“June 5,” I said to myself.
The date seemed to ring a bell, but I couldn’t remember why. Then it hit me.
“Of course.”
It was the date of my 32-week prenatal visit one year ago. Normally it’s a fairly routine appointment; certainly not something you’d commemorate a year later, particularly when you had as many appointments as I did while I was pregnant with my twins. And in fact, I had scheduled an interview later that day, never once thinking there would be any issues.
As it turned out, the interview would be postponed for quite a while.
While undergoing a non-stress test during my “routine” visit, my OB noticed a deceleration in the heart rate of “Baby B” (my son), which indicated he was under some type of stress. I tried to remain calm and listen to what my doctor was saying, but when she told me I needed to go directly to the hospital and mentioned something about possibly delivering, my concern quickly escalated into panic.
Fortunately, the biophysical profile revealed that both babies were doing well — I could even see them moving their arms and legs during the ultrasound. But we weren’t out of the woods yet, by any means. Although I was discharged that night, I spent the next few days being closely monitored and undergoing countless tests until my doctors decided that an emergency C-section was our best option.
Part of me was terrified to give birth at just 33 weeks, but a bigger part was relieved. I couldn’t take the stress of another non-stress test. And so I enjoyed the last uninterrupted meal I’d experience for quite some time, and prepared to undergo surgery. Thankfully, everything went well. When I heard my daughter and then my son let out little cries, I felt every possible emotion, from joy to exhaustion to fear. Mostly, I was grateful that the ordeal was over. But I knew that it wasn’t going to be an easy road.
The next morning, as we met with the neonatologist, he reassured us that although our babies were small, they were going to be fine. And in fact, despite being born at 3 lbs, 13 oz, Austin was doing better than expected. Sometimes, the doctor said, when babies are distressed, it forces them to work a little harder to get what they need.
I was so proud of him.
I had heard the statistics that premature girls tend to have better outcomes than boys, as do babies born to non-Caucasian mothers, so I knew that Austin had quite a few strikes against him.
But my little guy is a fighter.
“He may have sensed something was wrong,” said the doctor. “So he went into survival mode.”
In a way, being at a disadvantage gave Austin an advantage. He built up enough strength in his lungs that he was able to breathe on his own earlier than anticipated. And since being discharged from the hospital last June, both he and his sister have more than quadrupled their birth weights.
I’m in absolute awe of both of them. As we’ve been preparing for their first birthday this weekend, I keep thinking about how far they’ve come. Looking at them now, you’d never know they were born seven weeks early.
They’ve always had to push a little harder and, as a result, they’re right on track in terms of growth, development, and motor skills. I’ve learned so much from my twins, but perhaps the best lesson of all is that what may be perceived as a limitation can be a driving force.
Happy Birthday, Austin & Scarlett!
What a difference a year makes.
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