I’m numb.
I have no way of sorting the words while they are screaming inside my head – each one competing for what’s left of my attention. Each one empty and incompetent at describing the awfulness of what’s happening.
*
What they tell me re: Alec – Monday. Ultrasound. Not enough fluid. Anemic. Crisis. Have to deliver Tuesday. Tuesday. Possible brain bleed. But stabilizing. Anemia = false positive. Better off inside for now. No c-section today.
Re: Baldwin – Monday. MRI results. Definite stroke. 50% chance of negative affects. Likely gross motor deficits. Tuesday. Stroke worse than thought. 80% chance severe neurological damage. Unsure of affects. Blind? Deaf? Physical? Mental? Death? Medical Ethicist. Too late to terminate. Tough decisions. Prepare. Discuss. Quality of life. Choices. When to remove support after birth.
*
Monday. Voices wouldn’t stop whispering statistics. Endless unknowns. Hundreds of phrases that began with “he might.” Coupled with the noise of my children, I couldn’t be here. Jason (Thank you. You are the best person I know.) told me to leave. To be by myself. I am grateful for the darkness during the drive. It concealed the crazy woman screaming “My mind’s not right!” at the top of her lungs while she listened to The National’s “Abel” over and over again. And her blubbering during DeVotchka’s “How It Ends”. Clinging to the hope that she doesn’t know – how it ends. She takes short breaks from her scream-singing to curse fate – not fair… they don’t deserve… you can’t take… - and wipe her eyes so she can see the road.
I feel ashamed when I pass the hospital, but don’t go in. I tell myself she has enough support. I would make a crowd. The truth is, I can’t face her. I can’t have her see the reflection of my healthy children’s eyes staring back at her. I don’t want to make this about me, about my fear. She cannot see it.
Tuesday. Things worsen. I leave work. I sit in the hospital room staring at several members of my family. We say almost nothing. There is nothing to be said. There is no describing disbelief. Despair. I hug her. This woman I shared a bedroom with for 16 years. This person who shares my blood. Who holds tiny plans, dreams, possibilities, and hope in her swollen belly. This person I can’t help. Or comfort. The babies are still kicking. They are kicking. Still safe inside.
My children think I’ve gone crazy. I am hugging and kissing them more than is perhaps healthy. Certainly more than they are accustomed to. I cringe when I think this might make me appreciate them more. Be less likely to complain about trivial things. Because I don’t want to learn anything from this. I don’t want a lesson in cliches. I just need for all the horrible to end. For it to be okay.
The kids say something funny. I burst into tears. I watch a tender moment between them. I wonder if my sister will get to see these things. If she will bring home her boys. Her twins.
*
I am practicing my magical thinking. It is not helping. I am knitting two small sweaters. Alec’s was done for the baby shower. Baldwin’s had just been started. I wonder if I had only finished the sweater… I know. It’s ridiculous. There is no control. No reason. I couldn’t work on it after hearing he was sick. A week later, I continued knitting. Now, I can barely look at it. I want to be strong and optimistic. To put every ounce of hope and love I can muster into every single stitch. I want to believe that he will be big enough to wear it. I just don’t know if I can right now.
*
When I shared a bedroom with my sister, we had a ritual. We started saying, “Good night.” Later, we added things we had to say to each other before going to sleep. It was always said in the same order: “Good night. Sweet dreams. I love you. See you tomorrow.” Superstition dictated that if we didn’t say these things, we may not see each other in the morning. I know superstition will not help right now. Nothing will. All there is left to do is wait. And hold my breath. And wait.
Please rest. And heal, Baldwin. Be stronger than you are supposed to be.
Good night. Sweet dreams. I love you. See you tomorrow.
XOXOXOXO Still keeping everything crossed.
Dear boys, hang in there, there’s a kick ass world out here waiting to meet you.
And here comes the “i want to help comment but really I have no idea what I’m talking about and will probably do more harm than good but with the best of intentions comment.”
My neighbor’s twins had the same T2T syndrome.
Both were born by emergency C-section at 27 weeks.
5 months in the NICU.
They just turned 8.
Yes, they are slightly handicapped, one more so than the other. But they are alive, and they are sweet and more than anything they are miracles and blessings.
I’ll be sending all my prayer juju’s to you and your sissy’s uterus.
xoxo
I’ll be praying for your sister and those sweet boys.
Every fiber in my being at this one moment is hoping the best for those babies and their mommy. Thinking, praying.
sending you all love and hugs and strength, mostly that. oh, and hope in spades.
I am so, so sorry
All I can do is offer up prayers – and lots of them.
My best hopes for your sister and her boys.
Our brains weren’t meant to process the “they might.” I’m so sorry. Sending love, prayers, hopeful wishes and a truck load of strength.
I am praying for those babies and their momma.
All my love sent your way. And remember you ARE strong.
I don’t even know what to say, but I’m thinking of you and hoping for the best
Sending you thoughts and prayers and virtual hugs and whatever I can to help.
Know that you are loved. Know that your friends are holding you up so you can hold your sister. Know that I am praying for you and your family. And this, too, shall pass.
Love remains.
I don’t even know what to say other than I’m thinking of you and your family.
May peace and courage surround your family.
“Is solace anywhere more comforting than in the arms of a sister.” -Alice Walker. Copied from my wonderful great grandchildren photo album which you and Jason gave to me at Christmas.
Oh my goodness.
Prayers for your sister and those precious boys and prayers for you.
So sorry for the pain and unknown you are all facing right now. Thoughts and prayers for all of you.
Heartbreaking. May God’s strong and healing hand touch your sisters’ boys – and her heart and yours and those of the rest of your family – as you go through this most difficult time.
Big hugs to you and your sister, and tiny hugs to the little boys – thinking of you all.
((((andi))))
Lots of prayers coming out to your sister, those babies and your entire family.
Still thinking good thoughts for your sister, Alec and Baldwin, and of course you, Andi. If I had more to offer I would.
Oh gosh, I can’t imagine what all your family is going through. Many thoughts for you and your family, and especially those little boys.
Oh, no. I’m so, so sorry to hear this. Hoping for the best . . .
You will always do the right thing.
Praying for a miracle. Some hopeful news. Anything to make this easier.
Nothing to say but I’m thinking of you and your family. Hugs!
As soon as I started reading I teared up. I don’t know what to say. Try to stay strong. Hugs your kids (even if it does freak them out). Take care of yourself. And you know if you need anything the Rkers will be there for you.
Oh… this is so scary. I too will be praying for your sister and her babies.
Andi, Andi … my heart.
Praying so hard for you and your sister, I know how I would feel in your shoes. I love my sister and her children like the sun and the moon.
Oh, dear friend. Holding your hand from afar.
Heartbreak.
No right words.
Much love.
Add me to the list of people loving and thinking of you and your family. XO
Well, miracles do happen all the time, when it comes to babies! And these twins have the whole Blogosphere praying for them and sending them hope! The hardest part is probably not knowing how it is going to end up. Keep us posted!
this post is beautiful. hugs.
You are the most wonderful sister – I’m sure Jenny appreciates all your love and support. The Calgary Nessys are all hoping, praying and sending love and good vibes. Bless you Andi and bless the babies.
A sister’s words and hugs can heal anything. I know….
Holding good thoughts.
Andi you are the most incredible sister a woman could have. This is the most heartwrenching time in Jenny’s life. Thank goodness for you and the rest of your wonderful, caring family. (Who my kids claim as well!) Life is not fair sometimes and we all learn this at some point. I will be praying for Jenny and her babies with all my heart. I will also be praying that you can find some comfort in knowing you are doing more than most would be able to. Let your kids and your husband comfort you.
Kathie
Stepping into the circle. Stronger. Brighter. More hope.
Oh Andi! *hugs*
All the best to your sister and her babies.
xoxoxo
Oh, sweet Jesus. My thoughts are with you both.
The bond between sister’s is indefinite and indescribable.
We share thoughts together, but with no voice, we feel each
other’s pain with no touch, we think alike, in sync, the same.
No two are ever exactly alike, but we share the sameness.
You and your sister are in my thoughts.
Sue
I’ll keep them in my prayers. God Andi I’m so sorry.
I am so so so sorry. My eyes filled with tears at that last part about not wanting to learn any lesson from this, just wanting it to go away. I am praying and praying and praying that this will indeed just go away. The doctors could be wrong. Baby Baldwin could be one hell of a fighter. They could still both be okay.
But. I am still so very sorry for your pain and your sister’s. Hugs.
Oh Andi…words can’t express what I’m feeling right now. All I can say is that I’m praying…hard. For you and your family.
Andi please know that every prayer and good wish I have in the world goes to you and your family right now.
I know this may not help but I have a set of twin boys born at 30 weeks. One had a brain bleed. He has a shunt now to usher the fluid from his brain into his abdominal cavity but aside from that, both boys are perfectly healthy and happy. One was 3 lb 10 oz (the one with the brain bleed) and the other was 1 lb 7 oz (skinny but healthy). I will pray for your sister’s twins because I am a true believer in the power of prayer. After many many weeks in the hospital, my babies came home. I pray her’s will also come home safe and sound.