Labor and Delivery, pt 2

Either by design or by mistake, the large rectangular window near me on the helicopter was just out of my view. All I could use was the lower corner closest to me but my view was mostly of the night sky. The sun had long gone leaving no color to the sky. Pitch black cloaked the mountains and I could see a few twinkling city lights if the helicopter tipped enough. I stared at what were light grey walls in the dark, watching medical equipment swing with the movement of the helicopter and feeling a constant vibration I assume comes with every helicopter. It's not a floaty feeling like an airplane. It's kind of a grit your teeth and hope the thing holds together feeling. Someone had a flashlight they'd turn on I assume to look at me, IV medications, or other necessary things. Occasionally, objects swirled together as tears filled my eyes. I managed to blink them back, but the weight of the situation still pressed on my chest, on my heart. My babies.  Please protect my babies.

The pilot expertly navigated the brick-turned-bird to the hospital and we swooped down, circled, and then landed with a gentle thud. Except for the flight nurse asking if I was okay, everyone was quiet while the helicopter powered down. 

Cool air skipped across my face as the door opened. As gently as they could, they unloaded me and wheeled me into Labor and Delivery. I was helped into a hospital bed in my own room with a closed window to my left that I'd learn later was not to the outside, but was to the NICU. My room became busy with activity similar to the last hospital. They confirmed information from me, they got my side of the story. They took vitals, checked medications, asked how I was feeling. 

"I'm okay," I said to them. Things had calmed down at least. I wasn't in any pain, just somewhat scared.

The doctor soon came in, introducing himself as a resident and telling me who his attending physician was. He asked my side of the story, checked if I had dilated anymore, which I hadn't. Then the nurses came at me with that blasted monitor.

We hadn't given the babies names yet and so they were referred to as "Baby A" and "Baby B". Baby A earned his letter by being the one closest to my cervix. He was also what is called the "donor" with their Twin to Twin Transfer Syndrome. His fluid levels were much lower than Baby B who essentially had an Olympic sized swimming pool to float around in. This would cause me and the nurses much grief.

The nurse applied gel to my stomach and, with a disc attached to a cord, slid it around my stomach, hunting for Baby B. With each press of the disc, I could feel the cramping start. I knew they needed to check a heart beat on them, but I was slowly trying to scoot out from under them with my behind. 

As soon as they'd get a heart beat on Baby B, he'd swim away to another part of my abdomen. And while he darted every direction, poor Baby A was pinned to the wall of my uterus by Baby B's insane amount of fluid. They could usually find Baby A fairly easily. And if they got two heartbeats, there was always a discussion of whether or not they have two babies on the monitor or if they were capturing the same baby.

After an hour of torture and cramping due to my belly being pushed on, they called in the doctor who did an ultrasound to find Baby B. And even with the ultrasound, they couldn't catch him. The doctor could see him, the nurse would put the disc on my stomach, and then Baby B would swish away, applying a well aimed kick to the disc to confirm just who was in charge.

I was trying to find a happy place as I had about had enough when the doctor said, "Well, we have them on sono and they're happy with a good heart beat. So lets just monitor them by ultrasound."

And so was the routine for the next several days. I'd take medication, they'd check on the babies, I was ordered to stay in bed and to let them know if I needed to go to the bathroom. Once they were certain that I wasn't about to deliver at any moment, they sent me to the regular OB floor. This is where I would stay until a fetal heart echo could be done on the babies and a Maternal Fetal Medicine (MFM) specialist could see me.

And so I relaxed, took medicine, ate, and tried to get some rest. They even talked about sending me home. It was a good few days until 7pm on a Tuesday night after a long day of tests. 

I worked in an Emergency Department and often rolled my eyes at the drama television injected into their medical shows. I had never seen anything unfold the way it did that night, the night my boys were born, except on TV.