Double Rainbows

I am a mother. I am a mother of twins. I am a mother of twins, conceived naturally, born at 37 weeks, both of whom I consider my rainbow babies. No, I did not have a miscarriage or a still birth. No, I did not experience the unfortunate loss of a child due to sickness, disease, or complication. I did, however, have an ectopic pregnancy. And then another one.
I am telling my story partly because it helps me heal and partly because I hope this helps other women heal. Women who experience poignant moments in life surrounding their bodies, minds, and spirits particularly around the topic of creating life inside of you, need to know that you can and will survive. You are not alone. In its rawest sense and purest form, here is the beginning of my healing journey.

In December of 2008, while unemployed and living with my new boyfriend in a big, new city, I became pregnant. We had been dating for two years but we weren’t quite ready for that step in life together. I was excited yet sad, hopeful yet hopeless. I did not know that a positive pregnancy test result would have resulted in a not-so-positive rollercoaster ride of emotions and physical complications. I wanted this baby but was not sure if I wanted this relationship. I was not sure if he wanted this baby or this relationship. I had been cramping and bleeding for several weeks prior leading up to this and didn’t correlate the two until after the fact. When I shared the news that I was pregnant, he responded with elation and asked what we were going to name the baby. I was afraid. Was he afraid, too? His reaction and verbal response genuinely surprised me as I was pretty sure we were on different paths. The next day, after I told him about the cramping and bleeding, we ended up in the emergency waiting room. I’m a strong-headed, often stubborn woman and normally don’t complain about pains but this time around, I knew in my soul knew something wasn’t right. What I was about to learn was a hard pill to swallow but one that needed to be ingested.

Earlier that year, I stopped taking the birth control shot and had an IUD inserted. That small, invasive device perforated my uterus and became lodged in my abdomen. I do not know if it was because of that or because I had a defunct fallopian tube but my precious fertilized egg - my precious developing baby - became stuck. It was growing where it wasn’t supposed to and I had no choice but to get the unviable egg removed. The doctor told me it would have literally killed me had I waited another couple of days because of the severity of my internal bleeding and due to the absolute probability of rupture. I was six weeks into my early pregnancy and within an hour, because of this emergency surgery, I was no longer pregnant. I felt that I was no longer whole. I would have named her Averlyn Claire, and if he were a boy, William Thomas.

In March of 2013, while employed and living with the same boyfriend-turned-husband in a new, big house, I became pregnant again. I was ecstatic yet worried, primed yet unprepared. I had been bleeding for about three weeks, but not from a stray IUD. This time, I thought it was because I had been diagnosed with PCOS and that is what happens – random, irregular, lengthy cycles. There was no pain involved so how could anything go wrong? Just to make sure, we made another dreaded trip to the emergency waiting room as it was a Sunday night and my normal doctor’s office wasn’t open. It was impossible that I could have a second ectopic pregnancy, right? There was no way I was pregnant again and would have to undergo another emergency surgery to remove another cherished egg, right?
After several hours of waiting, tests, and ultrasounds, the doctors told me that they could not find anything and that I had suffered a miscarriage. Despite my attempts to inform them that deep down in my soul – again - I knew they were wrong, they proceeded to give me shots of methotrexate and sent me on my way with a note to come back in a week to check my hCG levels again. Methotrexate - it sounds awful and deadly because quite simply, it is. It is supposed to kill cells, like cancerous ones or lingering pregnant ones after a miscarriage to ensure any remnants of living cells are wiped out. I still shudder when thinking about it.

One week passed but not without pain and more bleeding. Back in the emergency room, dealing with the same doctor that I had a week ago, he tested my blood and noted that my hCG levels were even more elevated. This was confirmation that I didn’t want. The methotrexate did not work and my worst fear was turning true. I, in fact, was still pregnant and did not experience a miscarriage but rather that I had a tubal ectopic pregnancy. Again. I was being prepared for surgery while I was mentally preparing myself for another loss. I wanted children. Why was my body not cooperating?

After the doctors removed the egg and this time, my fallopian tube, all I could think of was my previous surgery and the long, painful recovery. In reality, physical recovery lasted about a month. Emotional recovery is still ongoing. Was I ever going to have a successful pregnancy? How many more times would I have to endure the demise of my unborn child? Would my husband still love me if I could not give him any children? We were married for less than a year when this occurred but I still wondered how many strikes it would take, how many years it would be, how many tears we would cry before we created our perfect family. Or perhaps I wasn’t meant to have a perfect family. This frightened me to my core.

In February of 2014, after almost a year of unsuccessful attempts at starting a family, my husband and I decided to try out fertility drugs. For three months, we saw multiple doctors, had blood drawn on a weekly basis, counted the numerous cycles and days of ovulation, charted our monthly activities, got shots, took pills, paid wads of money for copays and procedures not covered by insurance, timed our intercourse – all of this leading to a very unnatural and unwanted method of conceiving. We weren’t meant to be on such a strict schedule for something that was supposed to be so natural. The only positive thing that came out of these few months, was that we switched to an organic and more wholesome diet. My doctors said it would help with my PCOS and regulate some of my supposed infertility problems. Our wallets were becoming thin as was our patience so we stopped the madness. We decided that if we were going to have a family, it would be on our terms and in the right state of mind with minimal stress and importance on absolutely perfect timing. Four months later, I was pregnant for the third time. People say third time is a charm. This time, I prayed they were right.

Operating with only one fallopian tube, having some scar tissue in my uterus from the IUD perforation, having a PCOS diagnosis, and being in my early 30s, I marched into my OBGYN’s office for an appointment with fingers crossed, looking for validation that this pregnancy was a go… that this egg was in the right place to thrive. And luckily, it was. We were in disbelief. We were in shock. We were completely in love.

Two weeks later, at a follow-up appointment, they determined that I actually had two eggs that were in the right spot and that my husband and I were expecting twins. Yes, twins. No, they do not run in the family. No, we were not on fertility drugs at the time of conception. Yes, we were planning this pregnancy. I answered a lot of ‘yes’ and ‘no’ questions in the upcoming months and still continue to do so with family members, friends, and even strangers. As exciting as it was that I was pregnant with twins, others fears crept up in my mind. Would one be a victim of the vanishing twin syndrome? Would one thrive more than the other because of twin-to-twin transfusion syndrome? I was driving myself senseless until my doctor settled my qualms and told me everything would be fine. Everything would be more than fine, and this was confirmed each month by the ultrasound. They were growing, blossoming, and turning into beautiful creatures.

I have to say that being pregnant with twins was a marvelous experience, overall. I still dealt with morning sickness, swollen ankles, silly cravings of hot and sour soup, stretch marks, aches and pains, shortness of breath and most of the physical annoyances that accompany pregnancies but I was blissful. I was on my way to becoming whole again, getting my perfect family and my double rainbow.

We decided to not find out the genders prior to them being born, which made it more exhilarating. I did not care if we had two boys, two girls, or one of each. I only cared that they were healthy. As cliché as it sounds, it was true. We played gender guessing games and had four sets of names of picked out. We took weekly belly bump pictures, weigh-ins, and did other activities that ecstatic new parents-to-be do. The showers that my friends, family, and co-workers threw for me were filled with presents and gifts of love. Everyone was thrilled to meet the twin babies, especially my 10 year old niece who already had a set of twin cousins. My husband and I were enthusiastically waiting to meet our children and every day that passed that we did something for them by putting the nursery furniture together, painting their room, taking videos of my belly moving around with them inside, we beamed. We extended our love and chose to live for the future while respecting our experiences of the past.

In April of 2015, I gave birth to a healthy boy and girl. They were both over six and half pounds and did not need to spend any time in the NICU. For this, I am lucky. As young as they are and have not fully grown into their features and looks, I can tell that they have an awesome blend of the both of us. Their names are a combination of relatives and ones we agreed we loved. They could not be more perfect even though my body is hormonally imperfect. I never knew love like this before. I never knew my heart could hold so much affection, adoration and attachment until now.

There were challenges in the beginning and I know there will be more as the days go on. There were instants of utter exhaustion, extreme sadness, and feelings of complete failure as a mother as they both cried and demanded all of me at the same time. There were moments of absolute delight, total bliss, and outright happiness as a mother as they both slept in my arms or looked at me with contentment. I made these tiny humans. Their bright eyes, warm bodies, and open-mouthed smiles are what I have been waiting for.

I am a mother. I am a mother of twins. I am a mother of twins, conceived naturally, born at 37 weeks, both of whom I consider my rainbow babies. They are my everything - and the siblings to two angels.

*edited to add that since writing this piece, we have added a third child to our family. Our little boy was born exactly on his due date, at a full 40 week gestation. I feel as if is this pregnancy, my second complete pregnancy, was meant to be as I was pregnant twice before having the twins. This goes to say that sometimes things happen for a reason while other times, life just happens with no explanation whatsoever.