The Birth Day, Friday 24th September 2010

Today was going to be a normal day at the office. Happy to be 26 weeks pregnant, I set off to work as usual, proudly carrying the 3D scan photos from last night. Leela had a bit of spotting in the few hours before bed; but after last week’s panic moment we weren’t really worried, as we assumed it was simply a case of cervical erosion again.

Work was very normal for a Friday; I was looking forward to the day ending, and talked a lot about the impending babies as usual. I was on the way to the lovely Asda to pick up an HDMI cable for the spur-of-the-moment surround sound purchase the other day, when I called Leela to check how the mum-to-be was doing. She said she was having slight period-like pains, and she started crying. Being over cautious and paranoid about everything, I said I’d come home straight away. Asda would have to wait.

I got home in the quickest time ever. My wife and these babies are the most important thing in the world at the moment and I wouldn’t stop at anything to make sure they are safe. Leela called Poole antenatal clinic to talk about what was happening. They were not really concerned about it but said to come in anyway to be on the safe side. So we booked in for 1.30pm and shortly made our way to Poole.

When we arrived, we had to wait in the antenatal ‘day room’, which was a pretty grim place to be. Overheated, with badly arranged chairs around the outside looking in, and, of course, filled with the usual underclass talent that Poole has to offer. The long wait in that room was not particularly pleasant, but Leela didn’t seem to be getting any more uncomfortable.

We eventually got called about 3.20pm – well, I was actually out moving the car at the time to try to avoid a parking ticket. I came back in and couldn’t find my wife, and no one seemed particularly interested in helping me. Anyway, I found her at last after I walked back into the midwives' office. She was in the antenatal ward being examined, looking slightly less comfortable than she did before I left. The midwife didn’t seem too concerned; she could just about find both heartbeats (when th babies  weren’t wriggling) and they sounded ok. I sensed something wasn’t quite right though – every now and then Leela would be in what seemed to be slightly more pain.

The midwife gave her a pot to pee in, and off she went. When she came back she looked mildly terrified. She was gone for ages and said she couldn’t go to the toilet, but there was something else happening. I started to panic inside, and we rang the emergency bell to call a nurse. By the time a midwife came, Leela was in pain again – this time it looked really uncomfortable. The doctor had a quick look at her and I could tell by her face that what she saw was not of a positive nature. She said she needed a more senior doctor to have a look.

At this point, my brain decided to start shutting down. The combination of Leela being in such pain, the realization of the inevitable event that was about to happen, and the fact that nothing could be done about it, was too much for my head to cope with. I could feel myself going light-headed and feeling sick, so I made my way downstairs and out the front of the hospital. This was the worst feeling I had ever experienced; I just did not know how to cope with what was going on. I lay down on the ground and passed out. It must have only been a few seconds, but a number of people walked past me, ignoring me.

When I came around, I got up and went inside, via the kitchen area to get some water. I needed to be strong now for my wife. What she was going through was much worse. When I arrived back on the antenatal ward, the midwives were getting Leela ready to go downstairs to get checked out. It was a good job I’d gone outside to get my fainting over with; I was feeling much more stable after.

As we went down the lift and towards the ‘Delivery Suite’, it still didn’t quite sink in that the unavoidable event was going to happen. But it wasn’t long after we got into room 8 that the realization hit us. The doctor took one quick look and, without hesitating, said the words we dreaded: “You’re having these babies now.” Leela was understandably slightly hysterical. We couldn’t have the babies now, it’s only 26 weeks. She had a quick steroid injection, but it was probably too late for anything like that. I was trying hard to be strong, telling my wife it will be alright and holding her hand. I knew full well it probably wouldn’t be alright for a long time yet.

They wheeled Leela off to the operating theatre and handed me my scrubs to put on. I sat for a few minutes in the room on my own. I’d never felt so alone or helpless. I couldn’t do anything for my wife or babies-to-be; all I could do was sit and wait.

I don’t think it was actually that long before a midwife came running in to tell me that Leela had given birth to twin number one. I entered the theatre to find her in the middle of the room with her legs in the air, surrounded by at least fifteen people. At this point, I didn’t know if my first child had even survived, let alone what sex it was. The nurse asked a group of people in the corner what it was – and it was a girl! Leela said she heard a cry, so I knew she was alright.

My head was fleeting between feelings of happiness, excitement, fear and downright dread. Leela was taking it extremely well – maybe the small bit of gas and air was helping. Someone told me I could go and see my daughter, so I went to the cot in the corner where three or four people were busy keeping my baby alive. A nurse was very calmly pumping air into her little lungs with a syringe, and the doctor introduced himself and talked me through what was going on.

Somewhere in the midst of all this, I was really happy to have had at least one girl. Not that the overwhelming feeling was happiness right now. I went back to Leela to find her trying to push out twin number 2. The baby was not having any of it though – still lying across the womb. The doctor was trying to move the baby into the correct position, but the attempts were fruitless. I still couldn’t believe what was actually happening; I was standing next to Leela telling her it would be alright. She seemed in remarkably good spirits, probably helped by the nurses and anaesthetists around her. I thought at the time how calm they were – acting like this was just another day, which of course it was, for them….

I was fully conscious and aware at this point, trying to take it all in. After a few minutes of trying to get baby number 2 in the correct position, the doctor decided it was not going to happen - our second child was not going to come out naturally. This meant a caesarean section, which meant a general anaesthetic, which meant no husbands allowed. So I was escorted back to the side room to await news of my wife and children.

At the time, I had no real idea of how long I was sitting in that room. If I felt alone and helpless the last time I was in there, this was a hundred times worse. Still unable to comprehend what was happening, I now didn’t know if a) my wife was alright, b) my newly born daughter was still alive, c) my other child had been born or what state he or she was in. I kept thinking that Leela had died through complications and that I’d be left on my own with the babies. I really couldn’t cope without her. Even worse, I had momentary thoughts of all three of them not surviving, which would obviously completely destroy my whole world.

I seriously wasn’t prepared for any of this, and certainly wasn’t expecting it. My afternoon had started so normally, with a trip to Asda to pick up a cheap HDMI cable.

A midwife kept coming in and giving me updates, but it felt like an age between each one. One of these updates was that the second baby had been born by caesarean, and that it was a boy! Somewhere inside, I was over the moon that we’d had a son to go with our daughter. That was a perfect result – we secretly wanted one of each. Just a shame they wanted to come out so early.

So after that revelation I was alone again. My head was in a total state – a completely overwhelming mixture of emotions that I’d never felt before and found very difficult to contain. Really excited, happy, sad, scared, and who knows what else. At this point I still didn’t know what state the three most important people in the world were in. I did a lot of pacing and sitting and head-rubbing. 

Eventually I was able to go into the corridor and see my son in a transport incubator to be wheeled upstairs. I just kind of looked in the plastic box, having no idea how to react. It was difficult to feel anything in particular, due to the swirling mess of my brain.

After another short while, Leela came back into the room. So I crossed off that particular worry - Wife still alive: Check. She was still heavily sedated, coming around from the general anaesthetic. She wasn't making a lot of sense and kept repeating the same questions.

The next couple of hours were quite strange - Leela topping herself up with morphine, and both of us trying to get to grips with the situation but basically in total denial.

At some point that evening, I was able to go up and see my babies. We'd been prepared for what NICU was like at our last Twin Club meeting, so it wasn't quite as much of a shock walking in there to all the machines and beeps and noises.

At this point you just kind of accept what is happening, without really acknowledging it. Seeing your children, wrapped up in plastic bags to protect their skin, in these plastic boxes. They both looked so small, and hardly like babies at all. Bright red, shiny, almost translucent skin. Their skin lacks any kind of outer layer, because they are still supposed to be in the womb for 14 weeks. So they are kept in high humidity at first to allow the skin to grow. The nurses talked to me for a few minutes, but I was in a state of shock, and wasn't really taking it in.

I went back down to Leela, who was starting to wake up. It was soon after this, we thought we'd better give these babies some names. We'd already decided on our own anyway, as soon as we knew we had a boy and a girl. The last few weeks we'd been working our shortlist down to a few names. So we knew there and then it was going to be Willow Rose and Stanley Arthur.

So, at around 5 o'clock this afternoon, our lives were completely changed, in a way that we were totally unprepared for. We just had to deal with it.