Carynne and Lucas

I am not sure how much I can write about my first twin pregnancy right now. It is a deep well of pain and loss that I keep tightly sealed as I navigate my current life. Typing their names brings tears to my eyes.

It was a wonderful pregnancy- I was blissfully, naiively, deeply happy and grateful.

It lasted twenty short weeks.

And then on December 29, it all came crashing down around me. This is the email I wrote to my best friend (who was in India for a wedding) the day after it happened. It is all I can do now to read it again, and re-live the memories...
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Dearest J,

I am sure that by now you have received my email from yesterday and know the news. I really feel the need to sit and write about all that happened- and knowing that I can do so to you is tremendously comforting. So know that even though you are far away, I feel your presence here supporting me and it is a gift to be able to share this experience with you by writing.

So we had spent a few very busy days in New York- alot of walking. I was feeling good, though a bit tired. By the end of the day on Tuesday I felt pretty exhausted and my abdomen felt heavy. I was looking forward to returning to Dover and having some "downtime". We arrived that evening, and I felt some pain. Honestly, I thought it was just that my pants were too tight. I lay down for a few hours- it didn't get better, and when I realized that the "pain" seemed to have a rhythm to it, I began to worry. I decided to go the ER to have things checked out. They found two healthy heartbeats, but couldn't find my cervix (they thought it was just "tipped back") and sent me by ambulance to Brigham and Women's. At this point, I figured I had just gotten dehydrated, would need some fluids, and maybe to be on bedrest for a day or two. The Dr. at the Brigham, a young female resident, did a pelvic exam and her eyes filled with tears. She put her hand on my stomach, and with tears in her eyes told me that the amniotic sac had already descended to the vagina; my cervix was fully open and there was nothing they could do to stop the labor. The cause was uncertain, perhaps an "incompetent cervix" or perhaps a uterine infection- there was no way to really know for sure. Of course, I asked if there was something, anything we could do. The chief resident came and basically told me that there was virtually no chance that they could do anything that would allow these babies to live prior to 24 weeks... and if they were born at that time, they would likely die or have severe developmental disabilities. All I could think of was that I didn't want these two perfect little babies to have to suffer in any way... and it was unimaginable to think about trying to hold onto them because I wanted them to be born on my time frame. It was such a difficult shift after the controlled process of IVF, pregnancy... doing everything "right" in order to keep these babies alive and growing and well... to realize that doing "right" by them meant letting them go. The guilt on my part (did I walk too much in NY? Did I allow myself to get dehydrated? Is there ANYTHING I could have done differently?) also made it hard... but the doctor's were great about being very up-front and direct. We called my parents immediately- I wanted them there with me. It was amazing that Laurie and Patrick were around to stay with Shannon and Reagan- we couldn't have picked two better people to be with them so that the rest of us could feel totally confident that they were OK.

And so, we went forward with the labor. They gave me an epidural so I would feel no pain, and morphine and Atavan to keep me relaxed- and I was very aware of everything that was happening, and of what I was feeling, but less anxious and scared. I know you of all people can imagine how wonderful my parents were... and I worried about them... I didn't want them to have to go through this horrible process without the benefit of the drugs that I had- but they stayed with me the whole time. Jeff could not have been more wonderful to me... he just told me again and again that we would get through this together, that we are a team, and that we will be stronger as a team for having gone through this together... and that our dream of becoming parents will come true when the time is right.

I felt so unprepared- as to what to expect from labor, and even more so what to expect from such an early labor. And I had no idea whether I wanted to see and hold them when the arrived. But one of the nurses encouraged me to do so- and I realized that the one thing I wanted more than anything was for them to be kept together from the time they were both born. I didn't want them to be separated a moment longer than they had to be.

They started me on Pitocin, and the contractions came very regularly- and it was painful for a while and then they adjusted the medication so I felt nothing at all. At one point, the nurse checked me, and my water broke, and I pushed a few times, and the first baby, Carynne, came out. I remember crying so hard when they carried her over to the bassinett to clean her up, and then they brought her to me. She was tiny, but she had the sweetest face. It looked as though she were smiling in her sleep. I held her and touched her and told her how much I love her, and how glad I was that she was so peaceful. Jeff and my parents did the same. Shortly thereafter, the second baby, Lucas (yes, Jeff and I had just agreed on his name the week before) was born. They cleaned him up, and wrapped him in a blanket with Carynne and brought them both to me. They looked so different from one another- two little people- and I held them for awhile and talked to them and told them how loved they are.

Lindsay arrived, and the nurses had dressed the babies in teeny outfits and lay them together in a bassinet. It looked as though they were holding hands. We stood there around them, holding hands, and she baptized them and blessed them while all of us, including the nurses, cried. And then I was ready to let them go... they had taken pictures and later gave them to me in a satin box with the outfits they had worn. I plan to add the little album of all the ultrasound pictures I had of them- there are so many- and also the many many emails, letters, and notes I received from all the people who love them and us so much. I honestly don't know if there have ever been two unborn babies as loved as those two- and those are the things I want to keep to remember them by.

I have struggled to find my own sense of spirituality for so much of my life, and from time to time, Jeff has always told me that my turning point would come and I would find it when I wasn't looking for it. I do remember telling him at one point that night that I had made it to that turning point- and somehow what I believe to be true became so unbelievably clear to me. I believe that those babies came into and also went out of my life in the time and way that they did for a reason... and that one day I will look back and know that all has happened as was meant to happen. All my life I have worked and struggled and manipulated (as you know!) and tried to control my life so it would happen on my time. This is the ultimate lesson in the reality that life just doesn't work that way... and as I look back, I realize that some of my greatest blessings have thwarted all my best-laid plans. I also know that the life, the spirit, the energy that was within Carynne and Lucas still exists- it did not go away even though their little bodies did. They are still out there, there are still with me, and their energy and spirits will manifest themselves in my life when the time is right. I can't really describe that feeling in words, but I know it with more certainty than I have ever known anything in my life. And I also know that I have two choices- I can either move forward from this with anger, disappointment, and bitterness- clinging to the idea that this is NOT fair (which it isn't) or that this shouldn't have happened to me or that somehow I brought this on myself. But what a sad legacy for two perfect little creatures to leave behind! The only other choice is to face this head on- and to go through all the pain and sadness and loss and disappointment without denying it- and then to use what I have learned to change myself, my life, and what I do with my life- as a parent, a partner, a friend, whatever... for the better. That is the kind of legacy that I would wish for those babies to leave behind on my life- and maybe even on the lives of the other people who loved them so much. I don't deny the trememdous grief I will feel as time goes on, and know that the next months will be hard, and also that I will get through it- hopefully with alot of love and help and encouragment from the people in my life. It is truly in times like this that you learn how extensive and strong your "family" is- and just in the 24 hours that have passed, I have been overwhelmed by the outpouring of love- not only for Jeff and I, but for our family... who are also struggling greatly. Who would have know that one could feel so blessed during the darkest of times.

Ah, it feels good to have gotten all those thoughts out in writing. It's incredibly cathartic for me, and also meaningful knowing that I can share this with you, my second sister. I know your support and love are with me even though you are so incredibly far away.

I love you, J, and will look forward to visiting in person as soon as we can make that happen. In the meantime, ENJOY the rest of your time in India, and give my love to A.

Love always,
Libby

and her response...

My dear friend,

It is so difficult to know how to respond. And I regret that, sitting in an internet cafe surrounded by curious onlookers, I do not feel completely free to take the time I need. It seems that no matter which direction I contemplate, I fall short for not wanting to allow myself the tears that are so close to the surface.

So, for now, let me say again how much I love you. Thank you for sharing the details of your experience with me. My heart goes out to you and Jeff and your whole family, and of course to those two beautiful children of yours. I am so sad that they will not know you in the way we expected, for they could not have come into a family that loves them more. I really understand your desire for them to stay together--it is a comfort somehow to know that they have each other as we have had our family in times of unexpected grief. I guess we must look for the little rays of light--thank God there is something here to hold onto.

Traveling as a group has certainly made me think a lot about our trip to Europe years ago (dynamics are a challenge here as they were there)--I know how you have struggled to find a sense of peace in relation to your own spirituality and have a good sense of how far you have come. Hearing you speak of a turning point was all the more poingant as I have been struggling alot with similar questions as we try to put together a wedding ceremony that is meaningful. A and I have had some important conversations about how we want to go forward together as a married couple. I tell you this, because I want to share something of what it was like for me to hear your news.

Certainly, I was inexpressibly sad. You are my family, and so are your children. I know that you and I are connected, but I was surprised to notice the emptiness I felt in my own body. Nothing compared to what you are going through, but I think at least an indication of how connected we are. It helped me feel less guilty for being away...less upset for lack of something to do. Before I called you, I came back to the guest house we were staying in and cried with A. AR and J came to find out if things were ok--I hope it is ok that I told them what had happened. We all cried together and AR helped me understand what had happened in medical terms, based on what little we knew of the details. I needed to know that you were going to be ok physically. And somehow hearing a little more about what may have happened helped (nothing compared to your own words, but something to hold on to for the time being).

J folded two beautiful paper cranes, which I took to my room. Adrian and I sat together and I prayed with him...something I don't think I've ever done. My first thought was for your comfort. I was so relieved to understand that you were in Dover with your parents and Jeff. And then I felt very clearly that those two little people will remain with you throughout your life. I told A how sure I am that they will manifest again when the time is right. I can't help but hope that they will return to this Earth in body so that you can continue to explore being their parents; but, perhaps they have given their gift and have left it to you to love additional children who also need you. I am so confident that you and Jeff will have the opportunity to be parents together again. And as sad I am, I am also quite awed by your strength and clear thinking. As parents we are sometimes called upon to do what we think is impossible...I can't imagine two people on this Earth who have demonstrated their capacity and sincere intention in more ways.

Please let me know as you decide how long you will stay in Dover. I really want to see you when I return and will either come to Dover to Durham...whichever makes the most sense. I return on Jan. 4th (Wed), but there is no reason I can't take "sick" days on Thurs or Fri to travel--afterall, Indian food is quite hard on the digestive track.
Just let me know. I know you have all kinds of wonderful people around you, but I can't help wanting to hug you myself.

Allow yourself to grieve. And don't try too hard to find the "reason" in all this--things will become clear when the time is right and you will know how to move forward.
I wish you and Jeff and Carynne and Lucas peace. Love each other ferociously. And trust yourself to do for each other what is right and good.

I love you.
J

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I sit here now, two and a half years later, with tears streaming down my face. What I felt that day was deep, true, and in such a sad way, beautiful. And even thought it has been such a long time since I have read the words I wrote, they are with me.

They are written on my soul.