dropped the kids off with our wonderful sitter for a bit and headed downtown.  We were led into a room where they had Ruthie and Imogene waiting.  We asked for them to be cremated together because that was all they had ever known was being together.  A teeny, tiny ziplock pouch held their ashes.  There was so little and it broke my heart.  We signed all of the necessary paperwork and I picked up the urn that now contained our babies.  The woman offered to get me a nice velvet bag to carry it in.  I declined.  I wanted to hold them, as close as I could, all the way home.  I cried as we left, knowing that this was the first time I was able to hold my girls.

We came home, selected a perfect spot, and got it all dusted and perfect for them.  We placed them on the shelf, where everyone could see them.  We can stare at them any time we want, and they can watch their family and know that we will all be together someday.  We know that we will likely be more attached to the urn then we should be, after all I talked to them (it) last night after blogging about their delivery.  It sounds crazy, but it provides comfort.

I can't thank the company enough who made the urn (www.heavensgain.com).  They are a company that provides caskets and urns to families that have suffered the loss of a miscarried baby or early stillbirth.  After enduring this pain themselves, they found a need for these items so that the handling and burial of a tiny baby is consistent with the way we handle other losses in our society.  I can't thank them enough for recognizing that they are our children, and should be treated as such.

Ruthie Mae and Imogene James

We got the call that afternoon from our OB to set up the induction.  I remember her asking if I wanted to do it right away, or wait.  We elected right away.  Part of me now thinks, maybe I should have kept them with me longer, but nothing was going to change the outcome and in the end right away was definitely best.  They called the hospital and we heard back a very short while later.  We were scheduled to check in the following morning, July 19th, at 5 am.

It was still dark as we drove to the hospital that morning.  There is something about the dark right before the sun rises that I have always found beautiful.  As we headed down the deserted interstate the sky sort of glowed with pre-dawn sun but the stars were still out.  We were silent.  We pulled around the hospital to the familiar parking lot we had arrived at together two other times before.  Times when we also arrived to deliver babies.  Times when we got to take those babies home.  

We grabbed our bags and held hands as we walked in the hospital and headed up the elevator to the 6th floor.  We checked in at the desk and had to sign the admittance papers stating why we were there.  

"Fetal Demise-17 weeks"

So medical.  So cold.  So sad.  I signed the papers and, after being asked, we elceted to not have them list us in the patient directory if anyone asked if we were there.  I am addressing this because we got questions about it.  This meant that if we gave someone our room number, and they came and asked for that room number, they would be directed to us because they only could have gotten that information from us.  It did, however, also mean that those people who might call and ask for us or try to visit without talking with us first, would not be directed to us.  Jim and I both really felt like this was something we needed to do together.  We were confused about how we would be feeling and had no idea what the day might hold.  It was a time for us to work through some of our grief and emotions, to meet our babies, to mourn their loss.  It was not a time for us to worry about how those who came to visit were feeling or to try to comfort or cheer them.  It was also not a time where I wanted visitors wondering or judging how we acted.  There were tears and there was laughter, there was unease and there was rest, there was concern and there was comfort.  Needless to say, we needed to go through this process ourselves.  That does not negate the fact that we need people there for us, we just didn't need people literally THERE for us.  

The day began slowly.  We waited quite some time for the orders from the doctor on what medicine to start when.  After arriving before 5am, we did not receive our first dose of medicine for the induction until 9am.  We were told by many nurses and the doctor that the process would likely be very slow, requiring multiple doses of the medicine given over 6 hour intervals.  We were also warned on at least a dozen occasions that when the time came to deliver, it would come suddenly.  They said that time would go on and on with no progress and suddenly it would come so quickly that we likely needed to be prepared for no doctor or nurse to be in the room.  I found this a bit terrifying.

We spent the majority of the day sitting, talking, and visiting with our nurses.  The compassion they had was uplifting.   I would just talk and talk and talk with them, feeling comfort in being able to visit about different feelings and emotions I was having.  I think the phrase I said most commonly, which was usually accompanied with tears, was "people just shouldn't have to go through this".  It felt so awful to think about birthing these two little babies who we would never get to watch grow.  I talked about our pregnancy and the mono-mono debate that we carried for months until finally confirming it on the appt before they passed.  I kept saying that I felt jinxed.  Like if we would have never said they were for sure mono-mono, maybe everything would have continued to be fine.  We talked a lot, about their lives too.  It was a distraction, and a welcome one at that.

That afternoon we were encouraged to get some rest and to try to sleep for a bit since it would likely be a very long day, or two or three.  It was restless sleep and almost unwelcome.  I decided to sit up a while after 2 anticipating the next dose of medicine at 3.  My doctor came in and explained that because I was just 8 months out from a c-section they thought it would be best to administer the medicine on a different schedule so that they didn't cause any damage to my uterus.  Instead of two doses every 6 hours it would be one dose every 8 hours.  This ended up being quite a blessing, because right around the time I would have gotten a dose, things picked up.  I can't imagine how quick or painful it would have been if the medicine was administered.

Sparing all of the details, my back started aching right around 3:00.  By 4:00, I started realizing what was happening.  I literally broke down.  I had been ok most of the day but now that the time was upon us, I could not pull myself together.  I was in pain, physically and emotionally and I just couldn't wrap my mind around what was about to happen.  I was scared.  I was so, so scared.  I only calmed down when trying to focus on getting an epidural.  This was sometime between 4:30 and 4:50 that the anesthesiologist arrived.  Jim was sent out of the room for a couple of minutes.  During the process of inserting the epidural, my water broke.  I have never sat so still through such pain.  Jim walked back in the room at just the right time.  We knew that as soon as I laid back down, we would deliver our babies.

The nurses were amazing.  They swarmed our room and took control of a situation that I felt completely out of control with.  They helped keep me calm and prepared for the biggest heartbreak I would ever encounter.  Jim was by my side, holding my hand, we looked at each other and tears filled both our eyes.  It still, even in the moment, felt like it couldn't be happening.  

Baby A was born at 5:05pm.  They hadn't begun the epidural drip yet, but the line was in and ready so they went ahead and started it in case their were problems with the placenta coming out.  They delayed Baby B until our doctor arrived.  Baby B arrived at 5:23pm.  

If you look up pictures of mono mono twins at birth you will often see parents posting photos of the gigantic mess of knots that is their babies cords.  Ours weren't knotted.  They were as if you took two strings, and crossed them over and over until it was so tight that it could no longer supply the babies with what they needed.  I felt a little jealous.  Other babies got to live with far larger cord entanglements.  How are some chosen and others not?  That is a question I am sure I will be exploring over the next months, or more likely years.

They couldn't immediately tell the sex of the babies which was hard for us.  After trying for over an hour to remove the bits of remaining placenta they decided it would be necessary to have a D&C procedure.  Because I would have to be put under for that, we elected to have the babies baptized before heading into the operation.  One of the pastor's from our church came and we had the babies baptized.  Because we didn't know the sex yet, they were baptized as Baby Davis A and Baby Davis B.  More tears.  

Surgery went well and when I got back to the room we got to visit more with our babies.  They had cleaned them up and had them in some tiny blankets.  We took a few pictures for ourselves only.  We talked to them, prayed for them, and sang to them.  We told them we loved them.  We told them what their names would be, if they were girls or boys.  We told them the people that would take care of them in heaven.  We asked them to take care of each other.  We sang "You Are My Sunshine", because I always sing it to Charlotte and Oliver as well.  The second verse was hard, and will never again have the same meaning for me.  

There are so many more things I wish we would have said to them.  Things I didn't even think about until writing this post.  We knew the time would come for us to say good-bye.  How do you pick that time?  I am not sure how long it was, but I know the time came.  We knew once the took them out of our room, we couldn't ask for them back. I am glad at that point that we had made the decision to cremate them and bring them home.  For some reason, there was some consolation in knowing that we would be bringing them home.  It was late, I think we both cried ourselves to sleep that night.

We got a call from our doctor the next morning.  Pathology was able to confirm that our babies were sweet, identically beautiful, twin girls.  We already had names picked out and we knew immediately that they were Ruthie Mae Davis and Imogene James Davis, Baby A and Baby B respectively.  

I never imagined we would have two beautiful angels looking down on us from heaven.  We were released from the hospital the next day.  It seemed hard to understand.  How could we be leaving without babies in our arms?  That is not suppose to happen.  There were a few times over the course of the 30 or so hours we were there where you could hear a baby cry.  It was heartbreaking to know that we would never hear our girls cry.  They sent us out the back stairwell, as to avoid any uncomfortable encounters on the way out.  

On the way to the car, I told Jim I wanted to go to the gift shop and get the girls something.  The hospital gave us memory boxes with the girls' blankets, stats, hospital bands, etc... inside.  I wanted to add our own touch.  I wanted to go to the gift shop, they needed a gift.  A welcome to the world gift.  A happy birthday gift.  A you are just as important and a part of our lives as both of our other children gift.  We headed to the gift shop.  

I stood there looking at the shelves full of baby gear.  Nothing seemed right.  I poked around and prayed that something would stand out for me.  I was feeling wrong for wanting to find something so badly when nothing seemed to fit my need.  I turned to the left and looked down.  There, hanging low, were a bunch of initials with little girl angels clinging onto them.  Right there on the front was an R.  I kneeled down and hoped beyond hope that there would be an I.  I looked behind the first one, and there was the I.  I was beaming.  The perfect little gifts for our daughters.

We left the hospital.  Things seemed ok.  Little did I know that I was still in so much shock the hurt hadn't even begun.  Here is my favorite picture of our girls that I currently have.  I am hoping to request more pictures from our ultrasounds.

Our Dreaded News

During our pregnancy I felt like the milestone I needed to get through was our appointment on July 18th.  We were heading to Disney World the next day and we would be 17 weeks.  I really felt like after that appointment we could come back from vacation and tell the world.  Not to mention you just want everything to go ok so that we could relax and enjoy our vacation.

I didn't feel good about the appointment going into it.  I was telling Jim on the way there that I was worried and I didn't want the appointment to ruin vacation.  I couldn't explain it then, I can't explain it now, but I just knew something was wrong.

We headed in for the ultrasound and they asked if we wanted to know the sex.  Sure!  We were excited about that!  They began scanning and Charlotte was going on and on to the ultrasound tech about how we were going to Mommy's doctor's appointment, then going home to clean, then heading to Papa's and we were going to get up in the middle of the night to fly to Disney World.  She could recite that sequence in an instant.

While she was scanning I was watching the screen.  I didn't notice anything right away but I saw her move pretty quickly from one baby to the other and then she turned on the color to look for the blood flow.  I had a sinking feeling when she did that that something was wrong.  They didn't usually do that until much later in the ultrasound.  A minute later she grabbed my arm, looked down at me, and said"I'm going to go ahead and grab the doctor."  I said "it's not good?"  And she replied, "No, it's not".

She left the room and Jim and I looked at each other both knowing what it meant.  I was crushed, but somehow not surprised.  I had that bad feeling heading into the appointment, and think sometimes we know things, even when we don't want to admit them to ourselves.  She came back in and told us she had called the doctor who was heading in.  Apparently she was not yet at the office.  She asked us if we wanted to know what she saw.  All I asked is if it was one, or both.  She said it was both, and that was all we needed.

We had some time before the doctor got there.  I think I was in such shock that I couldn't manage emotion.  I just sat there.  Jim was tearing up and I just kept telling him it was going to be ok.  I had so whole heartedley believed until that point that whatever happened was the thing that was supposed to happen that I was some how hanging in there.  A week out from that I am not sure I agree with what I believed.  I was also absolutely so focused on what losing the babies meant, giving birth to two babies who would not be alive, that I am not sure I had anything to give until I made it through that obstacle.

The doctor arrived and confirmed that indeed, their little hearts were no longer beating.  We headed out of the room and to our doctor's office.  We talked briefly, although I am not sure what we talked about.  She gave Charlotte a shell from her desk, that I remember.  We gathered up the kiddos, walked stoically to the car, and went to McDonalds for breakfast.  I am not sure how that happened.  I think we had promised Charlotte that at some point during the morning, although I am not sure when.  Even so, it gave us a chance to sit and stare at each other while Charlotte climbed, blissfully unaware, through the PlayPlace.

We got home and waited for the call from our regular OB.  She would be the one scheduling the induction, and depending on how long it took, hopefully delivering our babies.  We explained to Charlotte that the schedule she could recite so eloquently that morning had changed.  We explained that we had to wait to go to Disney, because Mommy had to get the babies in her tummy up to heaven.  She later asked something about bringing them home.  I explained that they weren't well, and got to go straight to heaven.  She noted that Oliver came home, and I said that he was healthy when he was born, so he was able to come home, but this time I had to get these babies up to heaven.  "Oh", she said, "then can we go to Disney?"  I bit my cheek to try not to cry, little did I know that would be the first of many, many cheek bites over the next week.