They were both gone. I lost both of my babies. The space between my children became bigger.

The D & C procedure was happening the next day.  The next morning, my husband and I took our son to school together.  I had to say good-bye. That was so hard.  He didn’t know what was about to happen.  He was just happy to have his mom and dad with him taking him to school. Just so happy.

The Space Between My Children was about to widen

We arrived at the hospital.  Waiting, we sat in silence and saw other people prepping for their day surgery – wondering “why they are here?”, wondering if they thought the same.  Then it was my turn.  I changed into those beautiful hospital gowns, moved to a bed where I had to wait.  My husband was brought in where he could wait with me.  He sat with me, holding my hand.

I didn’t want to do this anymore, I didn’t want any of it.  All I wanted my babies. I wasn’t ready to say good-bye.

 Then I heard a baby cry. 

A baby! 

A beautiful baby has just arrived and mine are being taken away!  This wasn’t fair! It felt so ironic. But weirdly enough, as much as I was so sad, I was comforted to know that this new mom has an amazing new blessing and I was so incredibly happy for her. 

The doctor came in to see me and was aware of my reaction to the new baby that was born.  He turned around and I heard him in the hallway direct the nurses to move new mom into recovery. Avoiding any contact in the hall because of a “pregnancy loss”.  Yep, I was sad, but he had it all wrong, though, later I had an appreciation of what he was trying to do.

My Turn was Next

It was my turn. The nurses had to say goodbye to my husband, they started to wheel me away. I kept my gaze on my husband, I could tell he was trying to keep it together, I finally saw the affect this all has played on him.

The panic set in, like full-blown panic. 

“Nope… I don’t want to do this…”, he kissed my hand and I was wheeled away. I wasn’t in control, once again.  

When we got into the room before surgery, I laid there.  The nurse seemed nice, she had kind eyes behind her mask.  I said, “I need to ask you something…”.  She looked at me and said “sure”.  I asked in a whisper cry “what happens to my babies?”.  She knelt beside me and told me (this would not comfort me, instead, the fact is they were considered “tissue” and not babies), then wheeled me into the operating room, where the fate of lengethening in the space between my children awaited.

There, I laid on the table and people moved around me. I tried to see what everyone was doing, but there were too many.  My arms were put out straight, they secured my hand to the table.  I began to cry, big tears were streaming down the side of my face.  I felt constrained, like I was being punished. The kind nurse came by my head, held the top of my head, and then she put the oxygen mask on me.  I am claustrophobic and said, “I don’t want to do this…don’t make me do this…I want my babies…I am not ready to say good-bye”.  There was a coolness in my left hand and then nothing…

That was it.

What happened next…

I woke up and couldn’t get out of that hospital fast enough; I needed to be at home.  They told me to take it easy and rest. I didn’t care what they wanted me to do. Nothing about me mattered at this point.

On our way home, I asked my husband to stop by my son’s school.  This part of the story is a regret of mine.  We stopped at my son’s school so I could groggily watch my son run laps for his local Terry Fox run.  A teacher must have sensed something was up, she came over to us and asked if I was ok (later on, I was told that I was swaying as I was standing), she brought me a chair.  I was still high on medication; she asked if I was ok.  I literally blurted out, “I just had surgery to remove my babies”.  Her face was shock and sadness.  She held me and began to cry.  She had to walk away to hide her own emotion.  We left not too long after. I felt shame, embarassment, and regret.

 As soon as I got home, I became sad.  I missed my little bump, I missed my babies, I rested as best as I could.  But I felt empty,  I felt hollow, I felt alone.

The Space got Longer, the Gap Became Larger Between my Children…

The days went on.  I continued to have friends check in on me.  I received beautiful flowers.  Phone calls.  But those all faded. The time and space between my children still exists, along with the heartbreak.

I still have my sad days, the days of wonder, and “what –if’s”.  Although, life is different, I still miss my babies.

One gift that I hold special to me is two silver pendants of baby angels. I took them everywhere with me and had blessed by our priest. These pendents and my ultrasound picture of my twins together is all I have.  These are the two things that I cherish, still to this day.

My girlfriend said something to me that offered me the most comfort during one of my dark days, she said:

“…Through this storm of sadness there will be light.  You will be a different mother from this day forward.  Moments never taken for granted.  Your precious angels still had a profound impact on your life and will never be forgotten”. 

This is true, I am different.  I am trying but I am so different.  My losses changed me as a mother, it changed me as a wife, it changed me as a woman.  Forever, I am different. 

I am a Statistic, 1 in 4

I never thought that I would be a 1 in 4 statistic.  This number is so high and I had NO idea that my experience and loss is so common. There are so many mom’s out there who feel empty.  Those who feel hollow.  Those who do not get to see or hear their baby’s heartbeat or take their baby home from the hospital. The mom’s who longs for her children but the space becomes wider and wider, with no closing in sight.

My heart breaks for all the fathers who just don’t know what to do or how to grieve.  I feel so sad for those who have to face the sadness that comes within the space of tragedy of losing their children before they can be “ok” enough to be “ok”.

I wish I could give you any ANYTHING to help make this pain any easier, but I know first-hand – there is A LOT of good intentions offered during this period, but nothing will make it any easier. What I have been saying to people who do not know what to say or maybe unintentionally say the wrong thing was, “Thank you.  But nothing you say will make me feel better.” 

This sucks!  I wish I had the answers, I wish I knew what went wrong; I wish I had my twins.  No one should have to endure this emotional pain.  I wish I knew how long it would take to heal.  I wish…

 Here is what I can share with you:

Take your time.  Cry.  Write.  Sing. Grieve unapologetically. Do whatever you need to get to tomorrow.  Hold the love for you babies and all of our babies!  You won’t forget.  You won’t fully heal.  That scar will be there forever, but you will learn to smile again.  You will learn to laugh and be happy.  Give yourself the space.  The guilt and shame is normal, but you have to know that your children want you to be happy.  They want you to remember them.  They want you to hold them tight in your heart.  Be ok with how you feel today, then decide how you want to live tomorrow.