Saturday 16th October

Had my first cuddle with Stanley today. Amazing feeling, difficult to describe really. Never really thought it would happen like this – I always imagined it happening in the operating theatre straight after the babies were born, not three weeks later.


We’re starting to feel a lot more like real parents now. Most people will just take for granted the fact that they can just hold their babies - and why not; this shouldn't be happening - but I think after this we will always appreciate it.

15th October

There was a certain level of excitement in the air today. Yesterday there was talk of a potential cuddle with Stanley – now that he is relatively stable. He (and Willow) have also had their ‘long lines’ removed now. The long line is basically the main tube which was going up their legs all the way to their hearts. This was the route the major drip was taking, which was providing the fluids and nutrition. So, since the milk intake had now increased to 5ml an hour, this was all the nutrition they should now require; hence the drip could be removed. Another good thing about this was that a major potential source of infection was being removed.


After Nanna and Grandad had visited again today, it was time for the main event – cuddle time. Leela was understandably over the moon at the prospect. Although I’d very much like a cuddle with my babies, I think it is even harder for the mother, and certainly more important for the youngsters.

So Stanley was out of his box for half an hour, and seemed to enjoy being back close to Mummy where he really should still be. I didn’t get to hold him today but perhaps I’ll get the next one. It was amazing to see Leela with one of our babies, especially as it made her so happy.

A bit later on we decided to visit the canteen in the main hospital. Not sure we’ll be doing that again. It’s located down in the basement, and you’re greeted with a very pungent hospital/farmyard smell when you approach the restaurant area. We opted for what was supposed to be an apple doughnut, and a cup of coffee. The ‘doughnut’ was really just a stale bit of dough filled with cheap apple mush, the coffee about as good as you’d expect.

13th/14th October

I was worrying about the morning call on Wednesday after leaving Stanley with his bradycardia attacks still being quite regular. But – I spoke to the nurse and got a very good report. Since midnight he’d all but stopped being naughty, and was much more stable. Also, the nurse who was looking after Willow, was very pleased with her progress too. He even said there was a possibility of her coming off the ventilator today as well, but not to be disappointed if she was still on it when we came in.

We came into the hospital as normal after lunch, and saw Willow's nurse in the corridor. He said he thought we’d be pleased when we went in. So in we went and Willow was off the ventilator! We couldn’t believe it – and with Stanley doing so much better today as well. We were extremely pleased – almost happy. The trouble is, you don’t want to let yourself be too happy because you never know what is around the corner. This was one of the ‘up’ bits of the rollercoaster.


We went to get a coffee from BP and saw SCAT in there for some taxi talk.
Thursday was another good day, both children very stable. Stanley even got a cake today, for passing the 1 kilo landmark. Although he’d obviously been heavier than that when he’d been born, this was a lovely gesture from one of the nurses, who bakes a cake each time babies hit the 1,000g mark.

So, another good day. We’re trying to enjoy these moments without getting all complacent about it. It may yet all go wrong, but Willow and Stanley’s chances are getting better.

Tuesday 12th October

Called this morning and got some very positive news – both Willow and Stanley had good, stable nights and had been weaned off the ventilator quite a bit.

When we arrived at NICU today, everyone was quite excited as Stanley was going to come off the ventilator and onto CPAP. We knew this was a big step in the right direction but that it was not going to be easy for our son. At about 4pm, it was time – so Stanley was ‘extubated’ and transferred onto the CPAP machine. He coped relatively well but it was still not easy viewing for us parents.

So, today was now to prove one of those ‘roller coaster’ days. After such positive things this morning, Stanley was having a really tough time after coming off the ventilator. He had bradycardias every few minutes, and took a while to get his sats back up after each one. Later on, the docs agreed he should move onto ‘Bi Pap’. This is more of a middle ground between the ventilator and CPAP so he should be able to cope a bit better.

He still seemed to be struggling quite a bit, so I was sitting between my two children closely watching the monitors for a few hours.

Thankfully Willow was being relatively stable at this point, but still had the odd episode. This is really no fun at all, watching your baby son and daughter basically fight for their lives all day, every day.

The nurse was doing a great job looking after Stanley, but we had to wait until the handover to ask reassurance from the next nurse, who was on nightshift, that she would not leave him. She told us her husband is called Stanley, so she’d know how to handle him.

So we left after a very up-and-down day, feeling emotionally exhausted. And to top it off I had my annual unexplained bloody painful foot problem!

Monday 11th October

I’m really feeling a lot of love for these babies now. Got a real wave of emotion while looking at Willow when she looked at me with her big eyes. And Stanley was holding my hand so tightly; I felt proud to be his dad. Stanley was better today and really trying hard to breathe on his own. Looks like they will try and wean him off first before giving him any steroids.


But, Willow was not strong enough, so the steroids will start tonight for her. Let's hope they work.

Dinner was a chicken doner burger and massive chips from Noor. Not very healthy, but very, very tasty.

At the moment we’re a bit worried about the phenomenon of what's known as ‘preemie head’ or ‘toaster head’ where premature babies’ heads get moulded into slightly abnormal shapes. This is due to still having soft bones in the head, and then being laid down rather than floating about in the womb. I’m pretty sure though, that they will sort themselves out. I think we've got enough to worry about anyway.

Sunday 10th October

Dinner at the Olds' tonight – rosti and schnatzletz (apologies for bad spelling, Mum. Can't even find that made-up Swiss word on the internet). Bloody nice actually.

I bought a luxurious office chair from Argos on the way to the hospital today. Looking forward, in a way, to setting up my office so it’ll be more comfortable to work from home. Not that I’ll be able to concentrate much.


The babies were both quite stable today, and the doc talked to us about steroids etc. They were going to try them imminently, as both are really going nowhere with breathing at the moment.

Saturday 9th October

We popped in to visit some friends of a friend on the way to the hospital today - their baby boy is a graduate of NICU. It was good to talk to people that actually understand what we are going through, and to see their son looking so well gives us a lot of hope.

The First Two Weeks - 25th September to 8th October

Leela stayed in hospital for three nights, to recover from the caesarean. Although of course, being her, she didn't want to be pushed about in a wheelchair and was determined to walk everywhere.

The first night, I drove home on my own, feeling completely shell-shocked. Just got home and went to bed, staring into darkness. Not a lot more I could do. I was too numb and confused to feel any real feelings.

That trend continued for the first few days - on the surface, we just accepted what had happened. We spent all day in the hospital, looking at our helpless children.

On the Monday, Leela was allowed to leave the hospital. Driving home from there, without the babies in the car, was totally devastating. Arriving home to an empty house, which has baby stuff all over the place, and an unfinished nursery, was even worse than totally devastating. This was the saddest moment of our lives, and we just collapsed in our own heaps.

The first couple of weeks went by in a bit of a daze. All day, every day at NICU, just looking in the incubators. We started to hear all the things that we'd be hearing a lot over the next few weeks - 'It's a roller-coaster' , 'it's all normal', ' to be expected' . When you ask someone when they think they might be out of hospital, or when they might reach a certain point, you always get the same answer - 'difficult to say, every baby's different'. All we knew was, things were going as expected. Which was pretty craply, from our point of view.

So our babies would start having all the things they'd have to get used to - drips, TPN, lipids, diuretics, cannulas, blood transfusions, x-rays, head scans, antibiotics, steroids, caffeine, morphine, Gaviscon. We'd start learning a hell of a lot more about human biology that we thought we'd ever know.

After about two weeks, the realisation finally sunk in properly. Both of us, at about the same time, had a few really rough days, which we just spent crying. We'd got past the denial stage and kind of woke up. This was actually happening to us and our babies. We just had to get on with it.

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.