Wyatt and Cameron knock, knock, knocking on cervix' door

I've been told that I'm one tough cookie. As much as I'd like to believe that I'm in possession of an extreme amount of fortitude, it's more likely that I'm simply one dense cookie. Dense cookie like the first ones you ever made for a boyfriend or girlfriend. Dangerous, inedible, weapons of drywall destruction should you fling one at a wall. No bounce at all, just a heavy thud if you drop one on the floor. I wouldn't use the 5 second rule in this case. Just consider it a loss and keep the dog from eating it to avoid the 3am diarrhea they're sure to get from said dense cookie.

For a week, I'd been uncomfortable. I'd toss and turn in bed, unable to find a good way to sleep. My stretched belly felt like it should split right down the middle if I so much as twisted or bent wrong. It was like a balloon inside of me kept expanding. My ribs constantly ached and riding in a car made it seem as though my rib cage was about to pry open. My right side ribs were the greater offender and I'd press on them for a little bit of relief. I squirmed around constantly. I was 24 weeks and looked full term. But twin pregnancies are known to be uncomfortable. So I put up with it not knowing it was actually prelabor. These are the things dense cookies do. They ignore signs.

I was 24 weeks and 4 days when I saw my maternal fetal medicine (MFM) specialist. He measured my cervix. It was 4.5cm or there about. Fluid levels on Cameron were above normal. Wyatt had low levels, but still normal. It was Cameron's heart that caused my MFM concern. His heart showed signs of stress in trying to deal with Twin to Twin Transfer Syndrome (TTTS). There was a little bit of thickening on one side of his heart and so my doctor diagnosed them with stage III TTTS and recommended Fetoscopic Laser Photocoagulation. The procedure would split the placenta in two and stop the TTTS. If everything went as planned, I'd carry to 36-37 weeks. The procedure comes with risks, including a 40% chance of one of them dying. However, if I did nothing, there was an 80-100% chance of both of them dying.

I would have to fly to Seattle to have the procedure done. My appointment was set up for that Monday at 8:45am. I was instructed to fast just in case they take me into surgery right away, since TTTS can worsen rapidly. If I didn't have the procedure Monday, they'd wait until Tuesday.

Things were happening so fast. I was scared to death that I could lose one. I was also a bit relieved. There was a procedure that could help. We also had a diagnosis and a plan. Even before TTTS showed up, I was worried about it to the point of researching it nearly every hour I was awake. I'd learned that increased protein could help prevent TTTS or at least help it from progressing. And so I managed to ingest 200 grams of protein daily. I felt like I had a brick in my stomach 24/7.  There are many cases where TTTS remains at stage I and all they do is closely monitor. I was not one of those cases. Left alone, mine would progress with dire consequences.

At 24 weeks, 5 days, we had our hotel and flight arrangements made to the tune of $1800. Everything was listed as medical. The airline gave us a $200 discount due to it being an emergency surgery. The surgery center we'd go to had a deal with some hotels near the hospital. We found a place to board the dogs that I was happy with. "Cage free boarding" the place was so they wouldn't be locked in a kennel for the next 5 days. Everything had worked out so smoothly.

After dropping off the dogs, we stopped by my husband, Nick's, office because I had to use the restroom for the twentieth time that day. That's when I noticed the spotting and my heart screeched to a stop.

I called my doctor who recommended I go to labor and delivery. I told Nick we had a change of plans. The amount of worry consuming me for the 45 minute drive from our location to the hospital was but a ripple in the ocean compared to what we were about to face.