Post-Traumatic

trau·ma [trou-muh, traw-]
noun, plural trau·mas, trau·ma·ta [-muh-tuh]
1. Pathology
a. a body wound or shock produced by sudden physical injury, as from violence or accident.
b. the condition produced by this; traumatism.
2. Psychiatry.
a. an experience that produces psychological injury or pain.
b. the psychological injury so caused.

The first time my doctor mentioned it to me, I scoffed. "PTSD?" I asked, "isn't that what happens to soldiers? To people who have been through shootings or bombings or plane crashes? Surely, a little time in the NICU doesn't qualify me for that."

"Jessica," she leveled with me, "your babies almost died. If that's not traumatic, I don't know what is."

Hm.

I've always been emotional, passionate, maybe even a little high-strung. I've struggled with anxiety in my past. But the feelings I had about the babies birth and the months that followed - the worry, the worst-case scenario thoughts, the sleeplessness and anger and weight gain - I thought it was normal. Anyone in my position would feel the same, right?

For almost a year, I assumed that insert next step would make it better. Once they were off the ventilators, not so sick, out of the isolettes, on their way home. After we ditched the oxygen, stopped their meds, gained some weight, got through the scary winter, came off quarantine. Certianly, once this or that happened, I would feel better. Right? Except not. Because there we were, inching towards the babies' first birthday, and if anything I was feeling worse than the day they were born. I was constantly holding my breath, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

And with those four words - "your babies almost died" - my doctor validated all my feelings. Because she was right, so very very right. I had watched their heartbeats space out on monitors, seen their lips turn gray and felt their bodies go limp. Infections and setbacks and alarms dinging, things that haunt most mother's nightmares - that was my reality. And like it or not, it changed me.

So I started seeing a therapist, and I started taking Prozac. Are drugs right for everyone? No. But they were right for me. I'm not afraid any more. The nightmares have stopped, I can fall asleep easily, I can leave the house without melting down first. I don't feel guilty taking an hour for myself to go workout or have dinner with friends. I am living, really living, and enjoying my babies. Getting help through the medicine and the therapy does not make me less of a person, or less of a mother. In fact, it's just the opposite - I am a better overall for it. It has been over 6 months now, and while I hope I don't have to do this forever I know if I do, that's ok too.

So there you have it, friends. That's what has kept me from my little corner of the internet. I have been wanting to "come clean", but I was nervous. It was hard to put it into words. And don't get me wrong, our little life has been amazing, but I felt almost like a phony typing up these happy, chipper posts without telling you the truth behind them.

And now you know. This little flower needs sunshine AND rain to flourish :)

No Longer Will We Weep

Easter was our first holiday with the babies. Last year, I spent the day hunched over tiny plastic boxes, using one finger to gently stroke those teeny little miracles.

In the midst of my sadness at just how unfair it all was, I was sent a really lovely message from the lady who was my LifeTeen leader in high school. KJ was pretty awesome back then, and she has since moved away and started an adorable family of her own. In her message, she wrote this:
"I know everyone will say not to be hard on yourself, but I also know that as a Mom, it's what we do. I encourage you to ask for Mary's intercession* because she can relate to you better than anyone. After all, standing helplessly at the Crucifixion, she surely had to feel like the worst Mom ever as she stood there unable to stop her son's pain and feeling somehow responsible."

I mean... woah, right? What a profound statement. But really, how true! If anyone could understand the pain a Mama's heart feels at a hurting child, it's Mary. Her Son felt the ultimate pain, made the ultimate sacrifice, for us. And she was there to witness it.

I'm so thankful for a Savior who was hung on an old cross so many years ago as His mama watched, who rose again and hugged that mama one more time as He wiped all our sins clean. I've relied on the grace of Jesus many, many, many times in the last year, and I am unendingly grateful for where we are now. This Easter was so beautiful.

Mary in your mourning
Turn now as you weep
Look up to see a Savior
Oh and, sing Mary sing
--Jennifer Knapp, Sing Mary Sing



*For those of you who don't know, I was born and raised Catholic. If you're interested in what it means to ask for an intercession, there's a good article on it here.

Bedrest Memoirs

I don't think I've mentioned it much outside of my birth story, but before the twins were born, I spent 12 days on hospital bedrest. I didn't start this blog until after they were born though, so I don't really have a good account of what went down in those 12 days. And this was not just "prop your feet up, take it easy" bedrest. This was "flat on my back, bed tipped head-down, do not sneeze, do not sit up, do not pass go, do not collect $200" bedrest. I tried to write about it in my paper journal but I was high as a kite the whole time and only wrote in there about 3 times. Oh, and we have one really hysterical and disturbing video that Chris took of me, cross-eyed and rambling about chicken fingers from Dairy Queen. I don't know either.

(Sidenote: I find it ironically funny that I was THAT pregnant lady who absolutely wouldn't take anything more than Tylenol - I even Googled the ingredients in my facewash before I would use it. Then I went into labor at 22 weeks and spent 12 days being pumped full of all kinds of drugs. Best laid plans, right?)

Anywho, Birthday Week has made me all weepy nostalgic, so I thought I'd talk a little about the time I spent in bed. Most of it is one big blur (see again: high as a kite) but there are some things that still stand out in my mind.

-Trying to brush my teeth was hilarious. Like I said, I couldn't even sit up, so they would bring me my toothbrush and put one of those vomit-catchers next to my head, and I would have to crane my neck to spit without getting it all over me. It took a couple tries to get it right but I was a pro by the end of it.
-Eating was hard, too. I quickly got to the point where I could only handle soft, easily digested foods. My poor father-in-law went to Cracker Barrel three days in a row before he was able to scrounge up some of their sweet potato casserole for me.
-The Mag Sulfate IV I had made me feel like I was burning up from the inside out. I was constantly begging everyone around me to turn the air down "just a little bit more pleaaaaase". Except then my feet would freeze, so I would beg for more blankets. I would literally have four blankets folded up and piled on my feet, and beads of sweat on my forehead at the same time.
-The hospital TV had like, 9 of the most random channels. I watched SO MUCH Food Network.
-Chris had made friends with a few of the ER nurses during his time on road patrol with the Sheriff's Office, and one of them came and washed my hair for me after a couple days. It was at 3am after her shift had ended and she used a (clean) male urine catcher and a (clean) bedpan.
-Audrey's water ruptured about a week into my stay. The nurse I had that day cried when she told me my AmnioSure test came back positive. I cannot say enough how amazing my care was while I was there.
-The babies had to be constantly monitored because of all the aforementioned medicines, but they were so tiny at the time that it was hard to keep them on the monitors. One particularly crafty nurse made the nursing students stand for 20 minutes holding the monitors on my belly so we could get a good reading. They had just come from their first birth experience, they were all so pumped up and then they got to me and had to just stand there for the better part of half an hour. Poor kids.
-Before everything went down, my biggest fear about labor was that I wouldn't have time to shave my legs before delivery. How's that for perspective? Pretty sure my legs were the hairiest they had ever been by that point.

Crazy times. I still can't believe that was a year ago.

(Not-so-)Wordless Wednesday: One Year Ago Today

I will never ever, as long as I live, til the day I die, EVER forget the look on my midwife's face as she peeked over the curtain, asked me when my last ultrasound was, and told me she was sending me to the hospital "just to get checked out". Getting "checked out" led to "staying overnight", which led to "here for the long haul" which, we all know, was 12 days in all and ended with my babies being born at 24 weeks and 1 day.

Our journey really began one year ago today. What a wild year it has been.

Well hey, Blogger.

It's been awhile, huh?

In fact, it looks like I skipped the whole month of February. Oops! I didn't do that on purpose.

The thing is (and this is me being real and honest here), I've been having a really hard time with this time of year. It was this time last year that I was big and pregnant. We had found out on the first of February that we were expecting a boy and a girl. We were planning the nursery, picking names, buying things in pink and blue. The babies were just beginning to be really active and Chris was just beginning to be able to feel them from the outside.

One of the last belly pictures, taken March 5 2011 (almost a year ago exactly!)

I was one of those insufferable women who really LOVED being pregnant. I felt amazing, I carried it well, my hair was awesome. My pregnancy was perfect until it wasn't. And now, looking back on that time in my life is so bittersweet. I was so blissfully unaware of everything that was going to go wrong. I'm glad I have those wonderful memories, but I also still mourn the trimester I never got. I have moments where I am jaded and bitter and angry. I'm not proud of them, but they are a part of me and a part of this whole preemie-mom experience.

And all I can do is keep moving forward from it.

They make it all worth it :)

Two Pink Lines: One Year Later

It was exactly one year ago today - Halloween of 2010 - that I woke up with a headache way worse than was warranted by the one glass of wine I had with dinner the night before. It was one year ago today that I looked at a calendar and counted days and thought to myself "hmmm... maybe?" but tried not to get my hopes too up again. It was one year ago that I peed on a little plastic stick and put it down on the sink and got into the shower. It was one year ago today that when I pulled that shower curtain back I could see it from clear across the bathroom. It was one year ago today - Halloween of 2010 - that two pink lines changed my life.

Ok, so maybe it was more like 6 pink lines and one digital 8-letter word. (And maybe, not pictured here are the twelve other tests I took over the course of the next week until I got in to see the doctor). The fact is, those lines were there. And my life was changed.

Those lines held so much promise for me back then, and to look at them now is so bittersweet. We had been trying for 11 long months to get pregnant and those lines were the physical manifestation of 11 months of hope and tears and "good things come to those who wait" and trying (and most of the time failing) to trust in God's good timing. Those lines held dreams of tiny clothes and nursery designs and a swelling belly.

I did not know then that I was had not one, but two sweet little poppy seeds nestled in the depths of my belly. I did not know then that not even five months later I would end up in the hospital, and I did not know then that my sweet babies would be born sixteen weeks before they were supposed to be. I just knew then that I was pregnant and I loved everything about it.

The last year obviously did not go the way I had planned when I first saw that second line. It has, without a doubt, been the hardest year of my life. But it also has, without a doubt, been the very best year of my life.

Just look at us now.