Geoffrey & Genevieve
Updated March 05, 2015.
It was September of 1995. We were scheduled for our first ultrasound. After two nearly devastating miscarriages, we were cautiously optimistic, and closely guarded that optimism for a while. My husband speculated that we would be expecting twins, based on both a gut feeling, and the fact that after only 7 weeks, I was beginning to show! From the doctor, the ultrasound technician and others involved, we heard "No, no, no," "Not likely," "You're not having twins," "It's really rare" ...well, you get the point.
In fact, our ultrasound tech was beginning to attempt to assure us again during that first ultrasound, when she suddenly burst out laughing. "You're having twins!" she exclaimed. We were thrilled. Horrified? Well, yes... but thrilled nonetheless. And of course, my husband was not surprised.
During the first trimester, I was placed on 3 weeks of bedrest, due to early complications (not to mention our recent history). We think that this was probably due to an allergic reaction to the progesterone which was regularly administered (joy!) during that period. Then - with the exception of a close call at the ER that was all too similar to the end of our previous two pregnancies, the babies miraculously held on - we enjoyed relatively smooth sailing until 26 weeks. It was Christmas time, and I appeared to be 6-7 months pregnant (though the due date was June 3). The "you're almost due" comments got a bit tiring. The doctor decided to pull me out of work for the pregnancy's duration at this point.
I started home uterine monitoring at 28 weeks. The first time that I monitored, I had 3 contractions and didn't even realize it. At 32 weeks, I spent 6 days in the hospital for pre-term labor. I entered the hospital experiencing contractions every 8 minutes, and was 1 1/2 centimeters dialated. They then put me on magneseum sulfide (via drip) to stop the labor, though the nurses told me that they were all but sure that delivery was going to take place that night! The babies were still holding on. In the meantime, I was weened toward a terbutaline infusion pump, which was inserted into my leg. The pump, which my husband changed every 5 days (I couldn't bear sticking a needle in my own leg!), remained until the delivery. In addition to site changes, my husband cooked, cleaned and generally kept the household in motion (though he says "just barely").
During what was supposed to be a somewhat routine biophysical ultrasound appointment at 36 weeks, "Twin A" concerned us all. She wasn't moving. We were immediately sent to the hospital. Once at the hospital, some movement was measured (though not much), and it was determined that she was probably sleeping. (Anyone familiar with her current laid-back ways would likely agree with the assessment.) Though we didn't quite have the emergency on our hands that was feared, the babies were evidently preparing their grand entrance. However, this posed a bit of a hurdle, since our doctor was out of the state at a convention (with another, with whom we'd also become rather involved and attached). Luckily, the good doctors would be on their way back to town that evening, and called from the airport once they arrived. The pump finally was taken out of my leg, and we began the final journey toward labor late that night...
It was September of 1995. We were scheduled for our first ultrasound. After two nearly devastating miscarriages, we were cautiously optimistic, and closely guarded that optimism for a while. My husband speculated that we would be expecting twins, based on both a gut feeling, and the fact that after only 7 weeks, I was beginning to show! From the doctor, the ultrasound technician and others involved, we heard "No, no, no," "Not likely," "You're not having twins," "It's really rare" ...well, you get the point.
In fact, our ultrasound tech was beginning to attempt to assure us again during that first ultrasound, when she suddenly burst out laughing. "You're having twins!" she exclaimed. We were thrilled. Horrified? Well, yes... but thrilled nonetheless. And of course, my husband was not surprised.
During the first trimester, I was placed on 3 weeks of bedrest, due to early complications (not to mention our recent history). We think that this was probably due to an allergic reaction to the progesterone which was regularly administered (joy!) during that period. Then - with the exception of a close call at the ER that was all too similar to the end of our previous two pregnancies, the babies miraculously held on - we enjoyed relatively smooth sailing until 26 weeks. It was Christmas time, and I appeared to be 6-7 months pregnant (though the due date was June 3). The "you're almost due" comments got a bit tiring. The doctor decided to pull me out of work for the pregnancy's duration at this point.
I started home uterine monitoring at 28 weeks. The first time that I monitored, I had 3 contractions and didn't even realize it. At 32 weeks, I spent 6 days in the hospital for pre-term labor. I entered the hospital experiencing contractions every 8 minutes, and was 1 1/2 centimeters dialated. They then put me on magneseum sulfide (via drip) to stop the labor, though the nurses told me that they were all but sure that delivery was going to take place that night! The babies were still holding on. In the meantime, I was weened toward a terbutaline infusion pump, which was inserted into my leg. The pump, which my husband changed every 5 days (I couldn't bear sticking a needle in my own leg!), remained until the delivery. In addition to site changes, my husband cooked, cleaned and generally kept the household in motion (though he says "just barely").
During what was supposed to be a somewhat routine biophysical ultrasound appointment at 36 weeks, "Twin A" concerned us all. She wasn't moving. We were immediately sent to the hospital. Once at the hospital, some movement was measured (though not much), and it was determined that she was probably sleeping. (Anyone familiar with her current laid-back ways would likely agree with the assessment.) Though we didn't quite have the emergency on our hands that was feared, the babies were evidently preparing their grand entrance. However, this posed a bit of a hurdle, since our doctor was out of the state at a convention (with another, with whom we'd also become rather involved and attached). Luckily, the good doctors would be on their way back to town that evening, and called from the airport once they arrived. The pump finally was taken out of my leg, and we began the final journey toward labor late that night...